 CHAPTER XI CHIRO It was ten days later that the summons to France came. Ten days during which the boys had managed to make several meteoric dashes over to Homewood for the night, and had accomplished one blissful weekend, during which with the aid of their fellow countrymen they had brought the household to the verge of exhaustion from laughter. Nothing could damp their spirits. They rode and danced, sang and joked, and apparently having no cares in the world themselves, or determined that no one else should have any. The Hund family were drawn into the fun. The kitchen was frequently invaded. A Mr. Lyle declared that even her sitting-room was not sacred, and was privately very delighted that it was not. Allen B. began to develop a regrettable lack of control over his once-stalled features. Tara herself was observed to stuff her apron into her mouth, and rushed from the dining-room on more than one occasion. And under cover of his most energetic fooling, Jim Linton watched his father and sister, and fooled them more happily whenever he made them laugh. They arrived together unexpectedly on this last evening, preferring to bring their news rather than give it by telephone, and found, instead of the usual cheery tea-party in the hall, only silence and emptiness. Allen B., appearing, broke into a broad smile of pleasure as he greeted them. "'Everyone's out, Mr. Jim.' "'So it seems,' Jim answered. "'Where are they?' "'Not very far, sir,' Allen B. said. "'Mrs. Hunt has them all to tea with her today.' "'Oh, we'll go over a wall,' Jim said. "'Come and make yourself pretty. You have a splash of mud on your downy cheek.' At the foot of the stairs he turned. "'We're off, tomorrow, Allen B.' Allen B.'s face fell. "'To France, sir,' Jim nodded. "'The master and Miss Nora will be very sorry, sir. If I may say so, the whole household will be sorry.' "'Thanks, Allen B. We'll miss you all,' Jim said pleasantly. He sprang upstairs after Wally. Mrs. Hunt's sitting-room was already dangerously crowded. There seemed no room at all for the two tall lads, for whom Eva opened the door ten minutes later. The chorus of welcome greeted them nevertheless. "'This is delightful,' said Mrs. Hunt. "'I'm sure I don't know how you're going to fit in, but you must manage it somehow. If necessary, we'll all stand up and repack ourselves. But I warn you, it is risky. The walls may not stand it.' "'Oh, don't trouble, Mrs. Hunt,' Jim said. "'We're quite all right.' Both boys' eyes had sawed Nora as they entered, and Nora, meeting the glance, felt a sudden pang at her heart, and knew. "'My chair is ever so much too big for me,' she said. "'You can each have an arm.' "'Good idea,' said Wally, birching on the broad arm of the easy chair that swallowed her up. "'Come along, Jim, or we'll be lopsided.' We put Nora in the biggest chair in the room, and everybody is treating her with profane respect, Mrs. Hunt said. This is the first day for quite a while that she hasn't been hostess, so we made her chief guest, and she is having a rest cure. If you treat Nora with respect, it won't have at all a restful effect on her,' said Wally. I've tried, to which Nora inquired, when, in a voice of such amazement, that everyone laughed. Misunderstood as usual, said Wally pathetically, "'It really doesn't pay to be like me and have a meek spirit. People only think you are a worm and trample on you. Come here, Jeff, and take care of me.' And Jeffery, who adored him, came. Have you been riding all-breakin' lately?' "'Hm,' said Jeffery, nodding, "'I can counter now.' Good man, and he tosses. Well, just one,' Jeffery admitted. He countered before I had got it ready, and I fell off. But it didn't hurt. That's right. You practice always falling on a soft spot, and you need never worry. But I rather practice sticking on, said Jeffery. It's nicer.' "'You might practice both,' said Wally. "'You'll have plenty of both, you know.' He laughed at the puzzled face. Never mind, old chap. How are the others, and why aren't they here?' "'They're too little,' Jeffery said loftily. "'Small childrens don't come in to tea, at least not when there's parties. I came, because Mother says I'm getting normous.' "'So you are. Are the others quite well?' "'Oh, yes,' Jeffery answered, clearly regarding the question as foolish. "'They're all right. Alison's got a puppy, and Michael's been eating plate powder. His mouth was all pink. "'What's that about my Michael?' demanded Mrs. Hunt. "'Oh, yes, we found him making a hearty meal of plate powder this morning. Douglas says it should make him very bright. I'm thankful to say it doesn't seem to be going to kill him.' Michael never will realise that there is a war on, so Major Hunt aggrieved. I found him gnawing the strap of one of my gaiters the other day. "'You shouldn't underfeed the poor kid,' said Wally. "'It's clear that he's finding his nourishment when and how he can. Isn't there a society for dealing with people like you?' "'There is,' said Jim solemnly. "'It's called the police force.' "'You're two horrible boys,' said their hostess, laughing. "'And my lovely fat Michael. He's getting so corpulent he can hardly waddle. He and the puppy are really very like each other. Both of them find it easier to roll than to run.' She cast an inquiring eye round the room. "'Some more tea, Nora.' "'No, thank you, Mrs. Hunt,' Nora's voice sounded strange in her own ears. She wanted to get away from the room in the light-hearted chatter, to make sure, though she was sure already. The guns of France seemed to sound very near her.' The party broke up after a while. Jim and Wally lingered behind the others. "'Will you and the Major come over this evening, Mrs. Hunt? We're off to-morrow.' "'Oh, I'm sorry,' Mrs. Hunt's face fell. "'Poor Nora.' "'Nora will keep smiling,' said Jim. "'But I'm jolly glad you're so near her, Mrs. Hunt. You'll keep an eye on them, won't you? I'd be awfully obliged if you would.' "'You may be very sure I will,' she said. "'And there will be a tremendous welcome whenever you get leave.' "'We won't lose any time in coming for it,' Jim said. "'Blighty means more than ever it did, now that we've got a real home. Then you'll come to-night.' "'Of course we will,' she watched them stride off into the shrubbery, and joked back as I. Nora came back to them through the trees. It's marching orders, isn't it?' "'Yes, it's marching orders, old Kitty,' Jim answered. They looked at each other steadily, and then Nora's eyes met Wally's. "'When?' she asked. "'Tomorrow morning.' "'Well,' said Nora, and drew a long breath. "'And I haven't your last week's socks darned. That comes with having too many responsibilities. Any buttons to be soon on for either of you?' "'No thanks,' they told her, greatly relieved. She tucked a hand into an arm of each boy, and he went towards the house. David Linton came out hurriedly to meet them. "'Alanby says,' he began, he did not need to go further. "'We were trotting in to tell you,' said Jim. "'We'll be just in time to give the boys a cheery Christmas,' said Wally. "'Nora, are you going to send us a Christmas hamper with a pudding?' "'Rather,' Nora answered, and I'll put a lucky pig and a button and a three-penny bit in it, and you'd better eat it, would care, or you may damage your teeth.' "'Miss Delilah and I are going to plan great parcels for you. She's going to teach me to cook all sorts of things.' "'After which you'll try them on the dogs,' meaning us,' Jim said, laughing. "'Well, if we don't go into hospital after them, we'll let you know.' "'They came into the house where already the news of the boys going had spread, and the once-tired, as Wally called their guests, were waiting to wish them luck. Then everybody faded away unobtrusively and left them to themselves. They went into the morning-room, and Nora darned socks vigorously, while the boys kept up a running fire of cheery talk. Whatever was to come, they would meet it with their heads up, all four. They made dinner a revel, everyone dressed in their best, and playing up to their utmost, while Miss Delilah, the only person in the house who had wept, had sent up a dinner, which really left her very little extra chance of celebrating peace, when that most blessed day should come. Over dessert, Colonel West rose unexpectedly, and made a little speech, proposing the health of the boys, who sat for the first time with utterly miserable faces, restraining an inclination to get under the table. "'I am sure,' said the Colonel, "'that we all wish thee, um, the, um, greatest of luck to our host's sons, uh, that is, to his son and to, uh, his, uh, encumbrance that Wally firmly, quite,' said the Colonel, without listening. "'We know they will, um, make things hot for the Bosch, uh, wherever they get a chance. I, we, hope they will get plenty of chances, and, um, that we will see them, uh, back, with decorations and promotion. We will miss them, uh, very much. Speaking, um, personally, I came here fit for nothing, and have, uh, laughed so much that I, um, could almost believe myself a subaltern.' The tired people applauded energetically, and Mrs West said, "'Quite, quite.' But there was something like tears in her eyes as she said it. The hunts arrived after dinner, and they all wove the house with ringing choruses, echoed by Allenby in his pantry, as he polished the silver, and Gerrit sang a song which was not encored because something in a silver tenor made a lump come into Nora's throat. And there was no room for that, tonight, of all knights.' Jack