“Can’t You Guess at Least Something of My Reason?”
CAMP FIRE GIRLS
Author of “The Ranch Girls” Series, “The Red
Cross Girls” Series, etc.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
Copyright 1919, by
The John C. Winston Company
- CHAPTER PAGE
- I. A March Day 7
- II. The Château Yvonne 20
- III. The Retreat 31
- IV. The Road to Paris 47
- V. Armistice Day in Paris 57
- VI. Versailles 71
- VII. Next Morning 83
- VIII. A Home in Versailles 96
- IX. The Dinner Party 111
- X. Plans and Purposes 125
- XI. A Day in Paris 139
- XII. Peace 159
- XIII. A Pilgrimage 172
- XIV. Foundation Stones 184
- XV. An Intimate Conversation 197
- XVI. Another Afternoon 216
- XVII. An Unexpected Intrusion 229
- XVIII. One Afternoon 241
- XIX. L’Envoi to Glorious France 253
- “Can’t You Guess at Least Something of My Reason?” Frontispiece
- “It Was Impossible to Climb the Wall” 81
- “They Were Both too Angry to Pay the Slightest Attention to Her!” 165
- “She Was Able to Talk and Tell Me What She Had Endured“ 227
The Camp Fire Girls in
A March Day
One afternoon in March, the windows of an old French farmhouse stood open, the curtains blowing in the breeze like white flags of truce, while from indoors came the murmur of a number of voices, girls’ voices, gay and animated and speaking in English, not French.
The next moment there was a brief silence; afterwards one of them began singing, with an odd foreign accent, a song strange to hear in this French countryside, the song of an American camp fire:
“The fire of our camp is burning,
Sing sweet, sing low, sing far,
From the long, long trail returning
Led by the evening star.
“Bright is our fireside’s glowing,
Sing sweet, sing low, sing high,
Fragrant the wind now blowing
Over the fields nearby.
“Pleasant shall be our resting,
Sing sweet, sing low, sing clear,
Others life’s storms are breasting,
Ours is the home fire dear.
“Yet what is the night wind sighing?
Sing sweet, sing low, sing true,
The ill, the hungry and dying,
Are they not calling you?
“Back over the long trail moving,
Sing sweet, sing low, sing wide,
Following the law of loving,
France, we come to thy side!”
A murmur of applause, and then a group of girls in Camp Fire costumes stepped out of the house and into the front yard. The March afternoon was unusually warm with a flood of pale sunshine covering the landscape, the sky was a delicate blue, the clouds changing into fantastic shapes. Beyond, the open country was showing little patches of green in the upturned fields; on the branches of a few newly planted fruit trees were tiny buds.
“I want to congratulate you, Bettina, on your original Camp Fire song,” one of the girls declared. She had dark hair with red lights in it, a slightly tanned skin, a little slender