The Boy Scouts in Front of Warsaw

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He paused and once more pressed a hand carefully on the red stain
across his fair hair.

"Oh, you must forgive me for talking so, dad, but I'm pretty sore.
Little Elinor --" He turned sharply, and hurried away to Ivan. The
three boys hurried down the steep stairs and disappeared. Professor
Morris for a moment, a long, dazed moment, stood looking blankly at the
dark doorway through which his son had disappeared. Then he sank
weakly down on a bench.

As a boy and as a man, he had been noted for his ability to memorize
remarks.

In college the worst of the lectures, no matter how dry, had been all
imprinted on his mind. Now as he sat thinking, he could fairly see his
son's accusing words like large print before his eyes.

For once in his life Benjamin Morris had heard the plain truth from the
lips of his favorite son. Yet he did not realize the seriousness of
his son's charge. He had heard the words, but their real meaning did
not seem to pierce his brain, so filled with knowledge that there was
no room there for any interest in the living, or any thought that the
present, the passing moment in which we make our little life history,
is more precious to each of us then the great moments of the past, no
matter how filled they may be with heroic figures.

Benjamin Morris had been long years ago an infant Prodigy. Perhaps you
fellows who read this have never known one; and if so, you are lucky.
An infant Prodigy shows an unnatural amount of intelligence at a very
early age. So far it is all right; and if he belongs to a sensible
family, he is urged into athletics, and sleeps out of door and manages
to grow up so he will pass in a crowd. But sometimes there are proud
parents who read too many books on how to train a child, and pay too
little attention to the child himself; and there are aunts, perhaps, as
well; and they all take the poor little genius and proceed to train him
all out of shape. He rattles off all sorts of pieces, Horatio at the
Bridge, and Casabianca, and Anthony's Oration Over Caesar, are easy as
pancakes and syrup to him. Then he skips whole grades in school and
plows through college like a mole under a rose bush, enjoying himself
immensely, no doubt, down there in the dark, but missing all the
benefit of the light and air and sunshine. So the infant Prodigy gets
to be a grown Prodigy, and presently an old Prodigy, never once
suspecting that knowledge, hurtfully taken and wrongfully used, can be
almost as great a sin as ignorance.

Certainly Professor Morris, whose sins of learning were heavy ones and
bore cruelly on those who loved him in spite of his strange ways, would
never have believed any of this. At home, as a boy, when Benny
studied, the house was kept so still that incautious mice sometimes
came out of their holes and nibbled in broad daylight. At college his
queerness, forgetfulness and oddity was excused because of his
wonderful recitations and amazing marks. You just couldn't rag a
fellow who made one hundred right along. When he married, he found a
lovely, gentle girl, who believed him the greatest of all men and held
his position as Professor of Ancient History in Princeton as the
highest of all earthly positions. But when Elinor was a year old, the
little wife died, quite worn out from looking after Professor Benjamin
Mollingfort Morris, who had proved to be her most helpless and
troublesome child.

Mrs. Morris died warning her older children to look out for the father,
and so passed her burden on to them. But some way or other, there was
different stuff in the children. They did look after their father, and
took good care of the old Prodigy, but the task did not wear them out.
Young Jack was indeed so bright that it rather worried Evelyn and
Warren, who were always on the alert to overcome any symptoms of genius
in themselves or the other children; but owing to their caution, he
seemed to be developing well. And Professor Morris, blind to it all,
forever digging in the dust of ages, knew nothing of the fact that he
was the father of four wonderful children who were successfully
carrying on the difficult business of growing up, managing a house,
taking care of a parent, and looking after money matters as well.

Warren was the soul of honor. He hated school, but went without a
skip, because it was right. And that's a hard thing to do. He looked
clean, and was clean, and thought clean. And that's hard, too.

Professor Morris, sitting in his study feverishly seeking facts
concerning the table manners of Noah's second cousin twice removed, was
deaf and dumb and blind. Yet when he occasionally "came up for air" as
Warren put it, the children thought him the finest and funniest and
kindest of fathers. It was at one of these times that he came home
with the news that he had been given a vacation for three years with
full pay. This was to make it possible for him to go to Warsaw, and
write an account of some parts of the city's history of which rather
little was known.