Blake sang them a stockwriter's song, with a chorus in which all the Australians joined, and Dick Harrison recited the Gibbon Polo Club without any alacutionary tricks, and brought down the house. Jim had slipped out to speak to Allenby, and presently, going out, they found the hall cleared, and the floor waxed for dancing. They danced to gramophone music, manipulated by Mr Linton, and Nora and Mrs Hunt had to divide each dance into three, except those with Jim and Wally, which they refused to partition, regardless of this consult of the protests from the other warriors. It was eleven o'clock when Allenby announced stolledly, supper is served, sir. Supper, said Mr Linton, how's this, Nora? I don't know, said his daughter, ask Mr Lyle. They filed in to find a table laden and glittering, in the centre a huge cake, bearing the grating, good luck, with a silken Union Jack waving proudly. Nora whispered to her father, and then ran away. She returned, presently, dragging the half-unwilling cooklady. It's against all my rules, protested the captive. Rules be hanged, said Jim cheerfully. Just you sit there, Mr Lyle. And the cooklady found herself beside Colonel West, who paid her great attention, regarding her against the evidence of his eyes, as a tired person whom he had not previously chance to meet. My poor neglected babies, said Mrs Hunt tragically, as twelve strokes joined from the grandfather-clock in the hall. Wally and Nora, crowned in blue and scarlet paper caps, the treasure of crackers, were performing a weird dance, which they called, with no very good reason, a tango. It might have been anything, but it satisfied the performers. The music stopped suddenly, and Mr Linton wound up the gramophone for the last time, slipping on a new record. The notes of old long scene, stole out. They gathered round, holding hands while they sang it, singing with all their lungs and all their hearts. Nora, between Jim and Wally, feeling her fingers crushed in each boyish grip. Then here is a hand, my trusty friend, and gives a hand of thine. Over the music her heart listened to the booming of the guns across the channel, but she set her lips and sang on. It was morning, and they were on the station. The train came slowly round the corner. I'll look after him, Nora, Wally's voice shook. Don't worry too much, old girl. And yourself, too, she said. Oh, I'll keep an eye on him, said Jim, and that's your job. And we'll plan all sorts of things for your next leave, said David Linton. God bless you, boys. They gripped hands. Then Jim put his arms round Nora's neck. Nora's shoulder. You'll keep smiling, kitty, whatever comes. Yes, I promised, Jimmy. The guard was shouting. All aboard! Cheer oh, Nora, Wally cried from the window. We'll be back in no time. Cheer oh, she made the word come somehow. The train roared off round the curve. End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 of Captain Jim This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Captain Jim by Mary Grand Bruce Chapter 12 of Labour and Promotion The months went by quickly enough, as David Linton and his daughter settled down to their work at the home for tired people. As the place became more widely known, they had rarely an empty room. The boys' regiment sent them many a worried officer, too fagged in mind and body to enjoy his leave. The hospitals kept up a constant supply of convalescent and maimed patients. And there was a steady stream of Australians of all ranks, who came, homesick for their own land, and found a little corner of it planted in the heart of Surrey. Gradually, as the Lintons realised the full extent of the homesickness of the lads from overseas, homewood became more and more Australian in details. Pictures from every state appeared on the walls. Aboriginal weapons and curiosities, woven grass mats from the natives of Queensland, Australian books and magazines and papers, all were scattered about the house. They filled vases with blue-gum leaves and golden wattle blossom from the south of France. Nora even discovered a flowering baronia in a Coup nursery man's greenhouse and carried it off in triumph, to send the house with the unforgettable delight of its perfume. She never afterwards saw a baronia, without recalling the B. Wildermond, of her fellow travellers in a railway carriage at her exquisitely scented birch, you should have seen their wandering noses, Dad, said Nora, chuckling. No one, of course, stayed very long at homewood, unless he were hopelessly unfit. From ten days to three weeks was the average stay. Then, like ships that pass in the night, the once-tired's drifted away, but very few forgot them. Little notes came from the fronts, in green, active service envelopes, post guards from Mediterranean ports, letters from east and west Africa, grateful letters from wives in garrison stations and training camps throughout the British Isles. They accumulated an extraordinary collection of photographs in uniform, and Nora had an autograph book with scrawled signatures, peculiar drawings and an occasional scrap of very bad verse. Major Hunt, his hand fully recovered, returned to the front in February, and his wife prepared to seek another home, but the Lintons flatly refused to let her go. We couldn't do it, said David Linton. Doesn't the place agree with the babies? Oh, you know it does, said Mrs. Hunt, but we have already kept the cottage far too long. There are other people. Not for that cottage, Nora said. It really isn't fair, protested their guest. Douglas never dreamt of our staying. If he had not been sent out in such a hurry at last, he would have moved us himself. David Linton looked at her for a moment. Go and play with the babies, Nora, he said. I want to talk to this obstinate person. Now look, Mrs. Hunt, he said, as Nora went off, rather relieved, Nora hated arguments. You know we run this place for an ideal, a dead man's ideal. He wanted more than anything in the world to help the war. We're merely carrying on for him. We can only do it by helping individuals. But you have done that for us. Look at Douglas, strong and fit, with one hand as good as the other. Think of what he was when he came here. He may not always be fit, and if you stay here, you ease his worries by benefitting his children and saving for their future. Then, if he has the bad luck to be wounded again, his house is all ready for him. I know, she said, and I would stay, but that there are others who needed more. Well, we haven't heard of them. Look at it another way. I am getting an old man. It worries me a good deal to think that Nora has no woman to mother her. I used to think, he said with a sigh, that it was worse for them to lose their own mother when they were wee things. Now I am not sure that Nora's loss is not just beginning. It's no small thing for her to have an influence like yours, and Nora loves you. Mrs. Hunt flushed. Indeed, I love her, she said. Then stay and mother her. There are ever so many things you can teach her that I can't, that Mrs. Lyle can't, good soul as she is. There are not things I can put into words, but you'll understand. I know she's clean and wholesome right through, but you can help to mould her for a womanhood. Of course, she left school far too early, but there seemed no help for it. And if, if bad news comes to us from the front, for any of us, we can all help each other. Mrs. Hunt thought deeply. If you really think I can be of use, I will stay, she said. I'm not going to speak of gratitude. I tried to say all that long ago. But indeed, I will do what I can. That's all right. I'm very glad, said David Linton. And if you really want her told more, Mrs. Hunt said, well, I was a governess with fairly high certificates before I was married. She could come to me for literature and French. I was brought up in Paris. Her music, too. She really should practice with her talent. I'd like it above all things, exclaimed Mr. Linton. Nora's neglected education has been worrying me badly. We'll plan it out, Mrs. Hunt said. Now I feel much happier. Nora did not need much persuasion. After the first moment of dismay at the idea of renewed lessons, she saw the advantages of the plan. Helped by the fact that she was always a little afraid of failing to come up to Jim's standard. A fear which would considerably have amazed Jim, had he but guessed it. It was easy enough to fit hours of study into her day. She rose early to practice before the tired people were awake. And most mornings saw her reading with Mrs. Hunt or chattering French, while Eva sang shrilly in the kitchen, and the babies slept in their white bunks. And Jeffrey followed Mr. Linton's heels, either unbreaken or afoot. The big Australian squatter and the little English boy had become great friends. There was something in the tiny lat that recalled the Jim of long ago, with his well-knit figure and steady eyes. One man alone, out of all tired people, had never left Homewood. For a time after his arrival, Philip Hardress had gained steadily in strength and energy. Then a chill had thrown him back, and for months he sagged downwards. Never very ill, but always losing vitality. The old depression seemed to come back to him tenfold. He could see nothing good in life, a cripple, a useless cripple. His parents were dead, safe for a brother in Salonica. He was alone in the world. He was always courteous, always gentle, but a wall of misery seemed to cut him off from the household. Then the magnificent physique of the boy asserted itself, and gradually he grew