 CHAPTER 4 SETTLING IN They bade good-bye to the flat early next morning, and went down to Homewood through a dense fog that rolled up almost to the carriage-windows, like masses of white wool. At the station the closed carriage waited for them, with the brown cobs pawing the ground impatiently. General Somers's chauffeur had gone with his master, and so far they had not succeeded in finding a substitute. But the groom and coachman, who were also gardeners in their spare time, considered themselves part and parcel of the place, and had no idea of changing their home. The cart for the luggage will be here presently, sir, Jones, the old coachman, told Mr. Linton. So they left a bewildering assortment of suitcases and trunks piled up on the platform in the care of an ancient porter, and packed themselves into the carriage. Nora was wont to say that the only vehicle capable of accommodating her three long man-foe comfortably was an omnibus. The fog was lifting as they rolled smoothly up the long avenue, and just as they came within sight of the house a gleam of pale sunlight found its way through the misty clouds, and lingered on the ivy-clad gables. The front door was flung wide to welcome them. On the steps hovered the ex-sargent, wearing a discreet smile. And him floated a print-dress and a wide apron, presumably worn by his niece. I say, Nora, don't you feel like the Queen of Sheba entering her ancestral halls whispered Wally wickedly as they mounted the steps? If she felt simply horrible, then I do, returned Nora. I suppose I'll get used to it in time, but at present I want a hollow log to crawl into. Alan B. greeted them respectfully. We did not know what rooms she would like, sir, he said. They are all practically ready, of course. My niece, Miss, thought you might prefer the blue-bedroom. Her name is Sarah, Miss. We don't want the best rooms, the sunniest, I mean, Nora said. They must be for the tired people, mustn't they, Dad? Well there are no tired people except ourselves at present, said her father, laughing. So if you have a fancy for any room, you had better take it, don't you think? Well, we'll tour round and see, said Nora diplomatically, with mental visions of the sudden turning out of rooms, should worry guests arrive. It might be better to settle down from the first as we mean to be. A lady has come, Miss, said Alan B. I understood her to say she was the cook, but perhaps I made a mistake. He paused, questioningly, his face comically puzzled. Oh, Miss Deloyle, yes, Miss. Oh yes, she's the cook, said Nora. And the housekeeper, Mrs. Atkins? No one else has arrived, Miss. Well, I expect she'll come, said Nora, at least she promised. Mr. Deloyle, Miss, asked for her kitchen-maid. There isn't one at present, said Nora, feeling a little desperate. Oh, said Alan B., looking blank, I—I am afraid, Miss, that the lady expects one. Well, she can't have one until one comes, said Mr. Linton. Cheer up, Nora. I'll talk to Mr. Deloyle. I'll be the kitchen-maid, if necessary, said Wally cheerfully. What does one do? Alan B. shuttered visibly. My niece, I am sure, will do all she can, sir, he said. His gaze dwelt on Wally's uniform. It was easy to see him quailing in spirit before the vision of an officer with a kitchen-mob. Perhaps, Miss, if you would like to see the rooms? They trooped upstairs, the silent house suddenly waking to life with the quick footsteps and cheery voices. The big front bedrooms were at once put aside for future guests. Nora fell in love with, and promptly appropriated, a little room that appeared to have been tucked into a corner by the architect as an afterthought. It was curiously shaped with a quaint little nook for the bed, and had a big window furnished with a low cushion seat, wide enough for any one to curl up with a book. Mr. Linton and the boys selected rooms principally remarkable for bareness. Jim had a lifely hatred for furniture. They left him discussing with Allenby the question of removing a spindle-legged writing-table. Mr. Linton and Nora went downstairs with sinking hearts to encounter Mr. Lyle. On the way appeared Sarah, very clean and starched as the dress, very pink and shiny as the complexion. Her hair was strained back from her forehead so tightly it appeared to be pulling her eyes up. Oh, Sarah, said Mr. Linton, pausing. Yes, sir, said Sarah, meekly. You may be required to help to cook for a few days until we—um—until the staff is complete, said her employer. Your uncle tells me you will have no objection. It being understood, sir, as it is only temporary, said Sarah, firmly. Oh, quite, said Mr. Linton hurriedly. And of course I will help you with the housework, Sarah, put in Nora. Sarah looked more wooden than before. Thank you, Miss, I'm sure, she returned. They went on. Doesn't she make you feel oh warm, said Nora? This is a terrible business, Nora, said Mr. Linton fervently. I didn't guess what Brownie was saving me from all these years. They found Mr. Lyle in the kitchen where an enormous range glowed like a fiery furnace, in which respect Mr. Lyle rather resembled it. She was a tall, stout woman, dressed in an overall several sizes too small for her. The overall was rose-coloured, and Mr. Lyle was many shades deeper in you. She accepted their greetings with antijasm, and plunged at once into a catalogue of grievances. The butler tells me there is no kitchen maid she boomed wrathfully. And I had not expected such an antiquated range, nor could I possibly manage with these sauce-pans, sweeping a scornful hand towards an array which seemed to the hapless Linton's to err only on the side of magnificence. There will be a number of necessary items. And where am I to sit? You will hardly expect me to herd with the servants. It would be rough on them, rose to Nora's lips, but she prudently kept a reflection to herself. To sit, echoed Mr. Linton, why I really hadn't thought of it, his brook leered. Oh, there is the housekeeper's room. And who is the housekeeper? Is she a lady? She hasn't said so yet, said Mr. Linton. It was evident that he considered this a point in the absent housekeeper's favour. Mr. Lyle flamed anew. I cannot sit with your housekeeper, she averred. You must remember, Mr. Linton, that I told you when engaging with you, that I expected special treatment. And you must remember, said Mr. Linton, with sudden firmness, that we ourselves have not been half an hour in the house, that we must have time to make arrangements, as for what you require we will see into that later. Mr. Lyle sniffed. It's not what I am accustomed to, she said, however I will wait, and the kitchen made. I can't make a kitchen made out of nothing, said Mr. Linton gloomily. I hope to hear of one in a day or two I have written to Ireland. To Ireland, ejaculated Mr. Lyle in accents of horror. My dear sir, do you know what Irish maids are like? They're the nicest maids I know, said Nora, speaking for the first time, and so kind and obliging. Sniff the cook, lady, but you are not sure of obtaining even one of these treasures? Well, we'll all help, said Nora. Sarah will give you a hand until we get settled, and my brother at Mr. Meadows, and I can do anything. There can't be such an awful lot of work. She stopped. Mr. Lyle was regarding her with an eye in which horror and amazement were mingled. But we don't do such things in England, she gasped. Your brother and the other officer? In my kitchen, may I ask? Well, one moment you seem afraid of too much work, and the next of too much help, said Nora, laughing. You'd find them very useful. I trust that I have never been afraid of work, said Mr. Lyle severely, but I have my position to consider. There are duties which belong to it, and other duties which do not. My province is cooking—cooking—and nothing else. Who, I ask, is to keep my kitchen clean. Me, if necessary, said a voice in which Alan B. the Butler was clearly merged in Alan B. the Sergeant. Begging your pardon, sir. He was deferential again, save for the eye with which he glared upon Mr. Lyle. I think, perhaps, between me and Sarah and, um, this lady, we can arrange matters for the present without troubling you or Miss Linton. Do, said his employer thankfully, he beat a retreat followed by Nora, rather to Nora's disappointment. She was beginning to feel warlike and hankered for the battle, with Alan B. ranged on her side. I'm going to love Alan B., she said, with conviction, as they gained the outer regions. He's a trump, said her father, but isn't that a terrible woman, Nora? Here's another, anyhow, said Nora with a wild inclination to giggle. A dismal cab halted at the side entrance, and the driver was struggling with a stout iron trunk. The passenger, a tall, angular woman, was standing in a doorway. The housekeeper breathed at Mr. Linton faintly. Do you feel equal to her, Nora? He fled with disgraceful weakness to the billiard room. Good morning, Nora said, advancing. Good morning, returned the newcomer with severity. I have wronged three times. Oh, where a little shorthanded, said Nora, and began to giggle hopelessly to her own dismay. Her world seemed suddenly full of important upper servants, with no one to wait on them. It was rather terrible, but beyond doubt it was very funny, to an Australian mind. The housekeeper gazed at her with a sort of cold anger. I'm afraid I don't know which is your room, Nora said, recovering under that fish-like glare. You see, we've only just come, I'll send Alan B. She hurried off, meeting the butler in the passage. Oh, Alan B., she said, it's the housekeeper, and her trunk. Alan B., what does a housekeeper do? She won't clean the kitchen for Mr. Lyle, will she? I'm afraid not, Miss, said Alan B. His manner grew