tries to help in a
spirit of patronage; as for myself, each day I pray for a fresh gift of
tact."

Vera started forward.

"Come with me, Peggy, I think I can persuade the two old people to
realize we only wish to be helpful. You see, my own people were Russian
peasants and there ought to be a bond of sympathy between us. It is true
the French earned their liberty over a century ago, while our liberty
yet hangs in the balance, now that German autocracy is trying to replace
the Russian. I believe I am a better carpenter than these old people; if
they are friendly I intend to ask them to allow me to return to assist
them with their work tomorrow."

Afterwards for ten or fifteen minutes the two girls remained talking
happily with their new acquaintances.

Like many other Americans, both Vera and Peggy had firm faith in their
knowledge of the French language until their arrival in France.
Assuredly they could understand each other perfectly as well as other
Americans and English friends who spoke French slowly and deliberately.
But unfortunately the French folk apparently speak with greater rapidity
than any other nation on the face of the earth and with a wealth of
idioms and unexpected intonations, leaving the foreigner who has never
lived in France floundering hopelessly in pursuit of their meaning.

In contrast with their other new French acquaintances the two American
girls now found the old peasant and his wife a real satisfaction. Their
vocabularies were not large and they spoke in a halting, simple fashion
not difficult to translate.

Their story was not unlike the story of thousands of other families in
the stricken regions of France. During the period of victory the Germans
had been quartered in the nearby village, but as the village was not
large and the soldiers were numerous, a few of them had been sent to
live with the small peasant farmers not far from the town. They were
ordered not only to live upon them, but also to secure whatever
livestock they owned, or whatever food of value.

Pere and Mere Michet had possessed a daughter and a son-in-law. The son
they thought still alive and fighting for France. Their daughter,
Marguerite Michet, had disappeared.

"La petite Marguerite, she has never been herself since her mother was
taken," Mere Michet explained. "I tell her always _la bonne mere_
will return, but she is afraid of strangers; you will pardon her?"

When at last the girls had been permitted