stronger, and the hacking cough left him. Again it became possible to tempt him to try to ride. He spent hours in the keen, wintry air jogging round the fields and lanes with Mr. Linton and Jeffrey, returning with something of the light in his eyes that had encouraged Nora in his first morning long ago. I believe all he wants is to get interested in something, Nora has said, watching him one day, as he sat on the stone wall of the terrace, looking across the park. He was at Oxford before he joined the army, wasn't he, dad? Mr. Linton ascended. His people arranged when he was little that he should be a barrister, but he hated the idea. His own wish was to go out to Canada. Nora pondered, couldn't you give him a job on the farm, dad? I don't know, said her father. I never thought of it. I suppose I might find him something to do. Hawkins and I will be busy enough presently. He's beginning to worry at being here so long, Nora said. Of course we couldn't possibly let him go. He isn't fit for his own society. I think if you could find him some work, he will be more content. So David Linton, after thinking the matter over, took harders into his plans for the farm, which was to be the main source of supply for Homewood. He found him a quick and intelligent helper. The work was after the boy's own heart. He surrounded himself with agricultural books and treaties on fertilizers, made a study of soils, and took samples of earth from different parts of the farm, to the profound disgust of Hawkins. War had not done away with all expert agricultural science in England. Harders sent his little packets of soil away, and received them back with advice as to treatment which, later on, resulted in the yield of the land being doubled, which Hawkins attributed solely to his own skill as a cultivator, but the cure was worked in Philip Harders. The ring of hope came back into his voice. The shop leg dragged ever so little, as he walked across the park daily, to where the plows were turning the grass of the farm fields into stretches of brown dotted with white gulls that followed the horses slow plodding up and down. The other guests took up a good deal of Mr. Linton's time. He was not sorry to have an overseer, since Hawkins, while honest and painstaking, was not afflicted with any undue allowance of brains. Together, in the study at night, they planned out to farm into little crops. Already much of the land was ready for the planting, and the model poultry-run built near the house was stocked with birds, while a flock of sheep grazed in the park, and to the tiny herd of cows had been added half a dozen pure-bread jerseys. David Linton had taken harders with him on a trip to buy the stock, and both had enjoyed it thoroughly. Meanwhile, the boys at the front sent long and cheery letters almost daily. Astonishment had come to them almost as soon as they rejoined in finding themselves promoted. They gazed at their second stars in bewilderment, which were scarcely lessened by the fact that their friends in the regiment were not at all surprised. Why, didn't you have a war on your own account in Ireland? queried Anne Strouter. You got a bush sub-marine sunk and caught half the crew, didn't you? Well, but that was only a lark, said Wally. You were wounded, anyhow, young meadows. Of course, we know Jolly well you don't deserve anything, but you can't expect the War-Office to have our intimate sources of information. He patted Wally on the back painfully. Just be Jolly thankful you get more screw, and don't grumble. No one will ever teach sense to the War-Office. There was no lack of occupation in their part of the line. They saw a good deal of fighting, and achieved some reputation as leaders of small raids. Jim, in particular, having a power of seeing and hearing at night that had been developed in long years in the bush, but which seemed the Englishman almost uncanny. There was reason to believe that the enemy felt even more strongly about it. There was seldom rest for the weary Bosch in the trenches opposite Jim Linton's section. Some of his raids were authorised, others were not. It is probable that the latter variety was more discouraging to the enemy. Behind the fighting line they were in fairly comfortable billets. The officers were hard-worked. The daily programme of drill and parades was heavy, and in addition there was the task of keeping the men interested and fit. No easy matter in the bitter cold of a North France winter. Jim proved a power of strength to his company commander, as he had been to his school. He organised football teams, and taught them the Australian game. He appealed to his father for aid, and in prompt response outcame cases of boxing gloves, hockey and lacrosse sets, and footballs enough to keep every man going. Nora sent a special gift, a big case of indoor games for wet weather, with a splendid bagatelle board that made the battalion deeply envied by less fortunate neighbours, until a German shell disobludgingly burst just above it, and reduced it to fragments. However Nora has discussed that the news was so deep that the tired people in residence at Homewood at a moment conspired together, and supplied the battalion with a new board in her name, and this time it managed to escape destruction. The battalion had some stiff fighting towards the end of the winter, and earned a pat on the back from high quarters for its work in capturing some enemy trenches. But they lost heavily, especially in officers. Jim's company commander was killed at his side. The boy went out at night into no man's land, and brought his body in single-handed, in grim defiance of the Bosch machine-guns. Jim had liked Anstruther. It was not to be thought of that his body should be dishonoured by the touch of a hun. Next day he had a far harder task, for Anstruther had asked him to write to his mother if he failed to come back. Jim bid his pen for two hours over that letter, and in his own mind stigmatised it as a rotten effort after it was finished. But the woman to whom it carried whatever of comfort was left in the world for her saw no fault in it. It was worn and frayed with reading when she locked it away with her dead son's letters. Jim found himself a company commander after that day's fighting, doing captain's work without captain's rank. Wally was a subaltern, an arrangement rather doubted at first by the colonel, until he saw that the chums played the game strictly, and maintained in working hours a discipline as firm as their friendship. The men adored them. They knew their officers shirked neither work nor play, and that they knew their own limitations. Neither Jim nor Wally ever deluded themselves with the idea that they knew as much as their heart-bitten, non-commissioned officers. But they learned their man by heart, knowing each one's nickname and something of his private affairs, losing no opportunity of talking to them and gaining their confidence, and sizing them up as they talked, just as in all days, as captains of the team. They had learned the size of boys at football. If I've got to go over the top, I want to know what Joe Wilkins and Tiny Judd are doing behind me, said Jim. They had hoped for leave before the spring offensive, but it was impossible. The battalion was too shorthanded, and the enemy was endeavouring to be the four-times-armed man who gets his fist in fussed. In that early fighting it became necessary to deal with the nest of machine-guns that had got the range of their trenches to a nice city. Shells had failed to find them, and the list of casualties to their discredit mounted daily higher. Jim got the chance. He shook hands with Wally, a vision of miserable disappointment in the small hours of a starlit night, and led a big body of his men out of the front trench, making a long detour and finally working nearer and nearer to the spot he had studied through his periscope for hours during the day. Then he planted his men in a shell-hole and wriggled forward alone, the men lay waiting, inwardly chafing a being left. Presently their officer came crawling back to them. We've got them cold, he whispered, come along and don't fire a shot. It was long after daylight before the German guards in the main trenches suspected anything wrong with that particular nest of machine-guns, and marveled at its silence, for there was no one left to tell them anything of the fierce silent onslaught from the rear, of men who dropped as it were from the clouds, and fought with clubbed rifles, led by a boy who seemed in the starlight as tall as a young pine tree. The gun crews were sleeping, and most of them never woke again. The guards, drowsy in the quiet stillness, heard nothing until that swift, wordless avalanche was upon them. In the British trench there was impatience and anxiety. The men, waiting to go forward, if necessary, to support the raiders, crouched at the fire-step, muttering. Wally, sick with suspense, peered forward beside the colonel, and would come in person to see the result of the raid. I believe they've missed their way altogether, muttered the colonel angrily. There should have been shots long ago. It isn't like Linton. Dawn will be here soon, and the whole lot will be scuppered. He wheeled at a sudden commotion beyond him in the trench. Silence there, what's that? That was Jim Linton and his warriors, very muddy, but otherwise undamaged. They dropped into the trench quietly, those who came first turning to receive heavy objects, from those yet on top. Last of all, Jim hopped