confidential. Had he not been so correct at butler, Nora felt that he might have patted her head. Now look, Miss, he said, you just leave them women to me, I'll fix them, and don't you worry. Oh, thank you, Alan B., said Nora gratefully. She followed in her father's wake, leaving the butler to advance upon the wrathful figure that yet blocked the side doorway. In the billiard room all her man-folk were gathered, looking guilty. It's awful to see you all huddling together here, out of the storm, said Nora, laughing. Isn't it all terrible? Do you think we'll ever settle down, Daddy? Indeed, I wouldn't be too certain, responded Mr. Linton gloomily. How did you get on, Nora? Was she anything like Miss Lyle? That's an appalling woman, she ought to stand for Parliament. She's not like Miss Lyle, but I'm not sure that she's any nicer, said Nora. She's very skinny and vininger-ish. I say, Daddy, aren't we going to have a wild time? Well, if she and the cook-lady get going, the encounter should be worth seeing, remarked Jim. Talk about kill-kenny-cats. I only hope it will come off before we go, said Wally Gleefully. We haven't had much war yet, have we, Jim? I think we deserve to see a little. I should much prefer it in someone else's house that Mr. Linton would haste, but it's bound to come, I should think, and then I shall be called in as referee. Well, Australia was never like this. Still, there are compensations. He went out, returning in a moment with a battered hat of soft grey felt. Now you'll be happy, said Nora, laughing. I am, responded her father. He put on the hat with tender care. I haven't been so comfortable since I was in Ireland. It's one of the horrors of war that David Linton of Billabong has worn a stiff bowler hat for nearly a year. Never mind. No one in Australia will believe it unless they saw it photographed, said Jim Soothingly, and it hasn't had to be a top hat, so you really haven't had to bear the worst. That is certainly something, said his father. In the dim future I suppose you and Nora may get married, but I warn you here at now that you needn't expect me to appear in a top hat. However, there's no need to face these problems yet, thank goodness. Suppose we leave the kitchen to fight it out alone and go and inspect the cottage. It nestled at the far side of a belt of shrubbery, a cheery, tatched place with wide casement windows that looked out on a trimmed stretch of grass. At one side there was actually a little veranda, a site so unusual in England that the Australians could scarcely believe their eyes. Certainly it was only a very tiny veranda. Within all was bright and cheery and simple. The cottage had been used as a barracks when the sons of a former owner had brought home boyfriends. Two rooms were fitted with bunks built against a wall, as in a ship's cabin. There was a little dining-room, plainly furnished and a big sitting-room that took up the whole width of the building, and had casement windows on three sides. There was a roomy kitchen from which a ladder-like staircase ascended to big attics, one of which was fitted as a bedroom. Its no end of a jolly place was Jim's verdict. I don't know that I wouldn't rather live here than in your mansion, Nora, but I suppose it wouldn't do. I think it would be rather nice, Nora said, but you can't, because we want it for the hunts. And it will be splendid for them, won't it, Dad? Yes, I think it will do very well, said Mr. Linton. We'll get the housekeeper to come down and make sure that it has enough pots and pans at working-out-fit generally. And then we'll go up to London and kidnap Mrs. Hunt and the baby, said Nora, fear nothing gently. Now shall we go and see the horses? They spent a blissful half-hour in the stables, and arranged to ride in the afternoon. The old coachman was plainly delighted at the absence of a chauffeur, and displayed his treasures with a pride to which he had long been a stranger. The horses haven't had enough to do since Sir John used to come. He said, the general didn't care for them, an infantry gent he must have been, and it was always the motor for him. We exercised them, of course, but it ain't the same for the horses, and don't they know it? Of course they do, nor I caress Gillaloo's lean head. You'll hunt him, sir, won't you, this season? Asked Jones anxiously. The meat ain't what they was, of course, but there's a few goes out still. The master's a lady, Mrs. Ainsley, her husband's in France. He's had the hounds these five years. Oh, Will Hunt won't meet that, nor his face glowed as she lifted it. Rather, said Jim, of course you will. What about the other horses, Jones, can they jump? To tell you the truth, sir, said Jones happily, there's not one of them that can't. Even the cobs ain't too bad, and the black pony that's at the vets. He's a flyer. He'll be home to-morrow. The vets sent me word yesterday that his shoulder's all right. Strained it a bit, he did. Of course they ain't made hunters, like Gillaloo. But they're quick and clever, and once you know the country, and the shortcuts and the gaps, you can generally manage to see most of her run. He saw it aesthetically. Hey, but it'll be like all times to get ready again on a haunted morning. The gong sounded from the house, and they bade the stables that were looked and goodbye. Lunch waited in the morning-room. There was a pleasant sparkle of silver and glass on a little table in the window, and there was no doubt that Mr. Lyle could cook. If her temper were as good as her pastry, I should say we had found a treasure, said Mr. Linton, looking at the fragments which remained of a super-lattive apple pie. Let's hope that Mrs. Moroney will discover a kitchen maid or two, and that they will induce her to overlook our other shortcomings. I'm afraid we'll never be genteel enough for her, said Nora, shaking her curly head. The other servants will all hate her, because she thinks they aren't fit for her to speak to. If she only knew how much nicer Allenby is, or Brownie, set Wally loyally, Brownie could beat that pie with one hand tied behind her. Allenby entered, sympathy on every line of his face. The housekeeper, Mrs. Atkins, would like to see you, sir, or Miss Linton, and so would Mr. Lyle. But Mr. Lyle was on his heels, breathing trethinings and slaughter. There must be some arrangement made as to my instructions, she boomed. Your housekeeper evidently does not understand my position. She has had the impertence to address me as cook, cook, she passed for breath, glaring. But, good gracious, isn't it your profession, asked Mr. Linton? Mr. Lyle fairly choked with wrath. Wally's voice fell like oil on a stormy sea. If I could make a pie like that, I'd expect to be called cook, said he. It's a regular poem of a pie, where a gym choked in his turn and endeavored with a signal lack of success, to turn his emotion into a sneeze. Miss Lyle's lowering countenance cleared somewhat. She looked at Wally in a manner that was almost kindly. Wartime cookery is a makeshift, not an art, she said. Before the war I could have shown you what cooking could be. That pie wasn't a makeshift, persisted Wally. It was a dream. I say, Miss Lyle, can you make picolettes? Yes, of course, said the cook lady. Do you like them? I'd go into a trap for a picolette, said Wally, warming to his task. Oh, Nora, do ask Miss Lyle if she'll make some for tea? Oh, do, pleaded Nora. As a matter of stern fact, Nora preferred bread and butter to picolettes. But a human beam in the cook lady's eye was not to be neglected. We haven't had any for ages. She cast a boat for further encouragement for the beam. Miss Lyle, I suppose you have a very special cookery book. I make my own recipes, said the cook lady by pride. But for the war I should have brought out my book. By Jove, you don't say so, said Jim. I say, Nora, you'll have to get that when it comes out. Rother, said Nora, I wonder would it bother you awfully to show me some day how to make marangas? I never can get them right. We'll see, said Miss Lyle graciously. And would you really like picolettes for tea? Please, if it wouldn't be too much trouble. Very well, Jim held the door open for the cook lady as she marched out. Suddenly she paused. You will see the housekeeper, Mr. Linton? Oh, certainly, said David Linton hastily. The door closed. Behind it they could hear a tread, heavy and marshal, dying away. A fearsome woman, said Mr. Linton, Wally, you deserve a medal. But are we always to lick the ground under the cook's feet in this fashion? Oh, she'll find her level, said Jim, but you'd better tell Mrs. Atkins not to offend her again. Talk to her like a father, dad. Say she and Mr. Lyle are here to run the house, not to bother you and Nora. It's excellent in theory, said his father sadly, but in practice they fight my tongue cleaving to the roof of my mouth when these militant females tackle me. If you saw Mrs. Atkins you would realise how difficult it will be for me to regard her as a daughter. But I'll do my best. Mrs. Atkins, admitted by the sympathetic Allenby, proved less fierce than the cook lady, although by no stretch of imagination could she have been called pleasant. I have never worked with a cook as considered herself a lady, she remarked. It makes all very difficult and no kitchen-mate. And am I in authority or am I not? And such airs turning up her nose and being called cook. Which if she is the cook, why not be called so? And going after a bedroom with her dinner no one downstairs being good enough to eat with her. I must say it isn't what I'm used to. And me lived with the first families. Mrs. Atkins seized her weary monologue and gazed on the family with conscious virtue. She was dressed in dull