Warren and Evelyn, who had read "Thaddeus of Warsaw" were wild with
delight. It was a glorious journey and, on shipboard at least, it was
easy to keep track of the Professor, who had found a very learned
Englishman who disagreed with him on every known point. The two old
men hurried to find each other each morning, and were dragged apart at
night; and the children had time to enjoy the voyage and make many
friends. In Warsaw, which they reached safely, they took a house near
the magnificent Casimr Palace which now houses the University.
Professor Morris did find time to secure fine teachers for the
children, and reliable servants for the house. Warren, who always
boiled with activity, soon made scores of pals, and immediately
introduced the Boy Scouts to Poland.

The young Polish and Russian boys took up the work with the greatest
enthusiasm, and time slipped happily away, until war swept the
continent. Professor Morris refused to believe in its nearness until
it was too late to escape, and they were forced to remain until the day
when Warsaw fell. Now Warsaw, beautiful and proud, Warsaw the
brilliant lay in ruins. Professor Morris, sitting humped over on the
rude bench, thought of the wonderful chance that had brought him were
history, tragic and important, was being made. He did not worry
greatly over the disappearance of Elinor. He remembered several times
in Princeton when she had disappeared. Once they found her under a
bed. He wondered whether anyone had looked under the beds in the
forsaken house. The terrible idea that his baby girl might be actually
lost in the terrible disaster of Warsaw's defeat never once occurred to
him. He was annoyed a little at the disturbance she had caused, and
resolved to speak very severely to her.

He determined also to reprove Warren for his words; but reflecting on
the terrors and excitement and peril of the past hours, he decided to
treat it as a little boyish impatience, and overlook the whole thing.

As for his going back to find Elinor, he supposed it would really be a
waste of time. Warren would be perfectly able to find her; so he
pushed the bench against the wall, snapped a pad from his pocket, was
soon lost in pages and pages of notes on the events of the week.

But down in the clothes room while Ivan hastily took off his rich
garments and fitted himself with rough work clothes from the shelves,
Warren Morris walked the floor and groaned.

"Don't' take it like that, Warren," said Ivan, pausing to place a
sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder.

"It is awful!" groaned Warren. "She is so little, and so easily
frightened. I believe it will kill her."

"No, it won't," said Ivan. "There is no coward's blood in Elinor.
Wherever she is, she will know we will find her sooner or later. She
will be looking out for us every minute. And no one will hurt her.
You know people don't take the trouble to drag children off just to
kill them. If the three I saw took those girls, they will be careful
enough of them, you may be sure. I would rather have them there than
with soldiers. The only thing I am hoping is that we can trace them
before they leave the city. But I don't believe anyone, even with the
best credentials, can get away for the next few days."

"If we had anything for a clue," said Warren. "Can't you even remember
what they looked like?"

"Not particularly," said Ivan regretfully. "I would know them if I
should see them again. One of the men had a very peculiar walk, but I
couldn't describe it to you. It wasn't a limp; just a queer way of
using his feet. I don't know whether I would know the woman or not.
She looked like hundreds of the sort I have seen down in the open
markets, some of them looking a little more so and some less."

"How more so?" asked Warren.

"Why, perhaps fatter, or thinner, or dirtier, but all lawless and no
account.
I tell you, Warren," he said earnestly, "when I get to be a man, if
our house is still in power then, I shall spend my time cleaning up the
streets and people of Warsaw. Those old holes and rookeries down by
the river, and the streets leading to the wharves have got to be
cleaned out or wiped out."

"Better not let my father hear you," said Warren. "He would tell you
that all that section is historic, and therefore valuable."

"Perhaps it has been," said Ivan. "But we can always refer to your
father's great book on Warsaw, and what the world needs now is light
and space and air."

"Well," sighed Warren, "perhaps the book will help some college grind,
but if he had let the old thing slide, he would never have lost my
sister."

"I do think that we ought to look at it a little from your father's
standpoint," said Ivan gently. "You know the children were in the
house and the door shut. They were playing contentedly, and he thought
it would only take a minute to go upstairs and get the parcel. No
doubt he was a good deal longer than he thought he would be, but he
thought everything was as safe as it could be. I think we would have
done the same thing. Be fair, Warren. Don't you think so?"