down. Hello, wall! he whispered. Got them. Got them! said the colonel sternly. What? Where have you been, sir? I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't know you were there, Jim said, rather horrified. It is not given to every subaltern to call his commanding officer wall, when that is not his name. I have the guns, sir. You have... What? The Bosch. I mean, the enemy, machine guns. We brought them back, sir. You brought them back? The colonel leaned against the wall at the trench, and began to laugh helplessly. And your men? All here, sir, we brought the ammunition to, said Jim Mowley, and seemed a pity to waste it. Which things, being told in high places, brought Jim a mention in dispatches, and, shortly afterwards, confirmation of his acting rank. It would be difficult to find fitting words to tell, of the effect of this matter, upon a certain grizzled gentleman and a very young lady, who, when the information reached them, were studying patent manures in a morning-room, in a house in Surrey. He's... why? gasped Nora incredulously. He's actually Captain Linton. I suppose he is, said her father. Doesn't it sound ridiculous? I don't think it's ridiculous at all, said Nora warmly. He deserved it. I think it sounds simply beautiful. Do you know, said her father, somewhat embarrassed, I really believe I agree with you. He laughed. Captain Linton. Captain Linton reiterated Nora, our old Jimmy. She swept the table clear. Oh, Daddy, bother the fertilizer for tonight. I'm going to write to Billabong. But it isn't meal-day. Tomorrow protest her father, Mowley. No, said Nora, but I'll explode if I don't tell Brownie. And will the Captain be coming home soon, Miss Nora? inquired Allenby a little later. The household had waxed a static over the news. The Captain, Nora echoed. Oh, how nice of you, Allenby. It does sound jolly. Mr. Lyle wishes to know, Miss. The news has induced her to invent a special cake. We'll have to send it to the poor Captain, I'm afraid, said Nora, dimpling. Dear me, I haven't told Mrs. Hunt. I must fly. She dropped her pen and fled to the cottage, to find her father there before her. I might have known you couldn't wait to tell, said Nora, laughing. And he pretends he isn't proud, Mrs. Hunt. I've given up even pretending, said her father, laughing. I found myself shaking hands with Allenby in the most affectionate manner. You see, Mrs. Hunt, this sort of thing hasn't happened in the family before. Oh, but those boys couldn't help doing well, Mrs. Hunt said, looking almost as pleased as the two beaming faces before her. They are so keen. I don't know if I should, but shall I read you what Douglas says about them? They gathered eagerly together over the curved words of praise Major Hunt had written. Quite ordinary boys, and not a bit brainy, he finished, but I wish I had a regimen full of them. Out in Australia, two months later, a huge old woman and the lean Irishman talked over the letter Nora had at length managed to finish. And it's a captain he is, a Murty O'Toole, Head Stockman. A captain, Brownie echoed. Don't it seem only yesterday he was tearing about in his first little trousers, and the little mistress watching him, and riding his first pony. She put him over her head, and I'm sure he was killed. Hold her, will you, Murty, since he, stamping his little foot, and blood trickling down his face. Give me a leg up again, he says, till we see whose boss. And I put him up, and off he went, down the paddock, digging his little heels into her. And he is a captain, little master Jim. I don't know why you're surprised, said Brownie Loftley. The only wonder, to me, is he wasn't one six months ago. By Mary Grand Proust Chapter 13 The End of a Perfect Day Are you ready, Nora? Coming, Phil, half a minute. Hardress, in riding-kit, looked into the kitchen, where Nora was carrying on a feverish consultation with Mr. Lyle. You'll be late, he said, warningly. Your father and Jeffrey have gone on. Will I truly, said Nora, distractedly? Yes, Mr. Lyle, I'll ride to the stores by the to-night. Now, what about the fish? Leave the fish to me, said Mr. Lyle, laughing. If I can't manage to worry out a fish-course without you, I don't deserve to have half my diplomas. Run away, the house won't go to pieces in a single hunting-day. Bless you, said Nora, thankfully, dragging on her gloves and casting a wild glance about the kitchen for a hunting-crop. Oh, there it is! Good-bye! You won't forget that Major Orcright is only allowed white meat. Oh, run away! I won't forget anything. Well, he only came last night, so I thought you might know, said the apologetic mistress of the house. All right, Phil, I'm truly coming. Goodbye, Mr. Lyle. The words float back as she raced off to the front door, where the horses were fretting impatiently, held by the groom. They jogged down the avenue, hard-race on one of the brown cobs, Nora on brunette, the black pony, her favorite mount. It was a perfect hunting-morning, mild and still, with almost a hint of spring warmth in the air. The leafless trees bore faint signs of swelling leaf buds. Here and there, in the grass beside the drive, crocus bells peeped out at them. Purple, white, and gold. We'll have daffodils soon, I do believe, Nora said. Well, I love Australia, but there isn't anything in the world lovelier than your English spring. Ahead of them, as they turned into the road, they could see Mr. Linton, looking extraordinarily huge on Killaloo, beside Jeffery's little figure on Breakin. This is a great day for Jeff, hard-race said. Yes, he has been just longing to go to a meet. Of course, he has driven a good many times, but Mrs. Hunt has been a bit nervous about his riding. But he's perfectly safe, and it isn't as if Breakin ever got excited. No. Come along, Nora, there's a splendid stretch of grass here. Let's canter. They had agreed upon a Christian name-footing some time before, when it seemed that hard-race was likely to be a permanent member of the household. She looked at him now, as they countered along through the dew-wet grass at the side of the road. No one would have guessed at anything wrong with him. He was bronzed and clear-eyed, and sat as easily in the saddle as though he had never been injured. Sometimes, said Nora suddenly, I find myself wondering which of your legs is the shop one. She flushed. I suppose I oughtn't to make personal remarks, but your leg does seem family property. So it is, said hard-race grinning. Anyhow, you couldn't make a nicer personal remark than that one. So I forgive you. But it's all thanks to you, people. We couldn't have done anything if you hadn't been determined to get on, Nora answered. As soon as you made up your mind to that, well, you got on. I don't know how you stood me so long, he muttered. Then they caught up to the riders ahead, and were received by Jeffrey with a joyful shout. You were nearly late, Nora, said Mr. Linton. I dragged her from the kitchen, sir, hard-race said. She and Mr. Lyle were pouring over food. If we get no dinner tonight, it will be our fault. If you had the responsibility of feeding fourteen hungry people, you wouldn't make a joke of it, said Nora. It's very solemn, especially when the fish-monger fails you hopelessly. There's always Tin Sammon, suggested her father. Tin Sammon indeed. Nora's voice was scornful. We haven't come yet to giving the tired people dinner out of a tin. However, it's all right. Mr. Lyle will work some sort of a miracle. I'm not going to think of housekeeping for a whole day. The meat was four miles away, near a marshy hollow thickly covered with osiers and willows. A wood fringed the marsh, and covered a hill which rose from a little stream beyond it. Here and there was a glimpse of the yellow flame of Gorsh. There were rolling fields all round, many of them plowed. It had not yet been made compulsory for every land-owner to till a portion of his holding, but English farmers were beginning to awake to the fact that while the German submarine flourished, it would be both prudent and profitable to grow as much food as possible, and the plow had been busy. The gate into the field overlooking the marsh stood open. A few riders were converging towards it from different points. The old days of crowded meads and big fields of riders were gone. Only a few plucky people struggled to keep the hounds going, and to find work for the hunters that had escaped the first requisition of horses for France. The hounds came into view as Mr. Linden's party arrived. The master came first on a big workman-like gray, a tall woman with a weather-beaten face surmounted by a bowler hat. The hounds trotted meekly after her, one or another pausing now and then to drink an away-side puddle before being rebuked for bad manners by a watchful whip. Mrs. Ainsley liked the Linden's. She greeted him pleasantly. ''Nice morning,'' she said. ''Congratulations, I hear the boy is a captain.'' ''We can't quite realise it,'' Nora said, laughing. ''You see, we hardly knew he had grown up.'' ''Well, he grew to a good size,'' said Mrs. Ainsley with a smile. ''Hello, Jeff, are you going to follow today?'' ''They won't let me,'' said Jeffery dolefully. ''I know break-in and I could, but mother says we're too small.'' ''Too bad,'' said Mrs. Ainsley. ''Never mind, you'll be big pretty soon.'' A tall old man in Nicarbockers greeted her, Squire Brandt, who owned the famous property a few miles away, and who had the reputation of never missing a meat, although he did not ride. He knew every inch of the country. It