black silk and looked overwhelmingly respectable. Oh well, you must put up with things as they are, said Mr. Linton vaguely. Mr. Loyal expects a few unusual things, but apparently there's no doubt that she can do her work. I hope to have more maids in a few days, if not a brilliant idea striking him. I must send you up to London to find us some Mrs. Atkins. I shall be delighted, sir, replied the housekeeper primly, and do I understand that the cook is to have her separate sitting-room? Oh, for goodness sake, ask Alanby, ejaculated her employer. It will have to be managed somewhere. Or we shall have no cook. CHAPTER V How the cook lady found her level. Two days later the morning meal brought relief. Not too soon, for there was evidence that the battle between the housekeeper and the cook lady could not be much longer delayed, and Sarah was going about with a face of wooden agony that gave Nora a chilly feeling whenever she encountered her. Alanby alone retained any cheerfulness, and much of that was due to ancient military discipline. Therefore Mrs. Moroney's letter was hailed with acclamation. Two maids she can recommend bless her heart, said Mr. Linton. She doesn't label their particular activities, but says they'll be willing to do anything at all. That's the kind I like, said Nora thankfully. And their names are Bright Kelly and Catty O'Gorman. Doesn't that bring killered and brown balls back to you? And oh, by Jove! What is it? Demanded his family in unison. This is what it is. I don't know what your honour remembered Con Haggerty, that was chauffeur to Sir John at Red Cullen, and a decent boy with one leg and he after going back from the war. He have known Job since Sir John died, and he bit me tell you he'd be proud to drive a car for you, and to be with you all. And if he have only one leg itself, he's as handy as any one with two or more. Sir John had him with him at Homewood, and he knows the car that's there. And just away, if you had a job for him, he could take the two girls over when he went, and he used to travelling the world. That's all, I think, Mr. Linton ended. What luck, Jim ejaculated! We couldn't have a better chauffeur. I wonder we never thought of Conn, said his father, a nice boy, I'd like to have him. So would I, added Nora, when will you get them, Dad? I'll ride at once and send a cheque for their fares, said her father. I'll tell them to send a telegram when they start. He rose to leave the room. What are you going to do this morning, children? We're all turning out to cottage, Nora answered promptly. I haven't told Sarah. She disapproves of me so painfully, if I do any work, and hurts my feelings by always doing it over again, if possible. At the same time she looks so unhappy about working at all, and sighs so often, that I don't feel equal to telling her that the cottage has to be done. So Jim and Wally have nobly volunteered to help me. Don't knock yourself up, said her father. Will you want me? No, unless you like to come as a guest, and sit still, and do nothing. My two housemates and I can easily finish off that little job. There's not really a great deal to do, Nora added. The place is very clean. Wally won't like to have everything extra nice when tired people come. Well, I'm not coming to sit still and do nothing, said her father firmly, so I'll stay at home and write letters. He watched them from the terrace a little later, racing across the lawn, and smiled a little. It was so unlikely that his long-legged family of his would ever really grow up. The house was very quiet that morning. His atkins and Mr. Lyle, having quarreled over the question of dinner, had retreated, the one to the housekeeper's room, the other to the kitchen. Sarah went about her duty serrally. Alainby was Sarah's uncle, and, as such, felt some duty to her, which he considered he had discharged in getting her a good place. Beyond that, Sarah frankly bored him, and he saw no reason to let her regard him as anything else than a butler. Bad for discipline, too, he reflected. Therefore Alainby was lonely. He read the daily meal and the seclusion of his pantry, and then, strolling through the hall, with a watchful eye alert, lest a speck of dust should have escaped Sarah. He saw his master cross the garden and strike across the park in the direction of Hawkins Farm. Someone else was out, Alainby knew not where. An impulse for fresh air fell upon him, and he sauntered towards the shrubbery. Voices and laughter came to him from the cottage. He pushed through the shrubs and found himself near a window, and, peeping through, received severe shock to his well-trained nerves. Nora, enveloped in a huge apron, was energetically polishing the kitchen tins. The boys, in their shirt-sleeves, were equally busy, Wally scrubbing the sink with monkey-soap, and Jim black-leading the stove. It was very clear that work was no new thing to any of the trio. Alainby gasped with horror. "'Officers, too,' he ejaculated. "'What's the world coming to?' I wondered. He hesitated a moment, and then walked round to the back door. "'May I come in, please, Miss?' "'Oh, come in, Alainby,' Nora said, a little confused. "'We're busy, you see. Did you want anything?' "'No, Miss, thank you. But really, Miss, I could have got a woman from the village for you to do all this, or Sarah.' "'Sarah has quite enough to do,' said Nora. "'Indeed, Sarah's not killed with work,' said the damsel's uncle. "'I don't like to see you soiling your hands, Miss,' Nora, the gentleman. "'The gentlemen are all right, said Wally cheerfully. Look at this sink now, Alainby. Did you ever see anything better?' "'It's not right,' murmured Alainby unhappily. He threw off his black coat suddenly, and advanced upon Jim. "'If you please, sir, I'll finish that stove.' "'That, you won't,' said Jim. "'Thanks all the same, Alainby, but I'm getting used to it now.' He laughed. "'Besides, don't you forget that you're a butler?' "'I can't forget that you're an officer, sir,' said Alainby, wretchedly. "'It's not right. Think of the regiment. And Miss Nora, won't you let me help, sir?' "'You can clean the paint,' Alainby, said Nora, taking pity on his distressed face. "'But there's really no need to keep you.' "'If you'd only not mind telling any of them at the house, what I was doing,' said the butler anxiously. "'It would undermine me position. There's that Miss Solile now. She looks down on everybody enough without knowing I was doing any job like this.' "'She shall never know,' said Jim tragically, waving a blackly brush. "'Now I'm off to do the dining-room great. If you're deadly anxious to work, Alainby, you could wash this floor, couldn't he, Nora?' "'Thanks very much, sir,' said Alainby gratefully. "'I'll leave this place all right. Just shut the door, sir, and don't you bother about it any more.' "'However did you dare, Jim,' breathed Nora, as the cleaning-party moved towards the dining-room. "'Do you think a butler ever washed a floor before?' "'Can't say,' said Jim easily. I'm regarding him more as a sergeant than a butler for the moment. Not that I can remember seeing a sergeant wash a floor either, but he seemed anxious to help, so why not let him? It won't hurt him. He's getting this gracefully fat. There's plenty to do.' "'Heaps,' said Wally cheerily. "'Where is that floor-polished, Nora? These boards won't erode. What are you going to do?' "'Polished brass,' said Nora, beginning on a window-catch. "'When I grow up, I think I'll be an architect, and then I'll make the sort of house that women will care to live in.' "'What sort's that?' asked Jim. "'I don't know what the outside will be like, but it won't have any brass to keep clean, or any skirting-boards with pretty tops to catch dust, or any corners in the rooms. Brownie and I used to talk about it. All the co-boards will be built in, so no dust can get under them. And the windows will have some patent dodged to open inwards when they won cleaning. And there will be built-in wash-stands in every room, with taps and plugs.' "'Brass taps,' inquired Wally. "'Certainly not.' "'What then?' "'Oh, something. Something that doesn't need to be kept pretty. And then there will be heaps of cupboard-room, and heaps of shelf-room. Only all the shelves will be narrow, so that nothing can be put behind anything else.' "'Whatever do you mean?' asked Jim. "'She means dead mice. You know, they get behind buttons of jam,' said Wally kindly. "'Go on, Nora. You talk like a book.' "'Well, dead mice are as good as anything,' said Nora lucidly. "'There won't be any room for that corpses on my shelves. And I'll have some arrangement for supplying hot water through the house that doesn't depend on keeping a huge kitchen fire alight.' "'That's a good notion,' said Jim, sitting back on his heels, blackly brushed in hand. "'I think I'll go architecting with you, Nora. "'We'll go in for all sorts of electric dodges, plugs in all the rooms to fix the vacuum-cleaners, so you can work with one hand. Most of them want two men and a boy, and electric washing machines, and cookers, and fans, and all kinds of things. And everybody will be using them, so electricity will have to be cheap.' "'I really couldn't help listening to you,' said a deep voice in the doorway. Everyone jumped. It was Miss Delisle, in her skimpy red overall, rather more flush than usual, and a little embarrassed. "'I hope you don't mind,' she said. I heard voices, and I didn't think anyone lived here. I knocked, but you were all so busy you didn't hear me. "'So busy talking,' you mean,' laughed Wally, terrible chatterboxes Jim and Nora. They never get any work done.' A black-lead brush hurtled across the room. He caught it neatly, and returned it to the