The rain beat on the windows and
made even the reluctant fire seem cosy. Some one had had a box of
candy sent from home. It was brought out and presented with a
flourish.
"It is frightful, this life in the trenches!" said the young officer
who passed it about.
Shortly afterward the party was increased. An orderly came in and
announced that an Englishwoman, whose automobile had broken down, was
standing on the bridge over the canal and asked to be admitted. She
did not know the password and the sentry refused to let her pass by.
One of the officers went out and returned in a few moments with a
small lady much wrapped in veils and extremely wet. She stood blinking
in the doorway in the accustomed light. She was recognised at once as
a well-known English novelist who is conducting a soup kitchen at a
railroad station three miles behind the Belgian front.
"A car was to have picked me up," she said, "but I have walked and
walked and it has not come. And I am so cold. Is that tea? And may I
come to the fire?"
So they settled her comfortably, with her feet thrust out to the
blaze, and gave her hot tea and plenty of bread and butter.
"It is like the Mad Hatter's tea party in Alice in Wonderland," said
one of the officers gaily. "When any fresh person drops in we just
move up one place.
Pages:
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263