Norah came back to them through the trees.

"It's marching orders, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's marching orders, old kiddie," Jim answered. They looked at each other steadily: and then Norah's eyes met Wally's.

"When?" she asked.

"To-morrow morning."

"Well----" said Norah; and drew a long breath. "And I haven't your last week's socks darned! That comes of having too many responsibilities. Any b.u.t.tons to be sewn on for either of you?"

"No, thanks," they told her, greatly relieved. She tucked a hand into an arm of each boy, and they went towards the house. David Linton came out hurriedly to meet them.

"Allenby 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 Boche a cheery Christmas," said Wally. "Norah, are you going to send us a Christmas hamper? With a pudding?"

"Rather!" Norah answered. "And I'll put a lucky pig, and a b.u.t.ton, and a threepenny-bit in it, so you'd better eat it with care, or you may damage your teeth. Miss de Lisle 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's," as Wally called their guests, were waiting to wish them luck. Then everybody faded away un.o.btrusively, and left them to themselves. They went into the morning-room, and Norah 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--every one dressed in their best, and "playing-up" to their utmost, while Miss de Lisle--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 the--ah--greatest of luck to our host's sons--ah, that is, to his son and to--ah--his--ah----"

"Enc.u.mbrance," said Wally firmly.

"Quite," said the Colonel, without listening. "We know they will--ah--make things hot for the Boche--ah--whenever they get a chance. I--we--hope they will get plenty of chances: and--ah--that we will see them--ah--back, with decorations and promotion. We will miss them--ah--very much. Speaking--ah--personally, I came here fit for nothing, and have--ah--laughed so much that I--ah--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 woke the house with ringing choruses--echoed by Allenby in his pantry, as he polished the silver; and Garrett sang a song which was not encored because something in his silver tenor made a lump come into Norah's throat; and there was no room for that, to-night, of all nights. Jack Blake sang them a stockrider's song, with a chorus in which all the Australians joined; and d.i.c.k Harrison recited "The Geebung Polo Club,"

without any elocutionary 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 Norah and Mrs. Hunt had to divide each dance into three, except those with Jim and Wally, which they refused to part.i.tion, regardless of disconsolate protests from the other warriors. It was eleven o'clock when Allenby announced stolidly, "Supper is served, sir!"

"Supper?" said Mr. Linton. "How's this, Norah?"

"_I_ don't know," said his daughter. "Ask Miss de Lisle!"

They filed in, to find a table laden and glittering; in the centre a huge cake, bearing the greeting, "Good Luck!" with a silken Union Jack waving proudly. Norah whispered to her father, and then ran away.

She returned, presently, dragging the half-unwilling cook-lady.

"It's against _all_ my rules!" protested the captive.

"Rules be hanged!" said Jim cheerfully. "Just you sit there, Miss de Lisle." And the cook-lady 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 chanced to meet.

"My poor, neglected babies!" said Mrs. Hunt tragically, as twelve strokes chimed from the grandfather clock in the hall. Wally and Norah, crowned with 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 "Auld Lang Syne," stole out.

They gathered round, holding hands while they sang it; singing with all their lungs and all their hearts: Norah between Jim and Wally, feeling her fingers crushed in each boyish grip.

_"Then here's a hand, my trusty friend, And gie's a hand o' 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, Nor." 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 Dad's your job."

"And we'll plan all sorts of things for your next leave," said David Linton. "G.o.d bless you, boys."

They gripped hands. Then Jim put his arms round Norah's shoulder.

"You'll keep smiling, kiddie? Whatever comes?"

"Yes, I promise, Jimmy."

The guard was shouting.

"All aboard."

"Cheero, Norah!" Wally cried from the window. "We'll be back in no time!"

"Cheero!" She made the word come somehow. The train roared off round the curve.

CHAPTER XII

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 wearied officer, too f.a.gged 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 realized 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 gra.s.s 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: Norah even discovered a flowering boronia in a Kew nurseryman's greenhouse and carried it off in triumph, to scent the house with the unforgettable delight of its perfume. She never afterwards saw a boronia without recalling the bewilderment of her fellow-travellers in the railway carriage at her exquisitely-scented burden.

"You should have seen their wondering noses, Dad!" said Norah, chuckling.