“We can say: ‘Hello, Bill!’ anyhow, if we see anyone we used to know,” said Mary Louise, and even the old Colonel was interested enough to hurry forward to join the throng of soldiers who had traveled all the way to France to prove that they were real warriors.
Mary Louise had many humble acquaintances among the throng which moved in well drilled ranks from the depot to the cantonment—a matter of half a mile or so, and she nodded briskly here and there at “the boys,” who flushed and threw out their chests proudly as they formed ranks.
A few of the young men were “calling acquaintances,” and these were especially honored by the beautiful girl’s attention.
“Take it easy, my dear,” puffed Grandpa Jim, as he clung to the arm of Mary Louise on the slippery pathway. “They’re marching faster than we can walk, and they’re still covered with the dust and grime of travel. Look down there at the cantonment! The places where they used to pitch their tents are nothing but mud holes. I doubt if our soldiers under present circumstances are as glad to see us as we are to see them. Let’s go home.”
Mary Louise in her heart knew that he was right, but her tone was somewhat peevish when she answered:
“If everyone felt as we do, it would be a nice reception for our soldier boys, wouldn’t it—with just ‘poodle-ground’ to greet them? The earnest shouts of those who are here must carry joy to the hearts of those who have braved many a storm to drive back the Germans, and we must prove we’re as loyal and brave as our men.” Thoroughly in earnest, the beautiful girl continued: “For my part, I’m really enjoying it all, Gran’pa Jim, and—Hello, Ned Clary!” waving her handkerchief and nodding smilingly as they reached the beginning of the cantonment, which was now a very busy place.
The girl gazed with interest upon the mud-stained uniforms. But the soldiers themselves received the most of her attention. Their faces were most attractive to her, and she scanned them as closely as if really looking for some relative. Those who worked, worked quietly and doggedly, having performed such duties many times. Others looked on, smoking their cigarettes indifferently. Still others sat upon the stone curbing and waited nonchalantly until something should happen that might prove more interesting.
Mingled with these were all classes of citizens of Dorfield, and suddenly Mary Louise cried out:
“Oh, Laura Hilton! Where on earth did you come from?” as if she had not known that the other girl had followed or preceded her down the hill.
“Me?” answered Laura, as if in amazement; “why, I just came down to see if Cousin Will was in this division. He said in his last letter that he would be home next week; but they may have pushed him on ahead, you know. Cousin Will is a big man—you’ll remember—wherever he happens to be. At war he is a Sergeant—or a Corporal—or some such genius, I’ve heard, yet somehow he doesn’t seem to have his own way quite as much as when at home, clerking in the corner grocery store. He says he had one boss in civilian life; in the army, he has a dozen.”