"I suppose so," said Warren. "Only now it seems as though it was not
safe to leave them a second."

"That's how it has come out," said Ivan, buttoning his blouse, "but
that's just the sort of thing no one could foresee. One thing seems
certain, if we find them near, or in the house, well and good. If they
are not around there somewhere, I believe Evelyn has solved the thing.
It doesn't seem possible, though, that anyone could have opened the
door, and walked in, and dragged the children right in the house,
without the least sound of disturbance reaching your father upstairs.
Myself, I don't believe the door was close latched, and it may be the
children went out themselves. If they did we will find them soon."

"Elinor has been told a million times never to leave the house," said
Warren hopefully.

"And you know she minds," said Ivan. "I think we will find them all
right, and Evelyn just imagines things. The woman probably meant just
what she said. She doubtless had candles from some church, and clothes
and food in the bags. She had enough to last some time, judging from
the size and weight."

"I hope so, anyway," said Warren. "Are you nearly ready? If we could
only run for it!"

"We can't," said Ivan. "The moment they see you run, you are in danger
of being shot down. It won't take long, even if we do have to go
slowly."

"Well, let's make a start, if you are ready," said Warren restlessly.

They opened the door and found Evelyn waiting for them. She looked
pale and weak, but greeted them quietly.

"Don't be any longer than you can, will you, boys?" she begged. "If
she is hurt one of you stay with her, and the other come for me. Don't
try to bring her here."

"They won't be hurt," said Warren courageously. "But we won't bring
them here at all. We will stay with them, one of us, and come back to
tell you. You know they will be together."

"How wicked I am!" said Evelyn. "I forgot little Rika. She has been
with us so short a time. I am so thankful she is with Elinor. They
will not be so badly frightened."

"Of course not," said Warren. "You go to father, Evvy. We will come
soon."

Chapter III

In Warsaw's By-ways

On the day of Warsaw's downfall, a little girl, perhaps three years of
age, wandered to the door of the comfortable old house where the
Morrises lived. She was dressed with the greatest richness. She was
unable to tell her name, or indeed give the slightest clue to her home
or family. Ivan and the servants declared her a child of the nobility,
but were unable to gain any information from her broken baby talk. She
played contentedly with Elinor all day, and at night when she was
prepared for bed, they found secreted under her dress jewels fit for a
king. Chains of diamonds and rubies encircled her baby neck, and rings
of the greatest value were sewed to her garments, while great brooches
were pinned in rows on her little skirts. Professor Morris, after
pronouncing the collection worth a couple of hundred thousand dollars,
stuffed the lot in a couple of his coat pockets with the remark that he
had better put them away!

Evelyn, however, took the jewels, and sewing them securely in a belt,
fastened it around her own waist for safekeeping. No one doubted that
the pretty child would soon be claimed. They soon discovered that her
name was Rika, but more than that she could not tell them. She did not
seem to feel very lonely or frightened, although she fretted at bed
time, calling over and over some name they could not catch.

Elinor was as delighted with her as though she had been given a
beautiful new doll; and now Evelyn felt sure that they would remain
together unless parted by force - or death. The last thought struck to
her heart like a chill, but she would not admit even the possibility of
such a thing. The certainty that the children had been drugged and
carried off in the two sacks battled constantly with the hope that the
boys would find them playing around the corner, or hidden in some
unfrequented spot. So it was with a cheerful trust that she said good-
bye to the two young workingmen who presently issued from the door of
the great store building, and went rapidly up the desert and torn up
street.

They did not dare run. Rather, they slunk along from building to
building as though fearful of being seen. When they passed a wrecked
chimney, fallen across the street, Warren rubbed some of the soot and
grime on his face and clothes, and told Ivan to do the same. He
thought very wisely that they looked too clean and neat for the parts
they were endeavoring to enact. In addition to the soot, they were
soon soiled and torn from scrambling over wreckage and even Evelyn
would not have recognized them.