owner. "'But you're working terribly hard,' said the cook-lady in bewilderment. "'Is anyone going to live here?' Nora explained bravely. Miss Delisle listened with interest, nodded her head from time to time. "'It's a beautiful idea,' she said at length. "'Fancy now you rescuing those poor little children and their father and mother. It makes me feel quite sentimental.' "'Most cooks are sentimental, you know. It's such a—' "'A warm occupation,' she added vaguely. "'When I'm cooking something that requires particular care, I always find myself crooning a love song.' At which Wally collapsed into such a hopeless giggle that Jim and Nora, in little better case themselves, looked at him in horror, expecting to see him annihilated. To their relief, Miss Delisle grinned cheerfully. "'Oh, yes, you may laugh,' she said, wrap on the old date. "'I know I don't look sentimental. Perhaps it's just as well. Nobody would want a cook with golden hair and languishing blue eyes. And I do cook so much better than I sing. Now I'm going to help. What can I do?' "'Indeed, you're not,' said Nora. "'Thanks ever so, Miss Delisle, but we can manage quite well.' "'Now you're thinking of what I said the other day,' said Miss Delisle, disgustedly. "'I know I did say my province was cooking, and nothing else. But if you knew the places I've struck, dear me, there was one place where the footman chucked me under the chin.' It was too much for the others. They sat down on the floor and shrieked in unison. "'Yes, I know it's funny,' said Miss Delisle. I held myself after it was all over. But I don't think the footman ever chucked anyone under the chin again. I settled him. There was a reminiscent gleam in her eye. Nora felt a flesh of sympathy for the hapless footman. Then there was another house. There was a juke's, where the butler expected me to walk out with him. That's the worst of it. If you behave like a human being, you get that sort of thing. And if you don't, you're a pig, and treat it accordingly.' She looked at them whimsically. "'Please don't think me a pig,' she said. "'I—I shall never forget how you held the door open for me, Mr. Jim.' "'Oh, I say, don't,' protested the unhappy Jim, turning scarlet. "'Now you're afraid I'm going to be sentimental, but I'm not. I'm going to polish the boards in the passage, and then you can give me a larger job. Lunch is cold today. I've done all the cooking. Now, please don't,' as Nora began to protest. "'Dear me, if you only knew how nice it is to speak to someone again.' He swooped upon Wally's tin of floor polish, scooped half of its contents into a lid with a hairpin, commandeered two cloths from a basket full of cleaning-matters, and strode off. From the passage came a steady pounding that spoke of as much elbow grease as polish being applied. "'Take you ever,' said Jim, weakly. "'Never,' said Wally. "'I say, I think she's a good sort.' "'So do I, but who'd have thought it?' "'Poor old soul,' said Nora. "'She must be horribly dull. But after her first day I wouldn't have dared to make a remark to her, unless she'd gone to send it to address me first.' "'I should think you wouldn't,' said Wally. But she's really quite human when she talks her claws in.' "'Oh, my aunt,' said Jim Chokling, I give a month's pay to have seen the footman choke her under the chin.' They fell into convulsions of silent laughter. From the passage, as they regained composure, came a broken melody, punctuated by the dull pounding on the floor. Mr. Lyle, on her knees, had become sentimental, and warbled as she rubbed. "'I do not ask for the heart of thy heart.' "'Why wouldn't you,' murmured Wally, with a rapt expression, "'anyone who can make picolettes like you?' "'Be quiet, Wally, Grim Jim. She'll hear you. Not she. She's too happy. Listen.' "'All that I ask for is all that they be. All that thou cares to give unto me. I do not ask.' "'Crash. Bang. Splash.' "'Havons, what happened?' exclaimed Jim.' They rushed out. At the end of the passage, Mr. Lyle and the irreproachable Allenby struggled in a heap, in an ever-widening pool of water, that came from an overturned bucket, lying a yard away. The family rushed to the rescue. Allenby got to his feet as they arrived, and dragged up the drenched cook-lady. He was pale with apprehension. "'I—I do beg your pardon, mum,' he gasped. I had an idea in me head that there was any one there, least of all you, on your knees. I'd just come backing out with the bucket.' "'I say, Mr. Lyle, are you hurt?' Jim asked anxiously. "'Not a bit. Which is queer, considering Allenby's weight,' returned Mr. Lyle. "'But it's—it's just too funny, isn't it?' she broke into a shout of laughter, and the others, who had, indeed, been choking with repressed feeling, followed suit. Allenby, after a gallant attempt to preserve the correct demeanor of a butler, unchanged by any circumstance, suddenly bolted into the kitchen like a rabbit. They heard strange sounds from the direction of the sink. "'But I say, you're drenched,' said Jim, when everyone felt a little better. Mr. Lyle glanced at her stained and dripping overall. "'Well, a little. I'll take this off,' she said, suiting the action to the word, and appearing in a white blouse and grazed skirt, which suited her very much better than the rosy-ed garment. "'But my floor—' "'And I had it so beautifully polished,' she raised her voice. "'Alanby, what are you going to do about this floor?' "'Indeed, mum, I've made a pretty mess of it,' said Allenby, reappearing. "'You have, indeed,' said she. "'But I never expected to find you here appallishing,' said the bewildered ex-archant. "'And I certainly never expected to find the butler scrubbing,' retorted Mr. Lyle, which Allenby's jam dropped, and he cast an appealing glance at Jim. "'This is a working bee,' said Jim promptly, who is all in it, and no one else knows anything about it. "'Not Mrs. Atkins, I hope, sir,' said Allenby. "'Certainly not, as for Sarah, she's out of it all together. Allenby sighed, a relieved butler. "'I'll see to the floor, sir,' he said. "'It's up to me, isn't it, and polish it after. I can easily slip down here for a couple of hours after lunch, when you're all out riding. "'Then I really had better fly,' said Mr. Lyle. "'I am pretty wet, and there's lunch to think about.' She looked at them in friendly fashion. "'Thank you all very much,' she said, and was gone with a kind of elephantine swiftness. The family returned to the dining-room, leaving Allenby to grapple with a swamp in the passage. "'Don't we have cheery adventures when we clean house so only happily? I wouldn't have missed this morning for anything.' "'No, it has been merry and bright,' Jim agreed. "'And isn't the cook lady a surprise-packet? I say nor. Do you think you'd find a human side to Mrs. Atkins if we let Allenby fall over her with a bucket of water?' "'Fraid not,' said Nora. "'You can't find one that doesn't exist,' said Wally wisely. "'Mrs. Atkins is only a walking-cruet, sort of mixture of salt and vinegar.' They told the story to Mr. Linton over the luncheon table after Allenby had redrawn. Nevertheless the butler, listening from his pantry to the shouts of laughter from the morning-room, had a fairly good idea of the subject on her discussion, and became rather pink. "'It's lovely in another way,' Nora finished. "'For you see, I thought Mrs. Lyle wasn't human, but I was all wrong. She's rather a deer when you come to know her.' "'Yes,' said her father thoughtfully. "'But you'll have to be careful, Nora. You mustn't make any distinctions between her and Mrs. Atkins. It doesn't matter if Mr. Lyle's pedigree is full of jukes and bishops. Mrs. Atkins is the upper servant, and she'll resent it if you put Mr. Lyle on a different footing to herself. "'Yes, I see,' said Nora, nodding. "'I'll do my best, Dad.' Mr. Lyle, however, played the game. She did not encounter Nora often, and when she did it was in Mrs. Atkins' presence, and on these occasions she maintained an attitude of impersonal politeness, which made it hard to realise that she and the butler had indeed bathed together on the floor of the cottage. She found various matters in her little sitting-room, an easy chair, a flowering pot-plant, a pile of books that bore Nora's name, or gyms, but she made no sign of having received them, except that Nora found on her table at night a twisted note in a masculine hand that said, "'Thank you, C. D. L.' As for Mrs. Atkins, she made her silent way about the house, sour and watchful, her green eyes rather resembling those of a cat, and her step as stealthy. Nora tried hard to talk to her on other matters than housekeeping, but found her so stolidly unresponsive that at last she gave up the attempt. Life, as you said to Wally, was too short to woo a correct stand. The week flew by swiftly, every moment busy with work and plans for the tired people to come. Mrs. Atkins, it was plain, did not like the scheme. She mentioned that it would make a great deal of work, and how did Nora expect servants in these days to put up with unexpected people coming at all sorts of hours? But, said Nora, that's what the house is for. My father and I would not want a house full of servants if we didn't mean to have a house full of people. What would we do with you all? At which Mrs. Atkins sniffed, and replied haughtily that she had been in a place where there was only one lady, and she kept eleven servants. Nora's shame for her, said Nora. Anyhow, we explained it all to you when we engaged you, Mrs. Atkins. If we weren't going to have people here, we should still be living in London, in a flat, and if the servants won't do their work, we shall just have to get others who will. Which was a terrible effort of