THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
SEPTEMBER, 1925
COMING OF AGE!
I. THE NOVITIATE
BY HELEN DORE BOYLSTON
February 8, 1918. — What if I were to scream? I may yet. It would be so un-English and such awfully bad form. I'd love to do it. It would disturb all these good Sisters from their naps and knitting. The Major would be sent for, and he would hang over my bed and breathe on me and say ‘Hmm.” Out of the tail of my eye I can see that Mars- ton, the Canadian nurse in the next bed to me, has reached out and stolen my hot claret and is now drinking it under the bedclothes. She is a peach.
It’s not that I mind being in bed. I don’t even mind having the flu and trench fever. It was quite interesting at first and is not unpleasant even now. Nor have I any particular passion for work. I always was lazy. The real root of the matter is that I realize that the spring offensive will soon be on, and unless I get out of here I shall miss it.
February 11.—1 have prevailed upon the Major to let me get up. I am now allowed to dress and wander about the chéiteau. It is a lovely old place.
February 12. — I have been at the Major again, this time to let me go home. The Harvard Unit Matron
1This diary is, of course, actual. — THE EpITORS VOL. 136 — NO. 3 A
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remarked casually that there is to be a dance in our mess Thursday night. I feel that I am going to that dance, though I have n’t mentioned my con- viction to the Major. InfactI haven’t even said there is to be a dance, but I have followed him about persistently. Wherever he goes, there am I also. I skip before him blithely that he may not fail to observe my unbounded energy. I carol gayly in the halls. This morning when I heard him stumping through the lower hall I came tearing wildly down the stairs, slipped, and landed in a joyful heap at his feet. From the floor I beamed at him. ‘Good morning, Major,’ said 1.
‘Good heavens!’ said he.
‘Major,’ said I urgently, ‘may I go home Thursday?’
He peered at me over his spectacles and puffed. It seems to me that he had the air of one who feels a trifle foolish. I was sitting on his foot, which may explain that.
‘Good God, yes!’ he said at last. ‘Do anything you like. You ’'re worse than the Wandering Jew!’
‘Oh, thank you, Major,” I cooed. ‘You are a darling!’
