An unseen choir of bird-voices was singing the sweetest requiem ever
sung for the dead; yet Leomont in its majestic loneliness saddened us,
even the irrepressible Puck. We were sad and rather silent all the way
to Vitrimont; and Vitrimont, at first glance, was a sight to make us
sadder than any we had seen. There had been a Vitrimont, a happy little
place, built of gray and rose-red stones; now, of those stones hardly
one lies upon another, except in rubble heaps. And yet, Vitrimont isn't
sad as others of the ruined towns are sad. It even cheered us, after
Leomont, because a star of hope shines over the field of desolation--a
star that has come out of the west. Some wonderful women of San
Francisco decided to "adopt" Vitrimont, as one of the little places of
France which had suffered most in the war. Two of them, Miss Polk and
Miss Crocker--girls rather than women--gave themselves as well as their
money to the work. In what remains of Vitrimont--what they are making of
Vitrimont--they live like two fresh roses that have taken root in a pile
of ashes. With a few books, a few bowls of flowers, pictures, and bits
of bright chintz they have given charm to their poor rooms in the
half-ruined house of a peasant. This has been their home for many
months, from the time when they were the only creatures who shared
Vitrimont with its ghosts: but now other homes are growing under their
eyes and through their charity; thanks to them, the people of the
destroyed village are trooping back, happy and hopeful.
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