firmness for poor Nora, who inwardly hoped that Mrs. Atkins did not realise that she was shaking in her shoes. Here, set and done, in wartime, said the housekeeper morosely, servants don't grow on gooseberry bushes now, and what they don't expect. Well, I don't know what the world's coming to. But Nora, feeling unequal to more, fled, and being discovered by Wally and Jim with her head in her hands over an account book, was promptly taken out on Killaloo, the boys riding the cops, which they untruthfully persisted that they preferred. Then came Tuesday morning, with early breakfast, and the boys once more in khaki, and Jones in the carriage keeping the browns moving in the chill air. Not such a hard parting as others they had known since for the present, there was no anxiety. But from the days when Jim used to leave Billabong for his Melbourne boarding school, good-bye mourning had been a difficult one for the Lintons. They joked through it in their usual way. It was part of the family creed to keep the flag flying. Well, you may have us back at any time, as your first tired people, said Wally, his keen face looking as though it never could grow weary. Machine-gun courses must be very fatiguing, don't you think, Jim? More deers, said Nora feelingly, will have a special beef-tea-diet for you, and bath-chairs. Will they send you in an ambulance? Very lightly, and then you'll be sorry you were so disrespectful, won't she, Mr. Linton? I'm afraid you can't count on it, said that gentleman, laughing. Nora's bump of respect isn't highly developed, even for me. You'll write soon, Jim, and tell us how you get on, and what your next movements are. Rather, answered Jim, don't let the lady of the house wear off all her curls over the accounts, will you, Dad? I'd hate to see her bald. I'll keep an eye on her, said his father. Now, boys, it's time you're off. They shook hands with Alanby, to his secret gratification. He closed the carry-store upon them, and stood back at the tension, as they drove off. From an upper window, unseen, unfortunately, a figure in a red overall lend, waving a handkerchief. The train was late, and they all stammed about the platform. It was a frosty morning. Book up, old kitty, said Jim. We'll be home in no time, and look after Dad. Yes, rather, said Nora, sent me all your socks when they won't darning, which is every week. Right. They looked at each other with the blank feeling of having nothing to say that comes on station platforms or on the decks of ships before the final bell rings. When the train came in sight, the elderly porter, expecting of a tip, bustled mightily with suitcases and kit-bags, and presently they were gone. The two brown faces hung out of the carriage window, until the train disappeared round the curve. Nora and her father looked at each other. Well, my girl, said he, now I suppose we had better begin our job. They went out to the carriage, just as they were getting in the ancient porter hurried after them. There some people come by that train for use, sir. The lintons turned. A thin man, with sad, arry eyes, was limping out of the station. Behind him came two girls. Why, it's calm, Nora cried. It is, miss, at the chauffeur, and the girls I have with me, Brydie and Catty. But you didn't write, Mr. Linton said. Well, indeed, I was that rushed, and we getting off, said gone, but I gave Patsy Burke the money and told him to send the wire. But this the way with Patsy he'll likely think it'll do in a day or two as well as any time. And as a matter of fact the telegram Julie arrived three days later, by which time the new arrivals had shaken down, and there seemed some prospect of domestic peace in the home for tired people. CHAPTER VI KIDNAPPING Mrs. Hunt came slowly down the steps of a park lane mansion, now used as an officer's hospital. She was tired and dispirited. Her steps dragged as she made her way towards Piccadilly. Beneath her veil her pretty face showed white, with lines of anxiety deepening it. An officer, hurrying by, stopped and came eagerly to speak to her. How are you, Mrs. Hunt, and how's the major? Not very well, said Mrs. Hunt, answering the second part of the question. The operation was more successful than any he has had yet, but there's been a good deal of pain and he doesn't seem to pick up strength. The doctors say that his hand now depends a good deal upon his general health. He ought to live in the country, forget that there is a war on, and get thoroughly fit. She sighed, it's so easy for doctors to prescribe these little things. Yes, they all do it, said the other, a captain in Major Hunt's regiment. May I go to see him, do you think? Oh, do, Mrs. Hunt answered. It will cheer him up, and anything that will do that is good. He's terribly depressed, poor old boy. She said good-bye, and went on rarely. It was a warm afternoon for October. Nora Linton and her father had come up to London by an early train, and, after much shopping, had lunched at a little French restaurant in Soho, where they ate queer dishes and talked exceedingly bad French to the pretty waitress. It was four o'clock when they found themselves at the door of a dingy building in Bloomsbury. Floor three, the Hunt's flat, Daddy, sat Nora, consulting a notebook. I suppose there is a lift. There was a lift, but it was out of order. A grimy card, tucked into the lattice of the doorway, proclaimed the fact. So they mounted flight after flight of stairs, and finally halted before a doorway, bearing Major Hunt's card. A slatterly maid answered their ring. Mrs. Hunt's out, she said currently, gone to see the Major. Oh, will she be long? Don't think so. She's generally home about half past four. Will you wait? Nora looked at her father. Oh yes, we'll wait, he said. They followed the girl into a narrow passage, close and airless, and smelling of Irish stew. Sounds of warfare came from behind the closed door. A child began to cry loudly, and the boy's voice was heard, angry and tired. The maid ushered the visitors into a dingy little drawing-room. Nora stopped her as she was departing. Could I see the children? The girl hesitated. They're a bit untidy, she said suddenly. I ain't had no time to clean them up. There ain't no one to take them for a walk today. Oh, never mind how untidy they are, said Nora hastily. Do send them in. Oh, all right, said the girl. You'll tell the missus it was you asked for them, won't you? Yes, of course. She went out, and the Lintons looked at each other, and then at the hopeless little room. The furniture was black horse hair, very shiny and hard and slippery. There was a gim-crack bamboo overmantle, with much speckled glass, and the pictures were of the kind peculiar to London lodging-houses, apt to promote indigestion in the beholder. There was one little window, looking out upon a blank courtyard and a dirty little side-street, where children played and fought incessantly, and strayed curous nose to rubbish and and gutters in the hope of finding food. There was nothing green to be seen, nothing clean, nothing pleasant. Oh, poor kitty, said Nora under her breath. The door opened, and they came in, not shyly. The London child is seldom shy, but frankly curious, and in the case of the elder too, with suspicion. Very white-faced knights, as children well may be who have spent a London summer in a Bloomsbury Square, where the very pavements sweat tar, and the breathless, sticky heat is as cruel by night as by day. A boy of six, straight and well-grown, with dark hair and eyes, who held by the hand a small, toddling person with damp rings of golden hair, behind them a slender little girl, a little too shadowy for a mother's heart to be easy, with big brown eyes peeping elfishly from a cloud of brown curls. The boy spoke sullenly. Eva told us to come in, he said. We wanted you to take care of us, said Nora. You see, your mother isn't here. But we can't have tea, said the boy. Eva says she isn't cleaned up yet, and besides there's no milk, and very likely mother will forget the cakes, she said. But we don't want tea, said Nora. We had a big lunch, not so long ago. And besides we've got something nicer than tea, it's in his pocket. She nodded at her father, who suddenly smiled in a way that made every child love him. And fishing in his pocket threw out a square white box, at sight of which the baby said delightedly, Chock! And the kind of incredulous wonder, rather pitiful to see, came into the eyes of Jeffery and the sister. There's a very difficult red ribbon on this, said Mr. Linton, fumbling with it. I can't undo it. He smiled at little Allison. You show me how. She was across the room in a flash, the baby at her heels. But Jeffery made a slow step or two, and then stopped again. But you don't undo it at all, she said. It sticks on top. You break this paper, pointing to the seal, and then it undoes himself. You're quite right, said Mr. Linton, as the lid came off. So it does. How do you know? We did have lots of boxes when we lived with the regimen, said the small girl. But now the regimen's in France, and daddy doesn't have enough pennies for Chock's. Her busy fingers tossed aside tissue paper and silver wrapping, until the brown rows of sweets were revealed. Then she put her hands by her sides. Is we to have some? Oh, you poor little soul, said David Linton hurriedly, and caught her up on his knee. He held the box in front of her. Now, which sort do you think is best for Ouija boys like that? He asked, indicating the baby, who was making silent dives in the direction of the box. And which do you like? And Jeffery. Michael likes these. She fished out one carefully, and Michael fell upon it, sitting on the carpet that he might devour it at his