What an odd girl Barbara Meade was and what a queer combination of childishness and cleverness! Assuredly she had not succeeded in making herself popular at the hospital to which they had lately come. Probably Nona understood more of the situation than Barbara. Already for some reason there had been talk of asking the younger girl to go back to London, if not to her own home. Nona wondered if this were due to Barbara’s appearance or her manner. Surely her single failure should not have counted so seriously against her, unless there were other reasons. Nevertheless, she herself believed in her and meant to stand by until Barbara had her chance.
Barbara had ceased running now, and as Nona approached her dropped down on her knees. She had come to the end of the meadow down the slope of a hill and everywhere around the earth was covered with violets.
In a few moments her hands were full of them. “We will take these back to the hospital,” she said as cheerfully as though she never had a moment of depression. “I have promised to read to two of the soldiers who are better. They say it amuses them, I have such a funny American voice.”
The next minute she was up and off again, this time with her arm linked inside Nona’s. “There is such a dear little French house over there. Let’s go and see who lives in it now that we are so near.”
Nona glanced at her watch. It was a man’s watch and had once belonged to her father.
“I have a delightful scheme. It isn’t yet eight o’clock and neither you nor I have to go on duty until ten. Ever since we arrived I have wanted to see inside one of these little French huts. So if the people who live in this one are friendly let’s ask them to give us coffee and rolls. I can talk to them in French and explain where we come from, then later perhaps we can walk on a little further.”
The girls were now within ten yards of the cottage. No one was outdoors, yet there were noises on the inside and through the one small stone chimney the smoke poured out into the air, bringing with it a delicious odor of coffee. Nevertheless, the two girls hesitated. They had been told that the French peasants were always courteous to strangers, and yet it might be difficult to explain their errand.
But they were spared the trouble, for at this instant the heavy wooden door was pushed open and a woman stepped out into the yard.
But after the first glance the two girls stared, not at the woman, but at each other.
“It can’t be,” Barbara murmured weakly. “I am not seeing things straight.”