Soon reaching the residence portion of the city, they began an
immediate search for Boy Scouts. Out of the hundred or so in their
section, they were fortunate enough to find ten. Several of these were
searching frantically for relatives and friends. Not one but had lost
someone dear to him. They scattered with a will when Warren and Ivan
told them about the two children, but the boys who had been nearest the
Professor's house, all said that they had not seen the little girls at
all. There were no troops moving about that part while the boys were
talking and planning, and they were not molested in any way when they
scattered and began to search every foot of the neighborhood. Noon
found Warren, Ivan, Jack and a couple of others near a wrecked and
deserted bakeshop. There was no one to ask and none to object when
they scrambled over the heaps of stone and plaster and wood, and tried
the doors of the great ovens. Sure enough, there they found, well
cooked and safe, a supply of bread and meant and sweets. Warren and
Jack were broken-hearted at the absence of the slightest clue to
Elinor, but they made a manly effort and managed to eat a good and
nourishing meal, because they knew that they must keep up every bit of
strength they had.

At three o'clock by agreement they all met at the Professor's house.
Not one had secured a single clue. They had searched every empty and
ruined building and had asked every person that they had seen. No one
had been able to tell them anything that sounded at all helpful.
Warren had thought that the fact that the strange child wore a scarlet
dress would be the means of tracing them immediately; but according to
the people they questioned, half the children in Warsaw had worn
scarlet dresses or coats. Warren was sick with despair. After a short
talk, the boys scattered again, working out from the Professor's house
like the spokes of a wheel for about half a mile. As Warren decided
that he had about reached the limit agreed upon, he stood thinking,
when the shrill Scout whistle sounded at his right. It was the signal
to gather, and Warren's heart leaped with delight as he thought,
"Elinor is found."

He crossed the space like a whirlwind, leaping over fallen walls and
dashing around buildings in his mad race.

He found the Scout who had whistled standing at the sagging door of
what had once been a comfortable home.

"Where is she?" cried Warren as he reached the doorway.

The boy shook his head. He was deathly pale, and trembled.

"It is not your sister; you may be glad of that; but we must do
something. Go in!"

Four other Scouts came panting up, all flushed with the hope that
Elinor had been found. They followed the boy who had pushed Warren
through the hall and through another door. Warren stopped appalled.

Half the wall was gone. A bomb had evidently struck the house. On the
bed a young woman lay. She was quite dead. Her ashy face told it
without the evidence of the blood in which she was bathed. By her side
lay a tiny girl. She, too, was still and cold in the last sleep of
death, but by a strange mischance of war, a baby lay unharmed in the
young mother's arms.

Unattended, uncomforted and cold, it had lain there for hours; yet it
lived, and as the boys entered sent up a feeble wail. Shaken to the
heart, Warren walked to the bed and picked up the infant. Its cries
had dwindled to a feeble whining, and it shivered. Warren hastily
unfastened his blouse, and pressed the little being to the warmth of
his body. He could feel it press against him, or so it seemed to him,
as he stood there in that chamber of death. His course, however,
seemed clear. The living child in his arms must be cared for, and at
once. He could only think of Evelyn. The hospitals were either
shattered or filled with too many wounded soldiers. There was no room
in any place of that sort now for a little baby . Life was cheap in
Warsaw that day. He would take it to Evelyn and she would take care of
it somehow. His own little Elinor he dared not think of.

It was with an almost breaking heart that he and the other boys rapidly
retraced their steps and finally gained the warehouse. As he went up
the long stairs, Professor Morris left his corner, and stood ready to
greet them. He was smiling.

"Well, well, where is Elinor?" be asked testily.

"We did not find her," answered Warren curtly. He was so tired that he
staggered as be walked. He gained the top of the steps and, crossing
unsteadily to Evelyn, laid the baby in her arms. Its little pinched
face, and bloodstained dress prepared her for Warren's story.

"It is nearly starved," she said. "What shall we give it?"

"I know," said Ivan. "Babies all drink milk, don't they? There is a
court down below, and when we went out I saw a couple of goats in it."

It was true, and the poor creatures were glad enough to be milked. The
baby, finally fed and warmed, slept exhausted in Evelyn's arms.

In all the cruel war whose dark shadow obscured Europe a great deal of
suffering fell to the share of the poor little babies and the small
children. To older children war could be explained. It was a vast and
terrible something that swept away homes and food and comfort. It was
a monster that devoured fathers and brothers, and left families without
support, and homeless. But there was a reason that could be told, and
which they could understand more or less.