ease. And Jeff and me, oh, we likes any at all. Then you shall have any at all. He held out his free hand, come on, Jeff, and the boy, who had hesitated, digging one foot into the carpet, suddenly capitulated and came. Are you an officer? He asked presently. No, I'm too old, said David Linton, but I have a big son, who is one, and another boy too. What's their regiment? The same as your father's. Truly! A sparkle came into the boy's eyes. I'm going to be in it some day. Of course you will, and Michael too, I suppose, and then you'll fight the Germans, that is, if there is any left. Daddy says there won't be, but I keep hoping there'll be just a few for me and Michael. Alison wants some too, said that lady, wants to kill them with my revolver. A nice young fire-eater you are, said Mr. Linton, laughing. Those can't kill Germans, silly, said Geoffrey scornfully. They have to stop at home and make bandages. To which his sister replied calmly, Shant, I'm going to kill forty-eleven, with an air of finality which seems to end to discussion. Nor I checked any further war-like reflections by finding a new layer of sweets as attractive as those on top, and the three heads clustered over the box in a pleasant anxiety of selection. The carriages on the tube-railway had been very stuffy that afternoon. Mrs. Hunt emerged thankfully from the crowded lift which shot up the passengers from underground. She came with slow step into the dusty street. The flat was not far away, that was one comfort. But she sighed impatiently as she entered the building, to be confronted with the not-working legend on the lift. Little wretch, she said, alluding to the absent lift-boy, I'm sure he's playing pitch and toss round the corner. She toiled up the three long flights of stairs, her dainty soul revolting at their unswept dinginess. Stella Hunt had been brought up in a big house on a wind-swept Cumberland fell. And there was no day in crowded Bloomsbury when she did not long for the clean open spaces of her girlhood. She let herself into the flat with her lechkey. Voices came to her from the sitting-room, with a gurgle of laughter from little Michael. She frowned. Eva should not have led the children in there, she thought anxiously. They may do some damage. She opened the door hurriedly. No one noticed her for a moment. David Linton, with Allison on one knee, and Jeffrey on the other, was deep in a story of kangaroo hunting. On the floor sat Nora, with Michael tucked into her lap. His face blissful as she told on his fat fingers the tale of the little pigs who went to market. The box of chocolates was on the table, its scarlet ribbon making a bright spot of colour in the drab room. The mother looked for a minute in silence, something of the weariness dying out of her eyes. Then Jeffrey looked up and saw her, a slight figure holding a paper back. Hello! he said, I'm glad you didn't forget the cakes, cos we've got people to tea. Mr. Linton placed his burden on the hearth-rock and got up. How are you, Mrs. Hunt? I hope you don't mind our taking possession like this. We wanted to get acquainted. I could wish they were cleaner, so Mrs. Hunt, laughing, as she shook hands, have seldom seen three grubbier people. Jeff, dear, couldn't even have washed your face? She said she hadn't time, so Jeffrey easily. We tried to wash Michael, but he only got more streaky. Oh, please don't mind, Mrs. Hunt, Nora pleaded. They've been such darlings. I'm afraid I don't mind at all, said Mrs. Hunt, sitting down thankfully. I have been picturing my poor baby's tired to death of not being out, and then to come home and find them in the seventh heaven. She broke off, her lip quivering a little. You're just as tired as you can be, Sir Nora. Now you're going to rest, and Jeff will show me how to get tea. Oh, I couldn't let you into that awful little kitchen, said Mrs. Hunt, hastily. And besides, I'm awfully sorry. I don't believe the milkman has been yet. I could go to the milk-shop round the corner with a joke, said Jeffrey anxiously. Do let's, mother. Is there one? Nora asked. Now Mrs. Hunt, do rest. Make her put her feet up on the sofa, Dad. And Jeff and I will go for milk. And I'll ask Eva to make tea. Can she? Oh, of course she can, said Mrs. Hunt, seizing to argue at a point, but she's never fit to be seen. That doesn't matter, said David Linton masterfully. We've seen her once, and survived a shock. Just put your feet up, and tell me all about your husband. Nora will see to things. Eva, however, was found to have risen to the situation. She had used soap and water with surprising effect, and now bloomed in a fresh cap and an apron that had plainly done duty a good many times, but, being turned inside out, still presented a decent front to the world. She scorned help in preparing tea, but graciously permitted Nora to wash the three children and brush their hair, and indicated where clean overalls may be found. Then escorted by all three, Nora sellied forth, jogging hand, and found not only the milk-shop, but another, where cakes and scones so clamoured to be bought, that they all returned laden with paper bags. Eva had made a huge plate of buttered toast, so that the meal, which presently made its appearance on a big table in the drawing-room, might well have justified the query as to whether, indeed, war were in progress. Mrs. Hunt laughed rather mercilessly. I suppose I ought to protest, but I'm too tired, she said, and it is very nice to be taken care of again. Michael, you should have bread and butter first. There isn't any, said Allison with triumph. Nora was tucking a feeder under Michael's fat chin. Now he's my boy, for a bit, not yours at all, Mrs. Hunt, she said, laughing. Forget them all, I'm going to be head nurse. And Mrs. Hunt lay back thankfully, and submitted to be waited on, while the shouts of laughter from the tea-table smoothed away a few more lines from her face, and made even Eva festing on unaccustomed cakes in the kitchen, small, grimly, and murmur, Lord, ain't they having a time. Not until tea was over, and the children busy with picture-books that had come mysteriously from another of his pockets, did David Linton unfold his plan, and then he did it somewhat nervously. We want to take you all out of this, Mrs. Hunt, he said. There's a little cottage, a jolly little-tatched place, close to our house that is simply clamoring to have you all come and live in it. I think it will hold you all comfortably. Where you come? Mrs. Hunt flushed. Don't talk to poor Blumsbury people of such heavenly things as attached cottages, she said. We have this horrible abode on a long lease, and I don't see any chance of leaving it. Oh, never mind the lease, we'll stop let it for you, said Mr. Linton. He told her briefly of John O'Neill's bequest to Nora. I want you to put it out of your head that you're accepting the slightest favour, he went on. We feel that we only hold the place in trust. The cottage is there, empty, and indeed it is you who will be doing us the favour by coming to live in it. Oh, why couldn't, she said breathlessly. Just think of it, Mrs. Hunt, Nora knelt down by the hard little horse-hair sofa. There's a big lawn in front, and a summer-house where the babies could play, and a big empty attic for them on wet days, and heaps of fresh milk, and you could keep chickens. And the sitting-room catches all the sun, and a major hunt comes out of the hospital, it would be so quiet and peaceful. He could lie out under the trees on fine days, on a rush-launch. And there are jolly woods for him to walk in. The poor wife caught her breath. And he'd be such a tremendous company for that, and I knew you'd help me when I got into difficulties with my cook-lady. There's a little stream, and a tiny lake, and—when is we going, mother? The question was Allison's, put with calm certainty. She and Jeffrey had stolen near, and were listening with eager faces. Oh, my darling, I'm afraid we can't, said Mrs. Hunt tremulously. But the big girl says we can. When is we going? Oh, mother, said Jeffrey, very low. Away from here, he called her hand. Oh, say we're going, mother, darling. Of course she'll say it, David Linton said. The only question is, how soon can you be ready? Douglas is terribly proud, Mrs. Hunt said. I am afraid I couldn't be proud, but he will never accept a favour. I know it will be no use to ask him. Then we won't ask him, said David Linton calmly. When does he leave the hospital? This day weak, if he is well enough? Then we'll have you comfortably installed long before that. We won't tell him a thing about it. On the day he's to come out, I'll go for him in the motor, and whisk him down to Homewood before he realises where he's going. Now, be sensible, Mrs. Hunt, as she tried to speak. You know what this state is, how anxious you are. You told me all about it just now. When you, injustice to him, refuse to come, can you face bringing him back here? Jeffrey suddenly burst into sobs. Oh, don't, mother, he choked, you know he hates it, and trees and grass and wood sound. He hit his face in her arm. Chickens, said Allison, and akits to play in. You're in a hopeless minority, you see, Mrs. Hunt, said Mr. Linton, you'll have to give in. Mrs. Hunt put her arms round the children who were pressing against her in their eagerness, whereupon Michael raised a wrathful hell, and flung himself bodily upon them, ejaculating, once to be hugged, too. Over the three heads the mother looked up at her visitors. Yes, I give in, she said. I'm not brave enough not to, but I don't know what Douglas will say. I'll attend to Douglas, said Mr. Linton cheerfully. Now, how soon can you come? He frowned severely. There's to be no question of house