Anne had left her own old home early in her orphaned childhood, and now lived, as an adopted daughter, with friends in Washington. She was happy there and dearly loved; but Ruth, with her intense devotion to home and family, was always distressed when she remembered that Anne “didn’t belong to her own folks.�
“I w-wish you lived with us,� she said, kissing Anne, again and again.
“Then I wouldn’t have the fun of coming to see you,� her cousin reminded her, returning the caresses.
“Sweet William says having you all the time would be like having Christmas all the year.�
Anne laughed.
“Anne darling,� said Ruth, “I was g-going to stay with you to-night, but mother has a headache and may want a hot-water bottle or something. You’ll not mind my staying with her? We’ll be across the hall, at the other end.�
“Oh! I’m used to staying alone,� said Anne. “My room at home is across the hall from Aunt Sarah’s.�
Ruth went out and Anne undressed and climbed into the great bed. She lay there, looking out into the soft summer night, listening to a mocking bird’s joyous melody. There was a magnolia tree in blossom near the front window and the night breeze wafted in the delicious odor of the blossoms. How beautiful and peaceful it all was! Could anything be lovelier than those great white magnolia blossoms, shining like moons in the dark foliage? Blossom-moons—fragrant white moons—moons—— The moons came nearer and nearer. And as they drew nearer, they changed. They were no longer white and fragrant. They were red and hot. Why, they were bombs, bombs that Germans were throwing. They exploded with a great noise and blinding flame and thick, pungent, choking smoke.
“Whizz-bangs, that’s what they are,� Anne thought, recalling something she had read about bombs that exploded time and time again, like Chinese firecrackers.
She wanted to get away from them, but she could not. She was in the thick of the battle.