File:"Water colors," south of France, 1918-1919 (1921) (14598228168).jpg

Title: "Water colors," south of France, 1918-1919
Year: 1921 (1920s)
Authors: Pulsifer, Susan Nichols
Subjects: World War, 1914-1918
Publisher: Boston, The Four Seas Company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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h of color to add; a ribbon orCroix de Guerre. So, quite strung with medals, swingingtheir sticks, they may saunter up and down the mainstreet,—greeted here and there by acquaintances—stop-ping to speak with e;ich old market-woman, ma mereOr they may stop by for some demoiselle of thetown,—the pink-cheeked blanchisseuse to walk out withthem. Chic and pretty, with quick high-heeled little steps,she trots at the side of her soldier, proud of his shabbygray-blue. Under the bright cafe awning there is a group of com-rades over the glasses together. Under the white-limbed trees on the Place, the poilu does not remain longon his bench alone: brown-legged children run to hisknees, pull at his coat, the better to see what ribbon hewears. He must tell them of war and the battles hesseen. A bent old man sits beside him, his brown,shrunken hand holding an ear up to listen. Down by the shore they lounge idle among the boats,—listening to gray-haired fisher folks tales of their fathers, 52
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DAYS OFF 53 jesting, teasing the red-cheeked girls, so busy mendingtheir nets! Out on the high, white sands, amid the usual chatter,bright colors and sunshades, here and there lie the gray-blue figures, solitary or silent, at rest in the warmth ofthe sun, their rough, browned hands idly playing with thesand. So they look with eyes dreamily wondering, allunaccustomed to follow the water. The water, colorful,mobile, deceptive,—always advancing, receding; rhythmi-cal, gently it rises white from the blue, and sunlit shim-mers far on the shore,—then with a soothing recurrentsound scatters foam at the idlers feet. AFTER THE STORM There is a sea gray and wild, uneasily, restlessly moving.The waves are choppy and short, the undertone hollowand mocking, dulled in its roar. Shabby, alone, blue-cladfigures stray down by the shore, drawn by the seas savagewonder, the boom and recession of waves. They areblown by the wind as the water, and are gloomy, at onewith the sea. So they look far over

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