“But yes, food was brought to us every week by the Americans.”
“Mademoiselle is American,” put in the lieutenant.
“Tiens!” said the little girl, and grew too bashful to speak.
“We should have died but for the Americans,” she said at last, looking down at her apron.
“You had rice and vegetables, I suppose. Did you ever have meat and eggs?” And I confess that for “eggs” I said, not “uh,” but “uffe.” The other child began to giggle.
“Tais-toi,” exclaimed my little friend quickly. “Didn’t you just hear that the lady is American?”
It might be hard to express thanks, but not while she was about should Americans be made fun of.
On our homeward journey I saw things that simply did not exist to my eyes earlier in the day. The country around Bailly is full of trenches and barbed wire, dug-outs, shell holes, and shade trees cut down by the road, all of which escaped me before I had had those five full hours of tense observation; and just as I did not at first distinguish the signs of war, so I did not fully consider until afterward the completeness of the destruction we had seen. In the section of forty miles square that we skirted, not one bridge is left—the only ones now in existence are of temporary military construction. The same is true of telephone and telegraph poles—not one remains. Also there is not a stick of furniture of any sort except what was too heavy to be taken away, such as pulpits and big tables, which were hacked to pieces and are of no value now. That the furniture was not blown up with the houses I am sure, for not a piece can be found in the ruins, and I looked carefully for any trace. Germany must be full of French furniture, and what it is all wanted for I can’t imagine.
It is wonderful what vistas can be thrown open by the experiences of one day. I never again can hear of any one who comes from Chauny or Roye or Lassigny without seeing row upon row of deserted, ruined houses. I never can hear of a fortune lost in the war without picturing the ruined sugar factory at Flavy-le-Martel. And yet the sight of men and mules and engines clearing out the canal at Ham is more significant than either of these, for it means that the energy which once built the cities of France is deathless. A new beginning is being made within sound of the guns; and we are helping. We are helping!!
Esther.