Sometimes, indeed, there were only a few lines for herself, for Derry was being intensively trained in a Southern camp, working like an ant, with innumerable other ants, all in olive-drab, with different colored cords around their hats.
Sometimes she read bits of the letters to Margaret at breakfast, and after breakfast she would go up to the General and read everything to him except the precious words which Derry had meant for her very own self.
And then she and the General would tell each other how really extraordinary Derry was!
It was a never-failing subject, of intense interest to both of them.
For there was always this to remember, that if the world was no longer a radiant and shining world, if the day"s task was hard, and if now and then in the middle of the night she wept tears of loneliness, if there were heavy things to bear, and hard things and sad things, one fact shone brilliantly above all others, Derry was as wonderful as ever!
"There was never such a boy," the General would chant in his deep ba.s.s.
"Never," Jean would pipe in her clear treble.
And when they had chorused thus for a while, the General would dictate a letter to Derry, for his hand was shaky, and Jean would write it out for him, and then she would write a letter of her own, and after that the day was blank, and the night until the next morning when another letter came. So she lived from letter to letter.
"You have never seen Washington like this," she wrote one day in February, "we keep only a little fire in the furnace, and I am wearing flannels for the first time in my life. We dine in sweaters, and the children are round and rosy in the cold. And the food steams in the icy air of the dining room, and you can"t imagine how different it all is--with the servants bundled up like the rest of us. We keep your father warm by burning wood in the fireplace of his room, and we have given half the coal in the cellar to people who haven"t any."
"I am helping Cook with the conservation menus, and it is funny to see how topsy-turvy everything is. It is perfectly patriotic to eat mushrooms and lobsters and squabs and ducklings, and it is unpatriotic to serve sausages and wheat cakes. And Cook can"t get adjusted to it.
She will insist upon bacon for breakfast, because well-regulated families since the Flood have eaten bacon--and she feels that in some way we are sacrificing self-respect or our social status when we refrain.
"Your father is such an old dear, Derry. He has war bread and milk for lunch, and I carry it to him myself in the pretty old porcelain bowl that he likes so much.
"It was one day when I brought the milk that he spoke of Hilda. "Where is she?"
"I told him that she was still in town, and that you had given her a check which would carry her over a year or two, and he said that he was glad--that he should not like to see her suffer. The porcelain bowl had reminded him of her. She had asked him once what it cost, and after she had found out, she had never used it. She evidently stood quite in awe of anything so expensive.
"Your mother and I are getting to be very good friends, dearest. When I am dreadfully homesick for you, I go and sit on the stairs, and she smiles at me. It is terribly cold in the hall, and I wrap myself up in your fur coat, and it is almost like having your arms around me."
She was surely making the best of things, this little Jean, when she found comfort in being mothered by a painted lady on the stairs, and in being embraced by a fur coat which had once been worn by her husband!
She kept Derry"s tin soldier, which Drusilla had given him, on her desk. "You shall have him when you go to France, but until then he is a good little comrade, and I say; "Good-morning" to him and "Good-night." Yet I sometimes wonder whether he likes it there on the shelf, and whether he is crying, "I want to go to the wars--""
She was very busy every morning in Emily"s room, working on the surgical dressings. She hated it all. She hated the oak.u.m and the gauze, the cotton and the compresses, the pneumonia jackets and the split-irrigation pads, the wipes, the triangulars, the many-tailed and the scultetus. Other women might speak lightly of five-yard rolls as dressing for stumps, of paper-backs "used in the treatment of large suppurating wounds." Jean shivered and turned white at these things.
Her vivid imagination went beyond the little work-room with its white-veiled women to those hospitals back of the battle line where mutilated men lay waiting for the compresses and the wipes and the bandages, men in awful agony--.
But the lesson she was learning was that of harnessing her emotions to the day"s work; and if her world was no longer wonderful in a care-free sense, it was a rather splendid world of unselfishness and self-sacrifice, although she was not conscious of this, but felt it vaguely.
She wore now, most of the time, her nun"s frock of gray, which had seemed to foreshadow something of her future on that glorified day when Derry had first come to her. She had laid away many of her lovely things, and one morning Teddy remarked on the change.
"You don"t dwess up any more."
Nurse stood back of his chair. "Dress--"
"Dur-wess."
"Don"t you like this dress, Teddy?"
"I liked the boo one."
"Blue--"
"Ble-yew, an" the pink one, and all the shiny ones you used to wear at night."
"Blue dresses and pink dresses and shiny dresses cost a lot of money, Teddy, and I shouldn"t have any money left for Thrift Stamps."
Thrift stamps were a language understood by Teddy, as he would not have understood the larger transactions of Liberty Bonds. He and the General held long conversations as to the best means of obtaining a large supply of stamps, and the General having listened to Margaret who wanted the boy to work for his offering, suggested an entrancing plan.
Teddy was to feed the fishes in the dining-room aquarium, he was to feed m.u.f.fin, and he was to feed Polly Ann.
It sounded simple, but there were difficulties. In the first place he had to face Cook, and Cook hated to have children in the kitchen.
"But you"d have to face more than that if you were grown up and in the trenches. And Hodgson is really very kind."
"Well, she doesn"t look kind, Mother."
"Why not?"
"Well, she doesn"t smile, and her face is wed."
"Red, dear."
"Ur-ed--. And when I ask her for milk for Polly, she says "Milk for cats," and when she gets it out, she slams the "frigerator door."
"Refrigerator, dear."
"Rif-iggerator."
But in the main Teddy went to his task valiantly. He conserved bones for m.u.f.fin and left-over corn-meal cakes. Polly Ann dined rather monotonously on fish boiled with war-bread crusts, on the back of Cook"s big range. Hodgson was conscientious and salted it and cooled it, and kept it in a little covered granite pail, and it was from this pail that Teddy ladled stew into Polly Ann"s blue saucer. "Mother says it is very good of you, Hodgson, to take so much trouble."
Hodgson, whose face was redder than ever, as she broiled mushrooms for lunch, grunted, "I"d rather do it than have other people messin"
around."
Teddy surveyed her anxiously. "You don"t mind having me here, do you, Hodgson?"
His cheeks were rosy, his bronze hair bright, his st.u.r.dy legs planted a trifle apart, Polly"s dish in one hand, the big spoon in the other.
"No, I don"t mind," she admitted, but it was some time before she acknowledged even to herself how glad she was when that bright figure appeared.
Feeding the fishes presented few problems, and gradually thrift stamps filled the little book, and there was a war stamp, and more thrift stamps and more war stamps, and m.u.f.fin and Polly Ann waxed fat and friendly, and were a very lion and lamb for lying down together.
Then there came a day when Teddy, feeding the fishes in the aquarium, heard somebody say that Hodgson"s son was in the war.
He went at once to the kitchen. "Why didn"t you tell me?" he asked the cook, standing in front of her where she sat cutting chives and peppers and celery on a little board for salad.
"Tell you what?"
"That your boy was in Fwance."
Hodgson"s red face grew redder, and to Teddy"s consternation, a tear ran down her cheek.