For a moment Peggy Webster made no reply.

The entire countryside through which they were passing lay between the
line of the German advance into France at the beginning of the war and
the famous Hindenburg line to which the Boches were forced back. The
Germans had so devastated the French villages and country, it was as if
the plague of the world had swept across them. The valley had also
suffered the bombardment of the enemy and the returning fire from their
own guns.

Yet on this winter day the sun was shining brilliantly on the uptorn
earth, which once had been so fair, while in a bit of broken shell not
far from the road an indomitable sparrow had builded her nest.

There were no shrubs and the trees were gaunt scarred trunks, without
branches or leaves, reminding one of an ancient gloomy picture in the
old-time family Bible, known as "Dry Bones in the Valley."

"Well, even the French country does not make me sorrowful, not just at
present," Peggy replied. "If only the enemy can be forced further back
next spring when the expected drive takes place, what a wonderful
opportunity for us to be allowed to continue to help with the
restoration of the French country. I do not believe many years will be
required before the land will be lovely and fruitful again. But then you
know I am a tiresome practical person. You don't suppose by any chance
this portion of France will ever be destroyed by the enemy a second
time? Yes, I know even such a suggestion sounds like disloyalty and I do
not of course believe such a tragedy could occur. Just think, Vera, what
only a handful of American women have accomplished here in the Aisne
valley! Ten American women have had charge of the rehabilitation of
twenty-seven villages and with the aid of the soldiers during their
leaves of absence from the trenches have placed five thousand acres of
land under cultivation. I hope we make a success of our work, Vera, yet
whatever the future holds, we must stick to our posts."

The two Camp Fire girls were walking ankle deep in the winter mud. Where
the roads had been cut into furrows by the passing of heavy artillery,
miniature streams of melted snow ran winding in and out like the
branches of a river. Now and then a gulley across the road would be so
deep and wide that one had to make a flying leap to cross safely.

About a quarter of a mile away the Aisne watered the countryside and the
towns. Not far off was the classic old town of Rheims