"It's lovely in another way," Norah finished. "For you see, I thought Miss de Lisle wasn't human, but I was all wrong. She's rather a dear when you come to know her."

"Yes," said her father thoughtfully. "But you'll have to be careful, Norah; you mustn't make any distinctions between her and Mrs. Atkins.

It doesn't matter if Miss de Lisle's pedigree is full of dukes and bishops--Mrs. Atkins is the upper servant, and she'll resent it if you put Miss de Lisle on a different footing to herself."

"Yes, I see," said Norah, nodding. "I'll do my best, Dad."

Miss de Lisle, however, played the game. She did not encounter Norah often, and when she did it was in Mrs. Atkins' presence: and on these occasions she maintained an att.i.tude of impersonal politeness which made it hard to realize 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 Norah's name--or Jim's; but she made no sign of having received them except that Norah found on her table at night a twisted note in a masculine hand that said "Thank you.--C. de 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. Norah 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 she said to Wally, was too short to woo a cruet-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 Norah expect servants in these days to put up with unexpected people coming at all sorts of hours?

"But," said Norah, "that's what the house is _for_. My father and I would not want a houseful of servants if we didn't mean to have a houseful 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.

"More shame for her," said Norah. "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 Norah, who inwardly hoped that Mrs. Atkins did not realize that she was shaking in her shoes!

"Easier said than done, in war-time," 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 Norah, 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 Killaloe--the boys riding the cobs, 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 morning 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?"

"Poor dears!" said Norah feelingly. "We'll have a special beef-tea diet for you, and bath-chairs. Will they send you in an ambulance?"

"Very likely, 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.

"Norah's b.u.mp 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 were off."

They shook hands with Allenby, to his secret gratification. He closed the carriage door upon them, and stood back at attention, as they drove off. From an upper window--unseen, unfortunately--a figure in a red overall leaned, waving a handkerchief.

The train was late, and they all stamped about the platform--it was a frosty morning.

"Buck up, old kiddie," said Jim. "We'll be home in no time. And look after Dad."

"Yes--rather!" said Norah. "Send me all your socks when they want 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. Then the train came in sight, the elderly porter, expectant of a tip, bustled mightily with suit-cases and kit-bags, and presently they were gone. The two brown faces hung out of the carriage-window until the train disappeared round a curve.

Norah 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's some people come by that train for you, sir."

The Lintons turned. A thin man, with sad Irish eyes, was limping out of the station. Behind him came two girls.

"Why, it's Con!" Norah cried.

"It is, miss," said the chauffeur. "And the gerrls I have with me--Bridie and Katty."

"But you didn't write," Mr. Linton said.

"Well, indeed, I was that rushed, an' we gettin' off," said Con. "But I give Patsy Burke the money and towld him to send the wire. But 'tis 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 duly 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 officers' 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 has 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's 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 wearily.

It was a warm afternoon for October. Norah 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 3, the Hunts' flat, Daddy," said Norah, consulting a note-book.

"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 slatternly maid answered their ring.

"Mrs. Hunt's out," she said curtly. "Gorn to see the Mijor."

"Oh--will she be long?"

"Don't think so--she's gen'lly home about half-past four. Will yer wait?"

Norah looked at her father.