was said that he could boast, at the end of a season, that he had, on the whole, seen more of the runt than anyone else except the master. He was a tireless runner, with an extraordinarily long stride, which carried him over fields and ditches, and gave him the advantage of many a shortcut impossible to most people. He knew every hound by name. Some said he knew every fox in the country. And he certainly had an amazing knowledge of the direction a fox was likely to take. Horses, on the other hand, bored him hopelessly. He consented to drive them in the days when motors were not, but merely as a means of getting from place to place. A splendid car with a chauffeur much smarter than his master had just dropped him, a grand figure in weather-beaten hair as tweets, grasping a heavy stick. We should get a good run today, he said. Yes, with luck, Mrs. Ainsley answered. Any news from the Colonel? Nothing in particular. Plenty of hard fighting. But he never writes much of that. He's much more interested in a run he had with a career scratch back near their billets. I can't quite gather how it was organised, but it compromised two beagles and a greyhound and a fox terrier and a pug. He said they had a very sporting time. The squire-brand chuckled. I don't doubt it, he said. Did he say what they hunted? Anything they could get, apparently. They began with a hair and then got on to a rabbit in some mysterious fashion. They finished up with a brisk run in the outskirts of a village and got a kill. It turned out, this time, to be a cat. Mrs. Ainsley's rather grim features relaxed into a smile. If anyone had told Val two years ago that he would be enthusiastic over a day like that. A few other riders had come up. Two or three officers from a neighbouring town, a couple of old men, and a sprinkling of girls. Philip Hardress was the only young man in plain clothes, and strangers who did not suspect anything amiss with his leg looked at him curiously. Look at that, dear old thing, he whispered to Nora, indicating a prim maiden lady who had arrived on foot. I know she's aching for a chance to ask me why I'm not in khaki. He grinned delightedly. She's rather like the old lady who met me in the train the other day, and after looking at me sadly for a few minutes said, my dear young man, do you not know that your king and country want you? Phil, what did you say? I said, well, they've got one of my legs, and they don't seem to have any use for the remnant. I don't think she believed me, so I invited her to prod it. He chuckled at this grim joke. Three months ago he had shrunk from any mention of his injury as from the lash of a whip. Mrs. Ainsley never wasted time. Two minutes' grace for any laggards which gave time for the arrival of a stout lady on a weight-carrying cop, and then she moved on, and in a moment the hounds were among the osiers, hidden except now and then a waving stern called the eye. Occasionally there was a brief whimper, and once a young hound gave tongue to soon, and was, presumably, rebuked by his mother, and relapsed into hunting in shamed silence. The osiers proved blank. They drew out and went up the hill into the covert, while the field moved along to be as close as possible, and the followers on foot dodged about feverishly, hoping for luck that will make a fox break their way. Too often the weary lot of the foot contingent is to see nothing whatever after the hounds once enter covered, since the fox is apt to leave it as unobtrusively as possible at the far side, and to take a short aline as he can across country to another refuse. To follow the hounds on foot leads a stout heart and patience surpassing that of yob, but those on horses know little of the blighting experiences of the foot-plotters, and when Nora went hunting everything ceased to exist for her, except the white and black and tan hounds, and the green fields and brunette under her, as eager as she for the first long, drawn-out note from the pack. They moved restlessly back and forth along the hillside, the black pony dancing with impatience at the faintest whimper from an unseen hound. Near them Killaloo set an example of steadiness, but with watchful eyes and pricked ears. Squire Brand came up to them. I'd advised you to get up near the far end of the covered, he said. It's almost a certainty that he'll break away there and make a beeline across the Harley wood. I hope he will, for there's less plough there than in the other direction. He hurried off, and Nora permitted Brunette to caper after him. A young officer on a big bay followed their example. Come along, he said to a companion. It's a safe thing to follow old Brand's lead if you want to get away well. Where the covered ended, the hill sloped gently to underlating fields, divided by fairly stiff hedges with deep ditches, and occasionally by post and rail fences, more like the jumps that Nora knew in Australia. The going was good and sound, and there was no wire. That terror over the hunter. Nora had always hated wire, either plain or barbed. She held that it found its true level in being used against Germans. Somewhere in a tangle of bracken an old hound spoke sharply. A little thrill ran through her. She saw her father put his pipe in his pocket and pull his hat more firmly down on his forehead, while she held back Brunette, who was dancing wildly. Then came another note, and another, and a long, drawn burst of music from the hounds. And suddenly Nora saw a stealthy russet forum, with brush sweeping the ground, that stole from the covered and slid down the slope, and after him a leaping wave of brown and white and black, as hounds came bounding from the wood and flung themselves upon the scent, with Mrs. Ainsley close behind. Someone shouted, gone away, in a voice that went ringing in echoes round the hillside. Brunette bucked airily over the low fence near the covered, and Killa Lou took it almost in his stride. Then they were racing side by side down the long slope, with a green turf like wet velvet on their foot, and the next houch seemed rushing to meet them, over, landing lightly in the next field, before them only the master and whip and the racing hounds, with burning eyes from the little red speck ahead trailing his brush. By Jove, Nora, said David Linton, were in for a run. Nora nodded. Speech was beyond her. Only all her being was singing with the other joy of the ride. Beneath her, Brunette was spurning the turf with dainty hooves, stretching out in her gallop, yet gathering herself cleverly at her fences, with alert, bricked ears, judging her distance and landing would never pack her stumble. The light weight on the pony's back was nothing to her. The delicate touch on her mouth was all she needed to steady her at the jumps. Near Harley Wood, the fox decided regretfully that safety lay elsewhere. The enemy, running silently and surely, were too hot on his track. He crept through a hedge and slipped like a shadow down a ditch, and hounds jumping out were at fault for a moment. The slight check gave the rest of the field time to get up. That's a great pony, Nora heard the young officer say. She petted Brunette's arching neck. Then a quick cast of the hounds picked up the scent, and again they were off, but no longer with the fences to themselves, so that it was necessary to be watchful for the cheerful antigasts who jumps on top of you, and the prudent sportsman who wobbles all over the field in his gallop, seeking for a gap. Killaloo drew away again. There was no hunter in the countryside to touch him. After him went Brunette, with no notion of permitting her stable companion to lose her in a run like this. A tall hedge faced him, with an awkward takeoff from the bank of a ditch. Killaloo crashed through. Brunette came like a bird in his tracks, Nora's arm across her face to ward off the loose branches. She got through with the tear in her coat, landing on stiff plough through which Mrs. Ainsley's gray was struggling painfully. Brunette's light burden was all in her favor here. Nora was first to the gate on the far side, opening it just in time for the master, and thrilling with joy at that magnet's brief, thank you, as she passed through and galloped away. The plough had given the hounds a long lead, but ahead were only green fields dotted by clumps of trees. Racing ground, firm and springy, the air sang in their ears. The fences seemed as nothing. The good horses took them in racing style, landing with no shock, and galloping on, needing no touch of whip or spur. The old dog fox was tiring, as well as he might, and yet ahead he knew lay sanctuary, in an old quarry where the pile of rocks hid a hole where he had lain before, with angry hounds snuffing helplessly around him. He brazed his weary limbs for last effort. The cruel eyes and lolling tongues were very close behind him, but his muscles were steel, and he knew how to save every shortcut that gave him so much as a yard. He saw the quarry just ahead, and snarled his triumph in his untamed heart. Brunette's gallop was faltering a little, and Nora's heart sank. She never had such a run. It was hard if she could not see it out. When they had led the field the whole way, and while yet Killaloo was going like a galloping machine in front, then she heard a shout from her father, and saw him point ahead. Water came to her. She saw the gleam of water, fringed by reeds. Saw Killaloo rise like a deer at it, taking off well on the near side and landing with many feet to spare. Oh, we can do that, Nora