“I can’t say—three hundred?”
“And all—without whole roofs. If we shared out the iron on these huts, each house might claim three or four pieces. There would be no sense in it. Besides—I will try to get all that we want from the huts that have been damaged.”
They stood there for a while, arguing the ethics of the adventure—nor did Brent find Manon easy to convince. He liked her none the less for that. She stood out against herself with a sturdiness and a courage that searched relentlessly for some sure inspiration that could satisfy the religious heart of a woman.
It was Brent who found it.
“Listen,” he said; “I will tell you something that happened to my comrade who lies in your orchard. It was in an attack on the ruins of a village. We were being smashed to bits as we went up the hill; the men faltered and began to lie down. My comrade went on. We saw him climb up on a bit of wall and sit there. He lit his pipe, and waved his steel hat at us. We got up and went on.”
His face lit up over that grim bit of courage.
“I can see it all,” she said.
“Well—we have got to be like that. We shall be the first up the hill. Perhaps the others will be dismayed, ready to despair. We shall be on our bit of wall, and we shall wave them on, and shout—‘Courage!’ ”
“That is true.”
And then he saw the light of vision in her eyes.