cleaning here. I'll put in people to do that. You'll have your husband to nurse next week, and I won't have you tiring yourself out beforehand, so you have only to pack. Look, Mrs. Hunt, Nora was flushed with another brilliant idea. Let us take the babies down today. I'm sure they will come with me. Then you and Eva will have nothing to do but pack up your things. Oh, I couldn't. Mrs. Hunt began. Ah, yes, you could. She turned to the children. Jeff, will you all come with my daddy and me, and get the cottage ready for mother? Jeffrey hesitated. Would you come soon, mother? I believe if I had nothing else to do, I could leave the flat tomorrow, Mrs. Hunt said, submitting. Would you all be happy, Jeff, and very good? Yes, if you'd hurry up and come, you'll be a good kid, Alison, won't you? Yes, said Alison, will I see chickens ever so many, Nora said, and Michael will be a darling, and will all sleep together in one big room and have pillow fights. You had certainly better come soon before your family's manners become ruined, Mrs. Hunt said, Mr. Linton, laughing. Then you can really manage to get away tomorrow. Very well, I'll call for you about five, if that will do. Yes, that will give me time to see Douglas first. But you won't tell him anything? Oh, no, he would only worry. Of course, Mr. Linton, I shall be able to get up to see him every day. We're less than an hour by rail, he told her, and the trains are good. Now I think you had better pack up those youngsters, and I'll get a taxi. Nora helped to pack the little clothes, trying hard to remember instructions as to food and insistence on good manners. Oh, I know you'll spoil them, submissed Hunt resiantly. Poor mites, they could do with a bit of spoiling. They have had a dreary year. But I think they will be good. They have been away with my sister sometimes, as she gives them a good character. The children said goodbye to their mother gaily enough. The ride in the motor was sufficient excitement to smooth out any momentary dismay at parting. Only Jeffrey set up very straight, with his lips tightly pressed together. He leaned from the window, Nora gripping his coat anxiously. You'll be true certain to come tomorrow, mother. I promise, she said. Goodbye, old son. Mother always keeps her promises, so it's all right, he said, leaning back with a little smile. Alison had no worries. She sang high, diddle, diddle, loud and clear, as he rushed through the crowded streets. When a block in the traffic came, people on buses looked down, smiling involuntarily at the piping voice coming from the recesses of the taxi. As for Michael, he sat on Nora's knee and sucked his thumb in complete content. Jones met him at the end of the little journey. His lips involuntarily shaped himself to a whistle of amazement as the party filed out of the station. Though to the credit of his training be it recorded that no sound came, Jeffrey caught his breath with the light at the side of the brown corpse. Oh, are they yours? Yes, aren't they dearest, responded Nora? The boy caught her hand. Oh, could I possibly sit in front and look at them? Nora laughed. Could he, Jones, would you take care of him? He'd be as safe as in a cradle, Miss Nora, said Jones delightedly. Come on up, sir, and I'll show you how to drive. Mr. Linton swung him up, smiling at the transfigured little face. Nora had already got her charges into the carriage. A porter stowed away their trunk, and the horses trotted off through the dusk. I didn't ever want to get out, Jeffrey confided to Nora as they went up the steps to the open door of Homewood. That kind man let me hold the end of the reins, and he says she'll show me more horses to-morrow. There's a pony, too, who'll teach you to ride it, said Mr. Linton, where at Jeffrey gasped with joy and became speechless. Well, have you got them all tucked up, asked Mr. Linton when Nora joined him in the morning-room an hour later? Oh, yes, they were so tired, poor mites. Bride helped me to bathe them, and we fed them all on bread and milk, with lots of cream. Michael demanded mummy, but he was too sleepy to worry much. But dad, Jeff wants you badly to say good night. He says his own daddy always says it to him when he's in bed. Would you mind? Right, said her father. He went upstairs with Nora at his heels, and tipped out into the big room, where two of his three small guests were already sleeping soundly. He looked very tall as he stood beside a little bed in the corner. Jeff's bright eyes peeped up at him. It was awful good of you to come, he said sleepily. Daddy does. He says, good night, old chap, and God bless you. Good night, old chap, and God bless you, said David Linton gravely. He held the small hand a moment in his own, and then, stooping, brushed his forehead with his lips. God bless you, said Jeff's drowsy voice. I'm going, going to ride the pony. Tomorrow. His words trailed off in sleep. A famous painter had made a vaulted ceiling an exquisite thing of palest blush-roses and laughing cupids, tumbling among vine-leaves and tendrils. The white walls bore long panels of the same design. There were no fittings for lighting, and the white walls were made of wood, and the white walls were made of wood, and the white walls were made of wood, and the white walls were made of wood, and the white walls were light-visible. When darkness fell, the touch of a button flooded the room with a soft glow, coming from some unseen source in the car of Cornish. The shining floor bore heavy Persian rugs, and there were tables heaped with books and magazines, and the nurses who flitted in and out were all dainty and good to look at. All about a room were splendid palms and pots, from giants twenty feet high to lesser ones, the graceful leaves of which could just catch the eye of a tired man in bed, fresh from the grim ugliness of the trenches. It was the palms you saw as you came in, not the beds here and there among them. A good many patients were up this afternoon, for this was a ward for semi-convalescence. Not all were fully dressed. They moved about in dressing-gowns, or lay on the sofas, or played games at the little tables. One man was in uniform, Major Hunt, who sat in a big chair near his bed, and from time to time cast impatient glances at the door. Wish we weren't going to lose you, Major, said a tall man in a purple dressing-gown, who came up to ward with wonderful swiftness, considering that he was on crutches. But I expect you're keen to go. Oh yes, though I'll miss this place, Major Hunt cast an appreciative glance down the beautiful room. It has been great luck to be here. There are not many hospitals like this in England. But, well, even at home is only a beastly little flat in Bloomsbury. It is home, and I shall be glad to get back to my wife and the youngsters. I miss the kids horribly. Yes, one does, said the other. I daresay I'll find them something of a crowd on wet days, when they can't get out. Said Major Hunt, laughing. The flat is small, and my wretched nerves are all on edge. But I want them badly for all that. And it's rough on my wife to be so much alone. She has led a kind of wandering life since war broke out. Sometimes we've been able to have the kids with us, but not always. He stressed himself wearily. God, how glad I'll be when the bush is hammered, and we're able to have a decent home again. We're all like that, said the other man. I've seen my youngsters twice in the last year. Yes, you're worse off than I am, said Major Hunt. He looked impatiently towards the door, fidgeting. I wish Stella would come. But when the nurse brought him a summons presently, and he said good-bye to the ward, and went eagerly down to the ground floor, in an electric lift worked by an Earl's daughter in a very neat uniform. It was not his wife who awaited him in a little white and gold sitting-room, but a very tall man, looking slightly apologetic. Your wife is perfectly well, said David Linton, checking the quick inquiry that rose to the soldier's lips. But I persuaded her to give me the job of calling for you today. Our car is rather more comfortable than a taxi, and the doctor thought it would be a good thing for you to have a little run first. Major Hunt tried not to look disappointed, and failed signally. It's awful good of you, he said courteously, but I don't believe I'm up too much yet, and I'm rather keen on getting home, if you wouldn't mind going there direct. David Linton cast an appealing look at the nurse, who had accompanied her patient. She rose to the occasion promptly. Now, Major Hunt, she protested, doctor's orders. You promised to take all the exercise you could, and a run in the car would be the very thing for you. Oh, very well! Major Hunt's voice was resigned. David Linton lent towards him. I'll make it as short as I can, he said confidentially. They said good-bye, and they merged into Park Lane, where the big blue motor waited. If radio must think me horribly rude, said the soldier as they started. Fact is, I'm very anxious to see my youngsters. I don't know why, but Stella wouldn't bring them to the hospital to see me this last week. But it's certainly jolly to be out again. He leaned back, enjoying the comfort of the swift car. I suppose, he hesitated, it would be altogether too much trouble to go round by the flat, and pick up my wife and Jeff. They would love a run. Oh, ah, the flat, yes, the flat, said David Linton a little wildly. I'm afraid, that is, we should be too early. Mrs. Hunt would not expect us so soon, and she meant to be out with all the children, shopping. Fat at car for the prodigal's return, don't you know? Awfully sorry. Oh, it's quite all right, so Major Hunt, looking rather amazed. Only, she doesn't