thought. Brunette likes water. She touched a pony with her heel for the first time, and spoke to her. Brunette responded instantly, gathering herself for the jump. Again Nora heard a shout, and was conscious of the feeling of vague irritation, that we all know when someone is trying to tell us something we cannot possibly hear. She took the pony at the jump of about twenty yards from the place where Killaloo had flown it. Nearer and nearer. The water gleamed before her, very close. She felt the pony steady herself for the leap. Then the bank gave way under her heels. There was a moment struggle and a stupendous splash. Nora's first thought was that the water was extremely cold, then that the weight on her left leg was quite uncomfortable. Brunette half crouched, half lay in the stream, too bewildered to move. Then she sank a little more to one side, and Nora had to grip her mane to keep herself from going under the surface. It seemed an unpleasantly long time before she saw her father's face. Nora, are you hurt? No, I'm not hurt, she said, but I can't get my leg out, and Brunette seems to think she wants to stay here. I suppose she finds the mud nice and soft. She tried to smile at his anxious face, but found it not altogether easy. We'll get you out, Sir David Linton. He toked at the pony's bridle, and Mrs. Ainsley, arriving presently, came to his assistance, while some of the other riders, coming up behind, encouraged Brunette with shouts and hunting crops. Thus urged, Brunette decided that some further effort was necessary, and made one a mighty flounder, while Nora rolled off into the water. Half a dozen hands helped her at the bank. You're sure you're not hurt, her father asked anxiously. I was horribly afraid she'd roll on your leg when she moved. I'm quite all right, only disgustingly wet, said Nora. Oh, and I missed the finish. Did you ever know such bad luck? Well, you only missed the last fifty yards that Mrs. Ainsley, pointing to the quarry, from which the whips were dislodging the aggrieved hounds. We finished there, and that old fox is good for another day yet. I'd give you the brush, if he hadn't decided to keep it himself. Oh, said Nora, plushing while her teeth chattered. Wasn't it a beautiful run? It was. But something has got to be done with you, said Mrs. Ainsley firmly. There's a farmhouse over there, Mr. Linton. I know the people, and they'll do anything they can for you. Hurry her over and get her wet things off. Mrs. Hardy will enter some clothes, and Nora may then draggled and in glory is exit. Mrs. Hardy received her with horrified exclamations and offers of all that she had in the house, so that presently Nora found herself drinking cup after cup of very hot tea, and eating buttered toast with her father, attired in a played blouse of green and red, in large checks, and a black velvet skirt that had seen better days, with carpet slippers lending a neat finish to a somewhat striking appearance. Without, farmhands rubbed down Killaloo and Burnett in the stable. Mrs. Hardy fluttered in and out, bringing more and yet more toast, until her guests protested vehemently that exhausted nature forbade them to eat another crumb. And what is toast, grumbled Mrs. Hardy, and you riding all day in the cold. She had been grievously disappointed at her visitors refusing bacon and eggs. The young lady will catch her death, sure as fate. Just another cup, miss. Laura, who's that coming in at the gate? That proved to be Squire Brand, who appeared at the scene of Nora's disaster just after her retreat, being accused by Mrs. Ainsley of employing an aeroplane. I came to see if I could be of any use, he said. His eye fell on Nora in Mrs. Hardy's clothes, and he said, Dear me, suddenly, and for a moment lost the thread of his remarks. You can't let her ride home, Linton. My car is here, and if your daughter will let me drive her home, I'm sure Mr. Hardy will house her pony until to-morrow. You can send a groom over for it. I've a spare coat in the car. Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hardy, I should like a cup of tea very much. Now that the excitement of the day was over, Nora was beginning to feel tired enough to be glad to escape the long ride home on a jaded horse. So, with Mrs. Hardy's raiment hidden beneath a gorgeous fur coat, she was presently in the squire's car, slipping through the dusk of the lonely country lanes. The squire liked Jim and asked questions about him, and to talk of Jim was always the nearest way to Nora's heart. She had exhausted his present, and was as far back in his past as his triumphs in interstate cricket when they turned in at the Homewood Avenue. I'm afraid I've talked an awful lot, she said, blushing. You see, Jim and I are tremendous chums. I often think how lucky I was to have a brother like him, as I had only one. Possibly Jim thinks the same about his sister, said the old man. He looked at her kindly. There was something very childlike in the small face, half lost in the great fur colour of his coat. At all events, Jim has a good champion, he said. Oh, Jim doesn't need a champion, Nora answered. Everyone likes him, I think. And, of course, we think there's no one like him. The motor stopped, and the squire helped her out. It was too late to come in, he said. He bade her a good night, and went back to the car. Nora looked in the glass in the hall, and decided her appearance was too striking to be kept to herself. A very battered felt riding-hat surmounted Mrs. Hardy's finery. It bore numerous mud splashes, some of which had extended to her face. No one was in the hall. It was late, and presumably the tired people were dressing for dinner. She headed for the kitchen, meeting on the way Allenby, who uttered a choking sound and dived into his pantry. Nora chuckled and passed on. Mrs. Lyle sat near the range, knitting her ever-present muffler. She looked up, and caught her breath at the apparition and dance-dune. Nora, more like a well-dressed scarecrow than anything else, with her grey eyes bright among the mud splashes. She held up Mrs. Hardy's velvet skirt in each hand, and danced solemnly up the long kitchen, pointing each foot daintily in the gaudy carpet slippers. Oh, my goodness! ejaculated Mrs. Lyle, and broke into helpless laughter. Nora sat down by the fender, and told the story of her day, with a cheerful interlude when Cathy came inherently, failed to see her until close upon her, and then collapsed. Mrs. Lyle listened, twinkling. While you must go and dress, she said at length, it would be only kind to every one if you came down to dinner like that, but I suppose it wouldn't do. It wouldn't be dignified that Nora, looking at the moment, is no dignity were the last things she cared about. Well, I suppose I must go. She gathered up her skirts and danced out again, pausing at the door to execute a high kick. Then she curtsied demurely to the laughing cook lady, and fled to her room by a back staircase. She came down a while later, toled up refreshed, and a dainty blue frock, with a black ribbon in her shining curls. The laughter had not yet died out of her eyes. She was humming one of Jim's school songs as she crossed the hall. Alanby was just turning from the door. A telegram, Miss Nora. Thanks, Alanby, she took it still smiling. I hope it isn't to say anyone is coming tonight, she said, as she carried it to the light. Wouldn't it be lovely if it was to tell us they had leave? There is no need to specify whom they meant. But I'm afraid that's too much to hope just yet. She tore open the envelope. There was a long silence as she stood there with the paper in her hand. The silence then grew gradually more terrible, while her face turned white. Over and over she read the scroll words, as if in the vain hope that the thing they told might yet prove only a hilly stream, from which, presently, she might wake. Then, as if very far away, she heard the butler's shaking voice. Miss Nora, is it bad news? You can send the boy away, she heard herself say, as though it were some other person speaking. There isn't any answer. He has been killed. Not Mr. Jim. Alamby's voice was a whale. Yes. She turned from him and walked into the morning room, shutting the door. In the grate a fire was burning. The leaping light fell on Jim's photograph, standing on a table near. She stared at it, still holding the telegram. Surely it was a dream. She had so often had it before. Surely she would soon wake and laugh at herself. The door was flung open, and her father came in, ruddy and splashed. She remembered afterwards the shape of a mud splash on his sleeve. It seemed to be curiously important. Nora, what is wrong? She put out her hands to him, then shaking. Jim had said it was her job to look after him, but she could not help him now, and no words would come. Is it Jim? At the agony of his voice she gave a little joking cry, catching at him blindly. The telegram fluttered to the floor, and David Linton picked it up and read it. He laid the paper on the table and turned to her, holding out his hands silently, and she came to him and put her face on his breast, trembling. His arm tightened round her. So they stood, while the time dragged on. He put her into a chair at last, and they looked at each other. They had said no words since that first moment. Well, said David Linton slowly, we knew it might come, and we know that he died like a man, and that he never shirked. Thank God we had him Nora, and thank God my son died a soldier, not a slacker. