It was more than mirth in one girlish heart--one, at least. It was mounting thanksgiving which often sang itself into a sobbing2 prayer of joy, like the sun-curl upon the swelling3 wave when tumultuously it breaks.
For He had come back.
Lieutenant4 Iver Davenport--without as much hair as Peace Europa, because of the burning effects of mustard gas--slowly recovering from shrapnel-wounds, was back at Camp Evens, where once, in premature5 passion, he had rashly “bawled out” a sergeant6, now, by the fortunes of war, a lieutenant like himself.
His mother and sister had been up to see him. They had sat by his cot in the base hospital, and Sara, knowing the sort of news for which he was thirsting, had told him all the story of their camping summer, making it center chiefly around one leading figure--that of the Torch Bearer, Olive Deering.
She described the waning7 fires of resolution upon the hill of the night-heron, when grit8 had gone glimmering9, and how Olive had gloriously rekindled10 the flame from the glow in her own breast--and by the thought of what Soldier Brothers were enduring over there.
“It was from a letter about her cousin Clay--Clayton Forrest--that she read. He apparently11 did ‘his all’ over there, but came through, as--as did that other cousin of Olive’s, the rich banker’s son, who put in his time working in a shipyard on this side. Atlas12, we nicknamed him because when we first saw him he was apparently holding up--supporting--with his back and shoulders a horribly heavy, raw, yellow ship’s rib--and the World with it.... That’s just how he felt; I know he did.... Never mind; I like him awfully13 well now--ever since I let him take my freak of a dory! Ha! that’s another story.”
So Sara’s tongue ran on, a moved, at times a merry, flame, into the returned soldier’s ear.
“But,”--her voice retreated into the softest twilight14 of conjecturing15 speech--“but I don’t believe Atlas--or any one of her cousins--holds up Olive’s world. Perhaps I ought not to say it....”
She broke off, mistily16, as her eyes met her brother’s, with the homing hunger in them; her brother who had temporarily lost his hair--but not his smile!
“Do you mean--mean to say”--he began, in the old headstrong way. “Ah, well! nothing matters, girlie, except that I’m at home--at home, alive, and can soon see--everybody--for myself. Although I don’t know whether they’ll let me out of here before Christmas, or not. If they do--if I should be discharged from the hospital, and sent to the Casualty Detachment--why, I might get back to you sooner--sooner than I hope for, now.”
“Quite--unexpectedly--perhaps?”
The sister’s heart gave a flying leap.
“Possibly. But don’t look for it! As I say, what does--anything--matter, except that I will be back with you--sooner or later?”
The Flame suddenly bowed her wet cheek on the narrow cot next his; the ring in the last words, the whole world of relief, gave her for the first time an inkling into the soldier’s lot over there; no letter of his had done so.
“While the fight was on, all was Advance--and a heart full of cheers!”
“I--I was always Iver’s best chum--he said so--but I suppose I’ll have to resign myself now to the fact that when he went over the top at Chateau-Thierry and St. Mihiel--four times he led his men over the top, once into that Belleau wheat-field, yellow in the morning, red at night, and again into the meadow where he remembers thinking, before he was shot down, that the clover was sweet, even if he couldn’t smell it for the gas--his real thoughts, when he had any, were more of another girl than of me. Well! I can’t be jealous about that, as I was over the things he left with me! Oh! if he only could be discharged before Christmas--and spend it with us!”
Such was the tenor17 of the sisterly thoughts as the train bore her back to the home city of Clevedon, now daily witnessing the return of officers and men who wore upon their right sleeve the gold stripes telling of service in France--supplemented often and nobly by the added gold which spoke18 of wounds.
“Dear me! I wish they--the doctors up there at Camp Evens--would pronounce him better, turn him over to the Casualty Department; then he’d probably get his discharge right away, and arrive home unexpectedly--perhaps! Oh-h!”
The bliss19 of the latter possibility was the spirit in Sara Davenport’s feet which kept them moving elastically20 from room to room of her father’s suburban21 bungalow22 on the day before Christmas Eve. It was a red-hearted wreath here, a garland there, typifying the matchless thanksgiving of this Christmas in many a heart, to be green while life should last--and the heart have a reminiscent throb23!
It was creaming, frothing, whipping, mixing, and cutting into diamond shapes which borrowed luster24 from the diamond mine of contingent25 expectancy26 within such as had never transfigured cookies before.
For if Iver should possibly arrive, not even the type of fare set before aviators28 on a moonlit beach and jollified by the airy slang of space, was meet for the returning You!
“Those air-scouts would call these coated chocolate bars creamed joy-sticks,” thought Sara, as she reverted29 to candy-making and Camp Fire recipes. “Well! if Iver should be with us, again, on Christmas Day, every mouthful I eat will be a joy-stick--tasteless except for the joy. Oh-h! just suppose he should come to-night while I’m out--attending that Christmas Ceremonial at the Deerings’ home.”
“Maybe I could send him to fetch you,” returned her mother, to whom the latter remark was made aloud. “But, to my mind, there’s hardly a chance of it!... Here’s a box which has just come for you, daughter!”
“Oh, good gracious! it couldn’t be--from--him?”
No! It was a bunch of pearl-white Christmas roses grown in the conservatories30 of Manchester-by-the-Sea.
With it was no accompanying card, but a sheet of creamy, rough-edged, masculine note-paper, on which were a series of rather clever pen-sketches: overalled girls wielding31 rake, hoe, and sprayer upon a sea-girt hill; on the next page, a youth steering32 a blind horse between reefs of lumber33, then with his back bent34 under a ponderous35 ship’s rib--a girl defying him--lastly, that girl upright in a dory that might have escaped from some boat-bedlam, signaling to Coast Guards.
