World War, 1914-1918 -- United States -- Juvenile fiction; Young women -- Societies and clubs -- Juvenile fiction
“No, Mees, I ain’t lovin’ mit Krisht. I make nothings mit Him.” The
man’s tone was surly, although he shrugged his shoulders carelessly.
“I beg your pardon,” cried Nathalie with reddening cheeks. And then, as
if to recover lost ground. “But you believe in God, _your_ God, _the
God_ who brought the Israelites dry-shod over the Red Sea? And did _He_
not command you to fight and drive out the enemies of God, the heathen,
who did not serve him, and who were in the Promised Land? And is not the
Kaiser a Hun, a heathen, when he tortures and kills little children and
women? Yes,” continued Blue Robin, impelled by some indefinable feeling
to rush blindly on, “this is _God’s_ war. He has commanded us to fight,
to do away with tyranny and oppression. They must be overcome, so that
all the world shall have liberty, and then,—why then we shall have
peace, a peace that the Germans can’t destroy.” And then Nathalie
smiled, although her heart was leaping in great bounds at her sudden
boldness. But another thought had come, and, turning towards her
companion, for she had turned to leave him, she added smilingly, “And I
am sure that you are big-hearted enough to be willing to fight, so that
you can give to others the liberty that gives so much happiness to you.”
The man’s eyes had brightened with a sudden strange light, and he opened
his mouth to reply, but Nathalie had passed on, angry at herself for
being so outspoken. But O dear! she felt so sorry for those poor
ignorant people, who thought and did violent things just because they
couldn’t reason, and didn’t understand.
But she had reached the Love booth, the name given by the girls to the
tent where the comfort-kits were sold. By a pile on a seat in the rear
she knew that business had been brisk, and that people had not only
donated kits and then bought them back again, but had patriotically
returned them to the sellers, so that they could be given to the
soldier-boys.
Blue Robin stood a moment and watched the girls, who, busy as bees, were
selling their wares, as they chatted merrily over their sales, and then
she turned to cross the lawn to the Red Cross booth. She had not gone
more than a step or so, however, when a sudden clang of the liberty bell
brought her to a halt. Oh, some one had bought a Liberty bond; yes,
three bonds, for the three clangs of the bell announced the number sold.
Oh, it was still ringing! What did it mean?
She started to rush towards the booth where the bonds were being sold,
and then glanced back at the booth she had just left, to see that the
girls, in their eagerness to know who was buying so many bonds,—for the
bell was still clanging,—had dropped their work and were rushing in
frantic haste towards the booth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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