generally take them all out. But, of course, it doesn't matter. I'll tell you what, said his host, regaining his composure. We'll take all of you out tomorrow. Mrs. Hunt and the three youngsters, as well as yourself, the car will hold all. Major Hunt thanked him rather weirdly. They sped on, leaving the outskirts of London behind them. Up and down long suburban roads, beyond the trail of motor buses, until the open country gleamed before them. The soldier took a long breath of the sweet air. God, it's good to see fields again, he said. Presently he glanced at the watch on his wrist. Nearly time to turn, don't you think? he said. I don't want Stella to be waiting long. Very soon, said Mr. Linton, just a little more country air. The chauffeur has his orders. I won't keep you much longer. He wracked his brains anxiously for a moment, and then plunged into a story of Australia. A story in which bush rangers, blacks and bushfires mingled so amazingly that it was impossible not to listen to it. Having once secured his hapless guest's attention, he managed to leave the agony of invention and the slide gracefully to cattle mustering, about which it was not necessary to invent anything. Major Hunt became interested and asked a few questions, and they were deep in a comparison of the ways of handling cattle on an Australian run and at Texas ranch, when the car suddenly turned in at a pair of big iron gates and whirled up a drive, fringed with trees. Major Hunt broke off in the middle of a sentence. Hello, where are we going? I have to stop at a house here for an instant, said Mr. Linton. Just a moment, I won't keep you. Major Hunt frowned. He was tired. The car was wonderfully comfortable, but the rush through the keen air was wearying to a semi-invalid, and he was conscious of a feeling of suppressed irritation. He wanted to be home. The thought of the hard little sofa in the London flat suddenly became tempting. He could lie there and talk to the children and watch Stella moving about. Now they were miles into the country, long miles, that must be covered again before he was back in Bloomsbury. He bit his lips to restrain words that might not seem courteous. I should really be very grateful if— He stopped. The car had turned into a side avenue. He caught a glimpse of a big, money-gabled house away to the right. Then they turned the corner, and the car came to a standstill, with the bonnet almost poking into a great clump of rotted entrance. There was a thatched cottage beside them. And round the corner, there was a small boy in a sailor's suit, with his face alight with a very ecstasy of welcome. Daddy! Oh, daddy! Jeff! said Major Hunt, amazingly. But how? I don't understand. There were other people coming round the corner, his wife, tall and slender, with her eyes shining. Behind her, Nora Linton, with Alison trotting beside her, and Michael perched on one shoulder. At sight of his father, Michael drummed with his heels to Nora's great discomfort, and uttered shrill squeaks of joy. Come on! said Jeffery breathlessly, tugging at the door. Come on! They're all here. Come on, Hunt! said David Linton, jumping out. Let me help you. Mind your hand. I suppose I'll wake up in a moment, said Major Hunt, getting out slowly. At present it's a nice dream. I don't understand anything. How are you, Miss Linton? You don't need to wake up, said his wife, in a voice that shook a little. Her brave eyes were misty. Only, you're home. It's the loveliest home, Daddy! Jeff's hand was in his father's, pulling him on. There's chickens, said Alison, with a high pipe, and an akit with toys. She means an attic, said Jeffery scornfully. Come on, Daddy! We've got such heaps to show you. Somehow they found themselves indoors. Nora and her father had disappeared. They were all together, father, mother, and babies, in a big room fluttered with sunlight. A room covered with a thick red matting, with heavy rilks on it. A room with big easy chairs, and gave legged tables. And a white couch heaped with bright cushions, drawn close to an open casement. There was a fire of logs, crackling cheerly in a wide fireplace. There were their own belongings, photographs, books, his own pipe rack, and tobacco jar. There were flowers everywhere, smiling and greeting. Tea cups and silver sparkled on a wide cloth. A copper kettle bubbled over a spirit lamp, and there were his own people clinging round him, welcoming, holding him wherever little hands could grasp. The babies, fresh, clean, even rosy. His wife's face, no longer tired. And there was no Bloomsbury anywhere. Major Hunt sat down on the sofa, disentangled Michael from his leg, and lifted him with his good arm. It isn't a dream, really, I suppose, Stella, he said. I won't wake up presently. I don't want to. No. It's just a blessed reality, she told him, smiling. Hang up Daddy's cap, Jeff. Steady, Allison, darling, mind his hand. Don't worry about anything, Douglas. Only, you're home. I don't even want to ask questions, set her husband in the same dazed voice. I find one has no curiosity when one suddenly gets to heaven. We won't be going away from heaven, though, will we? No, we're a permanent residence, she told him, laughing. Now, get comfy. We'll all have tea together. Tease is lovely here, confided Allison to him. They squeam and cakes every day, and the chickens make real eggs in nests. And I can ride. A pony, Daddy! Jeffery's voice was quivering with pride. He stood by the couch, an erect little figure. Why, he's grown ever so much, said Major Hunt. They've all grown. You too, my little fat Michael. I left white-faced babies in that beastly flat. And you too, she bent over him. Your dear eyes have forgotten the old war, he said, very low. There was a heavy knock at the door. Entered Eva, resplendent in a butterfly-cap, and an apron so stiffly starched that it stood away resentfully from her figure. By no stretch of imagination could Eva ever have been called shy. But she had a certain amount of awe for her master, and found speech in his presence and little difficult. But on this occasion it was evident that she felt that something was demanded of her. She put her burden of butter-toes on a trivet in the fender, and said breathlessly, Ope, I see you're well, sir, and ain't as a nice surprise. Thank you, Eva. Yes, said Major Hunt. Where at the handmaiden withdrew, her heavy dread retreating to the kitchen to the accompaniment of song. Oh, oh, oh, it's a lovely war. I didn't know her for a moment, Major Hunt said, laughing. You see, she never had less than six smuts on her face in Bloomsbury. She is transformed, like all of you in this wonderful dream. Tea isn't a dream, said his wife. She made it in a silver teapot, and they all fluttered about him, persuading him to eat, and made his tea a matter of some difficulty. Since all three children insisted on getting as close to him as possible, and he had but one good hand. He did not mind. Once, as his wife brought him a refilled cup, she saw him lean his face down until it rested for a moment on the gold rings of Michael's hair. It was with some anxiety that Nora and her father went to call on their guest next morning. What will we do if he's stiff, necked, and proud, dad? Nora asked, as simply couldn't part with those babies now. Let's hope he won't be, said her father. But if the worst comes to worst, we could let him pay us a little rent for the place. We could give the money to the Red Cross, of course. Hmm! said Nora, wrinkling her nose expressively. That would be horrid. It would spoil all the idea of the place. But they found Major Hunt surprisingly meek. I daresay that if you had propounded the idea to me at first, I should have said, no, flatly, he admitted. But I haven't the heart to disturb them all now. And, frankly, I'm too thankful. If you'll let me pay you rent. Certainly not, said Mr. Linton, looking astonished and indignant. We don't run our place on those lines. Just put it out of your head that we have anything to do with it. You are taking nothing from us, only from a man who died very cheerfully, because he was able to do five minutes' work towards helping the war. He's helping it still, if his money makes it easier, for fellows like you. And I believe, wherever he is, he knows, and is glad. But there are others who may need it more, said Hunt weakly. If there are, I haven't met them yet, Mr. Linton responded. He glanced out of the window. Look there now, Hunt. Nora had slipped away, leaving the man to talk. Now she came riding up the broad gravel path across the lawn, on the black pony, leading the fat Welsh pony with Geoffrey on his back. The small boy said very straight, with his hands well down. His flushed little face sawed anxiously for his father's at the window. Major Hunt uttered a delighted exclamation. I didn't know my urchin was so advanced, he said. Well done, old son. He scammed him keenly. He doesn't sit too badly, Mr. Linton. He's not likely to do so, with Nora as his teacher. But Nora says he doesn't need much teaching, and that he has naturally good hands. She's proud of him. I think, said Mr. Linton, laughing, that they have visions of hunting together this winter. I must go out and see him, said the father, catching up his cap. Mr. Linton watched him cross the lawn with quick strides, and turned to find Mrs. Hunt at his elbow. Well, he doesn't look much like an invalid, madam, he said, smiling. He's not like the same man, she said, with grateful eyes. He slept well, and ate a huge breakfast. Even the hand is less painful. And he's so cheery. Oh, I'm so thankful to you for kidnapping us. Indeed, it's you that we have to thank, he told her. You gave us our first chance of beginning our job.