That was how matters stood that January night when Sara Lee went

upstairs after Harvey had gone and read Mabel's letter, with Harvey's

photograph turned to the wall. Under her calm exterior a little flame

of rebellion was burning in her. Harvey's perpetual "we," his attitude

toward the war, and Mabel's letter, with what it opened before her, had

set the match to something in Sara Lee she did not recognize--a strain

of the adventurer, a throw-back to some wandering ancestor perhaps. But

more than anything it had set fire to the something maternal that is in

all good women.

Yet, had Aunt Harriet not come in just then, the flame might have died.

And had it died a certain small page of the history of this war would

never have been written.

Aunt Harriet came in hesitatingly. She wore a black wrapper, and her

face, with her hair drawn back for the night, looked tight and old.

"Harvey gone?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I thought I'd better come in. There's something--I can tell you in

the morning if you're tired."

"I'm not tired," said Sara Lee.

Aunt Harriet sat down miserably on a chair.

"I've had a letter from Jennie," she stated. "The girl's gone, and the

children have whooping cough. She'd like me to come right away."

"To do the maid's work!" said Sara Lee indignantly. "You mustn't do it,

that's all! She can get somebody."

But Aunt Harriet was firm. She was not a fair-weather friend, and since

Jennie was good enough to offer her a home she felt she ought to go at

once.

"You'll have to get married right away," she finished. "Goodness knows

it's time enough! For two years Harvey has been barking like a watchdog

in front of the house and keeping every other young man away."

Sara Lee smiled.

"He's only been lying on the doormat, Aunt Harriet," she observed. "I

don't believe he knows how to bark."

"Oh, he's mild enough. He may change after marriage. Some do. But,"

she added hastily, "he'll be a good husband. He's that sort."

Suddenly something that had been taking shape in Sara Lee's small head,

quite unknown to her, developed identity and speech.

"But I'm not going to marry him just yet," she said.

Aunt Harriet's eyes fell on the photograph with its face to the wall,

and she started.

"You haven't quarreled with him, have you?"

"No, of course not! I have something else I want to do first. That's

all. Aunt Harriet, I want to go to France."




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