But the tiny ones, alas! What could be told them when their little
world tumbled, when they were carried out from warmth and safety, when
food was denied; when the bosoms that had warmed them grew cold and
unresponsive, what could they do but suffer and die the slow, torturing
death of hunger and cold?

Their little cries arose to heaven, there were no ears to hear them
when the thunder of guns drowned all else. Poor, poor babies! Born,
many of them, to enlighten the world with new discoveries, to cure the
afflicted, to bring joy, they have perished as surely or a cause which
they could not understand as have the soldiers in the trenches.

When great nations are falling, and men are being mowed down like
grass, in numbers beyond the counting, the lives of little babies can
only be held precious by mothers who guard them with their every
breath.

The poor little bit of humanity found by the boys would soon have
closed its little eyes in the death which bad so suddenly overtaken the
mother and sister. But it proved a sturdy little scrap, and after
drinking all the milk they dared give it, cried for more.

It was a pretty child, well dressed and well cared for, and Evelyn
studied it with tender interest as it lay contentedly in her arms. As
she hushed and soothed it into sleep, she talked with her brothers.
Professor Morris had gone to the other end of the long room, and they
could hear him groan as he walked the floor.

"Don't you think that it would be safe now for us to go back home?"
said Evelyn. "We can always prove that we are Americans, and I think
there will be no more lawlessness. What do you think?"

Warren remembered the soldier with the wounded shoulder.

"We can't leave Peter here," he said.

"Why no, but he managed to get up here with help, and I think we can
get him home with us. I don't know what else to do, unless Anna is
willing to stay with him until morning."

"That's the thing to do," said Warren, "but Anna is such a scare cat."

"She ought to be willing to stay with her own brother!" declared
Evelyn. "That shoulder will kill him unless cold water is kept on it
all the time, until we can get hold of a doctor or get him to a
hospital."

"The hospitals are so full that you can't get inside the doors," said
Warren.

"I found that out today."

"Well, we will ask Anna, anyway," she said. She called to the
governess, who approached at once. Telling her the plan, Evelyn waited
for the woman to speak.

"Surely that is a wise plan indeed," she said, to their great relief.
"Peter could not be moved tonight. He is full of fever. And someone
will find our little Elinor, and take her home. Then what could they
do if the house was deserted?"

"I never thought of that," said Evelyn in a grief-stricken tone. "Let
us hurry and get back before it is dark."

"Yes," said Warren, "we could not make it at all in the dark. The
lights are all gone, and the streets are nearly impassable in lots of
places. Get dad, and come on. Don't forget the book," he added,
smiling bitterly.

They hastily brought blouses and overalls from the clothes room below
and made as comfortable a bed for Peter as they could. There was
plenty of goat's milk to drink, and bread from the bake shop, with
which Warren had thoughtfully had the boys fill their pockets.

Then, as the dusk gathered, they hurried out, Professor Morris clasping
the bulky manuscript, Evelyn carrying the sleeping baby, while Warren
and Ivan supported her on either side, and Jack went ahead to pick out
the safest path.

They reached the house after a hard walk, and were soon feeling some
sense of bodily comfort after all the hardships of the day. They
decided to act as nearly as possible as though they were but little
disturbed by the past events, and to assume the position of foreigners
who felt themselves under the protection of their own government.

Naturally, all their thoughts were of Elinor, but night had fallen
black and stormy, and in all the confusion and lawlessness there was
nothing to be done but wait as best they could for morning.

In spite of his anxiety, Warren slept heavily and did not awaken until
his sister shook him, and he opened his eyes to find that it was seven,
7 o'clock.

"No news, Warren dear," said Evelyn. "Only that that poor little baby
is certainly better. Oh, Warren, it is so cunning! I do hope it will
be all right. I want to keep it if we do not find its father. All the
rest of its family must be dead." She sat down on the edge of Warren's
bed. "Do you know," she said, "I feel as though everyone besides
ourselves is hurt or lost or dead or kidnapped? I have been thinking
what I would do if anyone kidnapped me. I would try so hard to leave
some sort of a message. I think if I had my diamond ring on, I would
try to scratch something on a window pane."

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