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Of Captain Jim This LibriVox recording is in a public domain. Captain Jim by Mary Grand Bruce Chapter 14 Carrying On After that first terrible evening, during which no one had looked upon their agony, David Linton and his child took up their life again, and tried to splice the broken ends as best they might. Their guests, who came down to breakfast nervously, preparing to go away at once, found them in a dining-room, haggard and worn, but pleasantly courteous. They talked of the morning's news, of the frost that seemed commencing, of the bulbs that were sending delicate spearheads up through the grass or the bare flower beds. There were arrangements for the day to be made, for those who cared to ride or drive, the trains to be planned for a gunner subaltern whose leaf was expiring next day. Everything was quite as usual, outwardly. Pretty ghastly meal, what! remarked a young gunner to a chum, as he went out on the terrace, rather like dancing at a funeral. Philip Hardress came into the morning-room, where Mr. Linton and Nora were talking. I don't need to tell you how horribly sorry I am, he faltered. No, thanks, Phil. You, you haven't any details? No. Well, he will write as soon as he can, Nora added. Yes, of course. The others want me to stay, sir, of course they will go away, they all understand. I can go, too, just to the hotel, I can supervise Hawkins from there. I hope none of you will think of doing any such thing, David Linton said. Our work here is just the same. Jim would never have wished us not to carry on. But, Hardress began, Hardress began, There isn't any, but. Nora and I are not going to sit morning, with our hands in front of us. We mean to work a bit harder, that's all. You see, the ghost of a smile flickered across the face that had aged ten years in a night. More than ever now, whatever we do for a soldier is done for Jim. Hardress made a curious little gesture of protest. And I'm left, half of me. You have got to help us, Phil, Nora said. We need you badly. I can't do much, he said, but as long as you want me, I'm here. Then I'm to tell the others, sir. Tell them we hope they will help us carry on, as usual, said David Linton. I'll come across with you presently, Phil, to look at the new cultivator I hear it arrived last night. He looked at Nora as the door closed. You're sure it isn't too much for you, my girl. I will send him away if you would rather we were by ourselves for a while. I promised Jim that whatever happened, we'd keep smiling, Nora said. He wouldn't want us to make a fuss. Jim always did so hate fusses, didn't he, dad? She was quite calm. Even when Mrs. Hunt came hurrying over and put her kind arms about her, Nora had no tears. I suppose we haven't realised it, she said. Perhaps we're trying not to. I don't want to think of Jim as dead. He was so splendidly alive ever since he was a tiny chap. Try to think of him as near you, Mrs. Hunt whispered. Oh, he is. I know Jim never would go far from us if he could help it. I know he's watching somewhere, and he will be glad if we keep our heads up and go straight on. He would trust us to do that. Her face changed. Oh, Mrs. Hunt, but it's hard on dad. He has you still. I'm only a girl, said Nora. No girl could make up for a son, and such a son as Jim. But I'll try. There came racing little feet in a hall, and Jeffrey burst in. It isn't true, he shouted. Say it isn't true, Nora. Alanby says the Germans have killed Jim. I know they couldn't. He tilt at her woolen coat. Say it's a lie, Nora. Jim couldn't be dead. Jeff, Jeff, dear, Mrs. Hunt tried to draw him away. Don't, Nora said. She put her arms round the little boy, and suddenly her head went down on his shoulder. The tears came at last. Mrs. Hunt went softly from the room. There were plenty of tears in the household. The servants had all loved the big, cheery lad, with a pleasant word for each one. They went about their work red-eyed, and Alanby chafed openly at the age that kept him at home, doing a woman's work, while boys went out to give their lives, laughing, for empire. It ain't fair, he said to Mr. Lyle, who sobbed into the muffler she was knitting. It ain't fair. Kids, they are, no more. They ain't meant to die. Oh, if only I could get that dead their Kaiser. Then after a week of waiting came Wally's letter. Nora, dear, I don't know how to write to you. I can't bear to think about you and your father. It seems it must be only a bad dream, and all the time I know it isn't, even though I keep thinking I hear his whistle, the one he used for me. I had better tell you about it. We had orders to attack early one morning. Jim was awfully keen. He had everything ready, and he had been talking to the men until they were all as booked up as they could be. You know, he was often pretty grave about his work, but I don't think I ever saw him look so happy as he did that morning. He looked just like a kid. He told me he felt as if we were going out on a good horse at Billabong. We were looking over our revolvers, and he said, That's the only thing that feels wrong. It ought to be a stock whip. We had much artillery support. Our guns were short of shells, as usual, but we took the first trench, and the next. Jim was just everywhere. He was always first. The man would have followed him down a precipice. He was laughing all the time. We didn't get much time before they counter-attacked. They came on in waves, as if there were millions of them, and we had a pretty stiff fight in the trench. It was fairly well smashed about. I was pretty busy about 50 yards away, but I saw Jim up on a broken traverse, using his revolver just as calmly as if he were practising in camp, and cheering on the men. He gave me a koo wee. And then, oh, I don't know how to tell you, just as I was looking at him, a shell burst near him, and when the smoke blew over, there was nothing. Traverse and trench and all, it was just wiped out. I couldn't get near him. The bushes were pouring over in fresh masses, and we got the signal to retire, and I was the only one left to get the men back. He couldn't have felt anything, that's the only thing. I wish it had been me. I'm nobody's dog, and he was just everything to you two, and the best friend a fellow ever had. It would have been so much more reasonable if it had been me. I just felt that I hate myself for being alive. I would have saved him for you if I could, Nora. Wally. There were letters too from Jim's colonel, and from Major Hunt and Garrett, and every other brother officer whom Jim had sent to Homewood, and others that Nora and her father valued almost more highly, from men who had served under him. Letters that made him glow with pride, almost forgetting grief as they read them. It seemed so impossible to think that Jim would never come again. I can't feel as though he were dead, Nora said, looking up at her father. I know I've got to get used to knowing he has gone away from us for always, but I like to think of him as having only changed work. Jim never could be idle in heaven. He always used to say it seemed such a queer idea to sit all day in a white robe and play a harp. Jim's heaven would have to be a very busy one, and I know he's gone there, dad. David Linton got up and went to the bookcase. He came back with westward hoe in his hand. I was reading Kingsley's idea of it last night, he said. I think it helps, Nora. Listen. The best reward for having Rod well already is to have more to do, and he that has been faithful over a few things must find his account in being ruler over many things. That is the true and heroical rest, which only is worthy of gentlemen and sons of God. Jim was only a boy, but he went straight, and did his best all his life. I think he has just been promoted to some bigger job. So they held their heads high as befitted people but just cause for being proud and set themselves to find the rest that comes from hard work. There was plenty to do, for the house was always full of tired people. Not that the Lintons ever tried to entertain their guests. Tired people came to a big, quiet house where everything ran smoothly, and all that was possible was done for comfort. Beyond that they did it exactly as they chose. There were horses and a motor for those who cared to ride and drive. The links for golfers. Walks with beautiful scenery for energetic folk, and dainty rooms with big, easy chairs, or restful lounges under the trees on the lawn, for those who asked from fate nothing better than to be lazy. No one was expected to make conversation or to behave as an ordinary guest. Everywhere there was a pleasant feeling of homeliness and welcome. Shy men became suddenly at their ease. Nerve-recked men, strained but long months of noise and horror of war, relaxed in the peace of home-wood, and went back to duty with a light step and a clear eye. Only there was missing the wild merriment of the first few weeks, when Jim and Wally dashed in and out perpetually, and kept the house in a simmer of uncertainty and laughter. That could never come again. But beyond the immediate needs of the tired people there was much to plan and carry out. Conscription in England was an established fact. Already there were few fit men to be seen out of uniform. David Linden looked forward to a time when shortage of labour, coupled with the deadly work of the German submarines, should mean a shortage of food, and he and Nora set themselves to provide against that time of scarcity. Mr. Lyle and Philip Hardress entered into every plan, lending