“Atlas knew what would appeal to a Camp Fire Girl, with a taste for primitive36 picture-writing,” murmured the Flame to herself, nursing the starry37 roses, the stars in the eyes above them shining through those gold-tipped lashes38, like a rayed nebula39. “Well, well! I suppose this is a sort of silent tribute to the fact that we all--all--came through the Game with our wings, as an aviator27 would say; that we weren’t grounded in what we set out to do!”
A thought which made the awarding of honors at that Christmas Ceremonial, in the dying days of 1918, a rite40 at once more triumphant41 and touching42 than the bestowal43 of any honor-beads before!
For each khaki-colored bead44 strung upon a leather thong45 testified to the contributing of an individual bit in the hour of Freedom’s main bitt, when it was the anchoring prop46 to which the mainsail of progress, the mainsheet of safety, were made fast.
Yes! and, in a way, the lives over there, too. For many a soldier owed his rations47 and his recovery to the tireless zeal48 of voluntary workers on this side of the water.
Who knows but Lieutenant Iver did, as, an hour later, when the spirit of the Ceremonial meeting had turned to Christmas merrymaking, his fingers, long and thin, wielded49 the colonial knocker and rang the bell of the Deering mansion50 on Nobility Hill--as certain annals of the city were proud to call it.
“Oh-h! I nev-er could come in, sis.... Such a scarecrow I am--without as much hair as--as that Peace Babe you were telling me about!”
“She! Why! she has a perfect shock now--little Peace Europa! She--she’s growing, at all points, like her name!” It was his sister’s voice, merry, tender--tearfully moved--as she ran down-stairs to meet him. “So--so you were discharged sooner than you expected, Iver.”
“Yes. Got my marching orders from the Casualty Detachment only a few hours ago. Didn’t even wait to telephone! Come to fetch you home--sis!... Why-y! Olive.”
Somehow, as she watched that meeting between the Torch Bearer and the gaunt soldier from over-seas, Sara Davenport, regardless of an onlooking51 butler, turned aside in the great lighted hall, and hid her wet eyes in the crook52 of her arm from which the soft leather fringes fell back--just as she had done by the bungalow on the wild sea-beach, after the exciting capture of a spy, when she yearned53 that Peace might come again.
She was a forked Flame now, as then, cleft54 by dividing emotions.
For it was evident by the wonderful color on Olive’s cheek, by the joy-brand in her eyes, who--who was the prop that held up her world--her maidenly55 castles in the air. And it was not Atlas, nor any one of her cousins, fine as might be their war-score!
But not even Sister Sara, only the December breeze fluttering about the brownstone mansion on the hill, heard what passed, yet a little while later, between a very tall, very thin officer, assiduously cultivating a baby crop of new hair, and a dark-eyed girl, upon a balcony of the Deering home, whither maidens56 in ceremonial dress had flocked to hear far, sweet echoes of Community singing--after the said soldier had been beguiled57 up-stairs on the plea that he might keep his trench-cap on.
And the said breeze actually halted, cornered by the new mischief--the shy, glad mischief--in Olive’s tones which had hitherto been more on the meditative58 order.
“I wonder”--murmured the Torch Bearer--“I wonder, now, if I’m the very first Camp Fire Girl to--to be proposed to--that’s what it means, doesn’t it--in head-band and moccasins--ceremonial dress,” shyly.
“But, oh--oh, good gracious! Olive, I oughtn’t; not--not until after I had s-spoken to your father! What will he say?”
The youthful lieutenant’s courage was more flustered59 than when he led his men over the top into that French clover-meadow where a glance told him that the blossoms were sweet even if he couldn’t smell them through his gas-mask--and for noxious60 cloud.
“My father! I don’t know what he will say. But--but I rather imagine it will be the same thing he said--when--he saw you hold out your blistered61 hand--to a private--after you had been so badly burned by that--stray--powder-puff.”
“And what was that?”
“Onward--Christian--Soldier!”
whispered Olive very softly.
The End
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1
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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5
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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7
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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9
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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10
rekindled
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| v.使再燃( rekindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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12
atlas
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| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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13
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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14
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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15
conjecturing
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| v. & n. 推测，臆测 | |
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16
mistily
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| adv.有雾地，朦胧地，不清楚地 | |
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17
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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18
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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19
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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20
elastically
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| adv.有弹性地，伸缩自如地 | |
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21
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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22
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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23
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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24
luster
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| n.光辉；光泽，光亮；荣誉 | |
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25
contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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26
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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27
aviator
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| n.飞行家，飞行员 | |
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aviators
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| 飞机驾驶员，飞行员( aviator的名词复数 ) | |
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29
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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30
conservatories
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| n.（培植植物的）温室，暖房( conservatory的名词复数 ) | |
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31
wielding
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的现在分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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32
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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33
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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34
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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35
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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36
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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37
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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38
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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39
nebula
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| n.星云，喷雾剂 | |
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40
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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41
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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42
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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43
bestowal
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| 赠与，给与； 贮存 | |
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44
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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45
thong
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| n.皮带；皮鞭；v.装皮带 | |
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46
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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47
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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48
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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49
wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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50
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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51
onlooking
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| n.目击，旁观adj.旁观的 | |
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52
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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53
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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55
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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56
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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57
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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58
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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59
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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60
noxious
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| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
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61
blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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