CHAPTER XII
AUNT ABELARD
Of course nothing just like this ever happened save in a fairystory--or in real life. The paper without address, but meant only forRuth Fielding, had fallen from the aeroplane. She had seen it fall ather feet and could not be mistaken.
Who the two men in the French Nieuport were she could not know. Maskedand hooded as they were, she could distinguish the features of neitherthe pilot nor the man who had dropped the paper bomb. But--she wassure of this--they were somehow in communication with Tom Cameron.
And Tom Cameron was supposed to have gone across the lines to theGermans, or--as Ruth believed--had been captured by them. Yet, if hewas a captive, how had he been able to send her this message?
Again, how did he know she was worried about him? He must have reasonto suspect that a story was being circulated regarding hisunfaithfulness.
Who were those two flying men? Were they German spies? Had Tom been aprisoner in the hands of the Huns, would spies have brought this wordfrom him to her?
And how--and how--and how----?
Her queries and surmises were utterly unanswerable. She turned the bitof paper over and over in her fingers. She could not be mistaken aboutTom's handwriting. He had penciled those words.
It was true, any friend of Tom's who knew his handwriting and mighthave picked up the loaded paper bomb, would have considered the writtenline a personal message.
"Don't believe everything you hear."
But, then, what friends had Tom in this sector of the battle front savehis military associates and Ruth Fielding? The girl never for onemoment considered that the written line might have been meant foranybody but herself.
And she did with it the very wisest thing she could have done. Shetore the paper into the tiniest of bits, and, as she continued her walkto the Dupay farm, she dribbled the scraps along the grassy road.
She began to have a faint and misty idea of what it all meant--Tom'sdisappearance, the general belief among his comrades that he was atraitor, and this communication which had reached her hands inseemingly so wonderful a manner.
Tom Cameron had been selected for some dangerous and secret mission.It might have occasioned his entrance through the enemy's lines. Hewas on secret service beyond the great bombarding German guns!
If this was so he was in extreme peril! But he was doing his duty!
Ruth's heart throbbed to the thought--to _both_ thoughts! Hisdangerous work was not done yet. But it was very evident that he hadmeans of knowing what went on upon this side of the line of battle.
The men recently flying over her head in the French air machine must becomrades of Tom's in the secret mission which had carried that youngfellow into the enemy's country. The message she had received might beonly one of several the flying men had dropped about Clair, and at therequest of Tom Cameron, the latter hoping that at least one of themwould reach Ruth's hands.
The girl knew that American and French flying men often carriedcommunications addressed to the German people into Germany, and droppedthem in similar "bombs." One of the President's addresses had beencirculated through a part of Germany and Austria by this means.
She had a feeling, too, that the man who had thrown the message to herknew her. But Ruth could not imagine who he was. She might havebelieved it to be Tom Cameron himself; only she knew very well that Tomhad not joined the air service.
The incident, however, heartened her. Whatever Tom was doing--nomatter how perilous his situation--he had thought of her. She had anidea that the message had been written within a few hours.
She went on more cheerfully toward the Dupay farm. She arrived amidsta clamor of children and fowls, to find the adult members of the familygathered in the big living-room of the farmhouse instead of occupied,as usual, about the indoor and outdoor work. For the Dupays were nosluggards.
"Oh, Mademoiselle Ruth!" cried Henriette, and ran to meet her. TheFrench girl's plump cheeks were tear-streaked and Ruth instantly sawthat not only the girl but the whole family was much disturbed.
"What has happened?" the American girl asked.
In these days of war almost any imaginable thing might happen.
"It is poor old Aunt Abelard!" Henriette exclaimed in her own tongue."She must remove from her old home at Nacon."
Ruth knew that the place was a little village (and villages can besmall, indeed, in France) between Clair and the field hospital whereshe had herself been for a week, but on another road than that by whichshe had traveled.
"It is too near the battle line," she said to Henriette. "Don't youthink she should have moved long ago?"
"But the Germans left it intact," Henriette declared. "She is verycomfortable there. She does not wish to leave. Oh, Mademoiselle Ruth!could you not speak to some of your gr-r-reat, gr-r-reat, braveAmerican officers and have it stopped?"
"Have _what_ stopped?" cried Ruth in amazement.
"Aunt Abelard's removal."
"Are the Americans making her leave her home?"
"It is so!" Henriette declared.
"It is undoubtedly necessary then," returned Ruth gently.
"It is not understood. If she could remain there throughout the Germaninvasion, and was undisturbed by our own army, why should theseAmericans plague her?"
Henriette spoke with some heat, and Ruth saw that her mother and thegrandmother were listening. Their faces did not express their usualcheerful welcome with which Ruth had become familiar. Aunt Abelard'strouble made a difference in their feeling toward the Americans, thatwas plain.
Nor was this to be wondered at. The French farmer is as deeply rootedin his soil as the great trees of the French forests. That is whytheir treatment by the German invader and the ruin of their farms havebeen so great a cross for them to shoulder.
Ruth learned that Aunt Abelard--an aunt of Farmer Dupay, and awidow--had lived upon her little place since her marriage over half acentury before. Without her little garden and her small fields, andher cow and pig and chickens, she would scarcely know how to live. Andto be uprooted and carried to some other place! It was unthinkable!
"It is fierce!" said Henriette in good American, having learned thatmuch from Charlie Bragg.
"I am sure there must be good reason for it," Ruth said. "I willinquire. If there is any possibility of her remaining without being indanger----"
"What danger?" demanded Madame Dupay, clicking her tongue. "Do thesecountrymen of yours intend to let the Boches overrun our country again?_Our_ poilus drove them back and kept them back."
Ruth saw she could say nothing to appease the rising wrath of thefamily. She was rather sorry she had chanced to come upon this day ofill-tidings.
"Of course she will come here?" she asked Henriette.
"Where else can she go?"
"Will your father go after her in the automobile?"
"What?" gasped Henriette. "That is of the devil's concoction, sothinks poor Aunt Abelard. She will not ride in it. And my father isbusy. Let the Yankees bring her--and her goods--if they desire toremove her from her own abode."
Ruth could say nothing to soothe either her little friend nor the othermembers of the family. They could not understand why Aunt Abelard mustbe removed from her place; nor did Ruth understand.
She was convinced, however, that there must be something of importanceafoot in this sector, and that Aunt Abelard's removal from her littlecottage was a necessity. The American troops in France were notdeliberately making enemies among the farming people.
Henriette walked for some distance toward the hospital when Ruth wentback; but the French girl was gloomy and had little to say to herAmerican friend.
When Ruth reached the hospital and was ascending to her cell at theback, the matron came hurrying through the corridor to meet her. Shewas plainly excited.
"Mademoiselle Fielding!" she cried. "You have a visitor. In theoffice. Go to him at once, my dear. It is Monsieur Lafrane."