the help of brains as well as hands. The farm was put under intensive culture, and the first provision made for the future was that of fertilisers, which, since most of them came from abroad, were certain to be scarce. Mr. Linden and Hardress breathed more freely when they had stored a two-year supply. The flock of sheep was increased, the fowl run doubled in size, and put in charge of a disabled soldier, a one-armed Australian, whom Hardress found in London, ill and miserable, and added to the list of homeless patients and cures, young hyphers for a bot, and boarded out at neighbouring farms. A populous community of grunting pigs occupied a little field, and in the house Nora and Mr. Lyle worked through the spring and summer, until the dry and spacious cellars and storerooms showed row upon row of shelves covered with everything that could be preserved or salted or pickled, from eggs to runner-beans. Sometimes the tired people lend a hand, becoming interested in their host's schemes. Nora formed a fast friendship with a cheerful subaltern in the Irish guards, and was with them for a wet fortnight, much of which he spent in the kitchen stoning fruit, making jam and acting as bottler-in-chief of the finished product. There were many who asked nothing better than to work on the farm, digging, planting, or harvesting. Indeed, in the summer one crop would have been ruined altogether by a fierce storm, but for the tired people, who, from an elderly colonel to an Australian signaler, flung themselves upon it, and helped to finish getting it under cover, carrying the last sheaves home, just as the rain came down in torrents. And returning to Homewood in a soaked but triumphant procession. Indeed, nearly all the unending stream of guests came under the spell of the place. So that Nora used to receive anxious inquiries from various corners of the earth afterwards, from Egypt or Salonica, would come demands as to the success of a catch-crop, which the writer had helped to sow, or of a brood of both Orpingtons, which he had watched hatching out in the incubator. Even from German East Africa came a letter asking after a special litter of pigs. Perhaps it was that everyone knew that the Lintons were shouldering a burden bravely, and tried to help. They kept Jim very close to them. A stranger, hearing the name so often on their lips, might have thought that he was still with them. Together they talked of him always. Not sadly, but remembering the long happy years that now meant a memory too dear ever to let go. Jim had once asked Nora for a promise. If I go west, he said, don't wear any horrible black frocks. So she went about in her ordinary dresses, especially the blue frocks he had loved, with just a narrow black band on her arm. There were fresh flowers under his picture every day, but she did not put them sadly. She would smile at the frank happy face as she arranged leaves and blossoms with a loving hand. Later on, David Linton fitted up a carpenter's bench and a workshop. The days were too full for much thinking, but he found the evenings long. He enlisted harders in his old work of splint making, and then found that half his guest used to stray out to the lit workshop after dinner and beg for jobs, so that before long the nearest hospital supply depot could count on a steady output of work from home wood. Mrs. Hunt and Nora used to come as polishers. Mr. Lyle suddenly discovered that her soul for cooking included a corner for carpentry, and became extraordinarily skillful in the use of chisel and plane. When the autumn days brought her chill into the air, Mr. London put a stove into the workshop, and that became a kind of club where the whole household might often be found. They extended their activities to the manufacture of crutches, bed rests, bed tables, and half a dozen other aids to comfort for broken men. No work had helped David Linton so much. In the early summer Wally came back on leave, a changed Wally, with grim lines where they had once been only merry ones in his lean, brown face. He did not want to come to home wood. Only went back to come that he mastered a pitiful shrinking he felt from meeting them. I didn't know how to face you, he said. Nora had gone to meet him, and they were walking back from the station. Don't Wally, you hurt, she said. It's true though, I didn't. I feel as if you must hate me for coming back, alone. Hate you, and you were Jim's chum. I always came as Jim's chum, Wally said heavily. From the very first, when I was a lonely little nipper at school, I sort of belonged to Jim. And now, well, I just can't realise it, Nora. I can't keep on thinking about him as dad. I know he is, and one minute I'm feeling half insane about it. And the next I forget, and think I hear him whistling or calling me. He clenched his hands. It's the minute after that that is the worst of all, he said. For a time they did not speak. They walked on slowly, along the pleasant country lane with its blossoming hedges. I know, Nora said, there's not much to choose between you and dad and me, when it comes to missing Jim. But as for you, well, you did come as Jim's chum first, and always, but you came just as much because you were yourself. You know you belong to Billabong, as we all did. You can't cut yourself off from us now, Wally. I, he echoed. Well, if I do, I might have little left. But I felt that you couldn't want to see me. I know what it must be like to see me come back without him. I'm not going to say it doesn't hurt, said Nora. Only it hurts you as much as it does us, and the thing that would be ever so much worse is for you not to come. Why, you're the only comfort we have left. Don't you see, you're like a bit of Jim coming back to us. Oh, Nora, Nora, you said, if I could only have saved him. Don't we know you'd have died quite happily if you could, Nora said, just as happily as he would have died for you. He did, you know, Wally said. All the youth and joy had gone out of his voice, leaving it flat and toneless. Two or three times that morning he kept me out of a specially hot spot, and took it himself. He was always doing it. We nearly punched each other's heads about it the day before. I told him he was using his rank unfairly. He just grinned and said so badly and couldn't understand necessary strategy in the field. He would, said Nora, laughing. Wally stared at her. I didn't think I'd ever see you laugh again. Not laugh, Nora echoed. Why, it wouldn't be fair to Jim if we didn't. We keep him as near us as we can, talk about him, and about all the old happy times. We did have such awfully good times together, didn't we? We're never going to get far away from him. The boy gave a great sigh. I've been getting a long way from everything, he said. Since it happened I couldn't let myself think. It was just as if I were going mad. The only thing I've wanted to do was to fight, and I've had that. He looks as if his mind were more tired than his body, David Linton said that evening. One can see that he has just been torturing himself with all sorts of useless thoughts. You'll have to take him in hand, Nora. Put the other work aside for a while, and go out with him, right as much as you can. It won't do you any harm either. We never thought old Wally would be one of the tired people, Nora said musingly. No indeed, and I think there has been no one more utterly tired. It won't do, Nora. The boy will be ill if we don't look after him. We've just got to make him feel how much we want him, Nora said. Yes, and we have to teach him to think happily about Jim, not to fight it all the time. Fighting won't make it any better, said David Linton with a sigh. But there was no writing for Wally for a while. The next day found him too ill to get up, and a doctor sent for a hastily, talked of shock and over-strain, and ordered bed until his temperature should be pleased to go down. Which was not for many a weary day. Possibly it was the best thing that could have happened to Wally. He grew, if not reconciled, at least accustomed to his loss. Grow, too, the thinking himself a coward when he saw the daily struggle waged by the two people he loved best, and Nora was wise enough to call in other nurses. Chief of them, the hunt-babies, Allison and Michael, who rolled on his bed and played with him, while Jeffery sat as close to him as possible, and could hardly be lured from the room. It was not for weeks after his return that they heard Wally laugh, and then it was at some ridiculous speech of Michael's that he suddenly broke into the ghost of his old birth. Nora's heart gave a leap. Oh, he's better, she thought. You blessed little Michael. And so healing came to the boy's bruised soul. Not that the old, light-hearted Wally came back, but he learned to talk of Jim and no longer to hug his sorrow in silence. Something became his of the peace that had fallen upon Nora and her father. It was all they could hope for to begin with. They said good-bye to him before they considered him well enough to go back to the trenches, but a call for men was insistent, and the boy himself was eager to go. Come back to us soon, Nora said, wistfully. Oh, I'm safe to come back, Wally said. I'm nobody's dog, you know. That's not fair, she flashed. Say you're sorry for saying it. He flushed. I'm sorry if I hurt you, Nora. I suppose I was improved to say that. Something of his old quaint fun came into his eyes for a moment. Anyhow, it's something to be somebody's dog, especially if one happens to belong to Billabong and Surrey.