“Say, you’re awfully tired turning over doughnuts. Let me help you. You go inside and rest a while. I’m sure I can do that.”
She was tired and the boy looked eager, so she decided to accept his offer. He was very insistent that she go away and rest, so she slipped in behind a screen to lie down, but peeped out to watch how he was getting on. She saw him turn over the first doughnuts all right and drain them, but he almost burned his fingers trying to eat one before it was fairly out of the fat; and then she understood why he had been so anxious for her to “go away” and rest.
Often the boys would come to the lassies and say: “Say, Cap, I can help you. Loan me an apron.” And soon they would be all flour from their chin to their toes.
They would come about four o’clock to find out what time the doughnuts would be ready for serving, and the girls usually said six o’clock so that they would be able to fry enough to supply all the regiment. But the men would start to line up at half-past four, knowing that they could not be served until six, so eager were they for these delicacies. When six o’clock came each man would get three doughnuts and a cup of delicious coffee or chocolate. A great many doughnut cutters were worn out as the days went by and the boys frequently had to get a new cutter made. Sometimes they would take the top of quite a large-sized can or anything tin that they could lay hands on from which to make it. One boy found the top of an extra large sized baking powder tin and took it to have a smaller cutter soldered in the centre. Sometimes they used the top of the shaving soap box for this. When he got back to the hut the cook exclaimed in dismay: “Why, but it’s too big!”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said the doughboy nonchalantly.
“That’ll be all the better for us. We’ll get more doughnut. You always give us three anyway, you know. The size don’t count.”
They were always scheming to get more pie and more doughnuts and would stand in line for hours for a second helping. One day the Salvation Army woman grew indignant over a noticeably red-headed boy who had had three helpings and was lining up for a fourth. She stood majestically at the head of the line and pointed straight at him: “You! With the red head down there! Get out of the line!”
“She’s got my number all right!” said the red-headed one, grinning sheepishly as he dropped back.
The town of Raulecourt was often shelled, but one morning just before daybreak the enemy started in to shell it in earnest. Word came that the girls had better leave as it was very dangerous to remain, but the girls thought otherwise and refused to leave. One might have thought they considered that they were real soldiers, and the fate of the day depended upon them. And perhaps more depended upon them than they knew. However that was they stayed, having been through such experiences before. For the older woman, however, it was a first experience. She took it calmly enough, going about her business as if she, too, were an old soldier.
On the evening of June 14th they made fudge for the boys who were going to leave that night for the front lines.