A few minutes later the younger girl stood at the side of her bed with a cup of beef tea in her hands which she had just made over a tiny alcohol lamp.
“Drink this, please, and forgive my bad temper, Eugenia,” she murmured. “I presume if I confessed the truth even to myself, I am jealous of your success at the hospital. But honestly I don’t think I am being given a fair chance here. Ever since we arrived I have been shoved into the background and never called on for any really important work. Oh, I know I failed that one time, but that is no reason why I shouldn’t be all right the next.”
While the older girl finished the bouillon Barbara sat down on the side of the bed. Then the moment the cup had been set down, to her surprise Eugenia took hold of her hand almost affectionately.
“You are going to be given a chance, Barbara, at least one that will take a whole lot of courage. It is what I came upstairs to tell you and Nona, and what I have been feeling so worried about. For really I don’t know whether you ought to agree. You are both so young and pretty.” Eugenia hesitated and Barbara took hold of both her shoulders, giving her a tiny shake.
“What do you mean? I hate suspense worse than anything.”
“Oh, simply that four girls have to be appointed for service in the two new motor ambulances that are to bring the wounded soldiers from the battle front to the hospital. The Superintendent has decided to ask you and Nona to take charge of one and Lady Mathers and Daisy Redmond the other. Of course, you can refuse if you like, Barbara, for the work may be dangerous. It isn’t that you will have to do very much for the soldiers except to see that they are properly bandaged and keep life in them till you can get them here. Of course there is a surgeon in each ambulance to tell you what to do. The danger is that you will have to go much nearer the fighting line and that you may see even more painful things than you have been seeing in the hospital. Really, child, I don’t advise you to attempt it.”
For with the first realization of what Eugenia meant Barbara had turned deathly pale and was now fighting a sensation of faintness.
“It isn’t that I am in the least afraid, Eugenia,” she faltered, as soon as she could trust her voice. Even then it was fairly shaky. “I don’t mind running the risk or the work or any of those things. You know what it is, Eugenia; there is no use trying to hide it. I simply haven’t the nerve I thought I had. It is seeing the wounded soldiers, so many of them. I lie awake at night and dream the most dreadful dreams. I keep thinking I—but I had better not speak of it. I’ve simply got to say I can’t undertake the work. I hate it too on account of Nona; she is sure to try this ambulance work, for only the other day she told me that she longed to get closer to the scene of action. But what must I say, Eugenia, when I refuse? I’m afraid I can’t make any one understand that I’m not exactly a coward; I am used to sickness, but somehow this all seems so different.”
Again Eugenia pressed the small hand she held in her large, capable one.
“Tell the truth, my dear, and then go back home to the United States. From the moment I saw you I didn’t believe this Red Cross work would be suitable for you. I told you you were too young, and I thought you were too quick-tempered and emotional, though I did not speak of this. There is plenty of nursing you might be able to do at home—children, or old people.”