When Larry went to take farewell of the Wakehams he found Rowena with Hugo Raeder in the drawing-room.
"You are glad to leave us," said Rowena, in a tone of reproach.
"No," said Larry, "sorry. You have been too good to me.""You are glad to go to war?"
"No; I hate the war. I am not a soldier, but, thank God, I see my duty, and I am going to have a go at it.""Right you are," said Hugo. "What else could any man do when his country is at war?""But I hate to go," said Larry, "and I hate this business of saying good-bye. You have all been so good to me.""It was easy," said Rowena. "Do you know I was on the way to fall in love with you? Hugo here and Jane saved me. Oh, I mean it,"she added, flushing as she laughed.
"Jane!" exclaimed Larry.
"Yes, Jane. Oh, you men are so stupid," said Rowena. "And Hugo helped me out, too," she added, with a shy glance at him.
Larry looked from one to the other, then rushed to Hugo. "Oh, you lucky beggar! You two lucky beggars! Oh, joy, glory, triumph!
Could anything be finer in the wide world?" cried Larry, giving a hand to each.
"And, Larry, don't be a fool," said Rowena. "Try to understand your dear, foolish heart, and don't break your own or any one's else."Larry gazed at her in astonishment and then at Hugo, who nodded wisely at him.
"She is quite right, Larry. I want to see that young lady Jane.
She must be quite unique. I owe her something.""Good-bye, then," said Larry. "I have already seen your mother.
Good-bye, you dear things. God give you everything good. He has already given you almost the best.""Good-bye, you dear boy," said Rowena. "I have wanted to kiss you many a time, but didn't dare. But now--you are going to the war"--there was a little break in her voice--"where men die. Good-bye, Larry, dear boy, good-bye." She put her arms about him. "And don't keep Jane waiting," she whispered in his ear.
"If I were a German, Larry," said Hugo, giving him both hands, "Iwould kiss you too, old boy, but being plain American, I can only say good luck. God bless you.""You will find Elfie in her room," said Rowena. "She refuses to say good-bye where any one can see her. She is not going to weep.
Soldiers' women do not weep, she says. Poor kid!"Larry found Elfie in her room, with high lights as of fever on her cheeks and eyes glittering.
"I am not going to cry," she said between her teeth. "You need not be afraid, Larry. I am going to be like the Canadian women."Larry took the child in his arms, every muscle and every nerve in her slight body taut as a fiddle-string. He smoothed her hair gently and began to talk quietly with her.
"What good times we have had!" he said. "I remember well the very first night I saw you. Do you?""Oh," she breathed, "don't speak of it, or I can't hold in.""Elfie," said Larry, "our Canadian women when they are seeing their men off at the station do not cry; they smile and wave their hands.
That is, many of them do. But in their own rooms, like this, they cry as much as they like.""Oh, Larry, Larry," cried the child, flinging herself upon him.
"Let me cry, then. I can't hold in any longer.""Neither can I, little girl. See, Elfie, there is no use trying not to, and I am not ashamed of it, either," said Larry.
The pent-up emotion broke forth in a storm of sobbing and tears that shook the slight body as the tempest shakes the sapling.
Larry, holding her in his arms, talked to her about the good days they had had together.
"And isn't it fine to think that we have those forever, and, whenever we want to, we can bring them back again? And I want you to remember, Elfie, that when I was very lonely and homesick here you were the one that helped me most.""And you, Larry, oh, what you did for me!" said the child. "I was so sick and miserable and bad and cross and hateful.""That was just because you were not fit," said Larry. "But now you are fit and fine and strong and patient, and you will always be so.
Remember it is a soldier's duty to keep fit." Elfie nodded. "And I want you to send me socks and a lot of things when I get over there. I shall write you all about it, and you will write me.
Won't you?" Again Elfie nodded.
"I am glad you let me cry," she said. "I was so hot and sore here," and she laid her hands upon her throat. "And I am glad you cried too, Larry; and I won't cry before people, you know.""That is right. There are going to be too many sad people about for us to go crying and making them feel worse," said Larry.
"But I will say good-bye here, Larry. I could go to the train, but then I might not quite smile."But when the train pulled out that night the last face that Larry saw of all his warm-hearted American friends was that of the little girl, who stood alone at the end of the platform, waving both her hands wildly over her head, her pale face effulgent with a glorious smile, through which the tears ran unheeded down her cheeks like rain on a sunny day. And on Larry's face, as he turned away, there was the same gleam of sunshine and of rain.
