'Yes, Kenneth.'

'It's bad for me, but it's worse for you.'

'The men have medals to win, you see.'

'The women have their medals, too.' He knows she likes him to order her about, so he tries it again.

'Come here. No, I'll come to you.' He stands gaping at her wonderingly.

He has no power of words, nor does he quite know what he would like to say. 'G.o.d!'

'What is it, Kenneth?'

'You're a woman.'

'I had near forgot it.'

He wishes he was at the station with Dixon. Dixon is sure to have a bottle in his pocket. They will be roaring a song presently. But in the meantime--there is that son business. Blethers, the whole thing, of course--or mostly blethers. But it's the way to please her.

'Have you noticed you have never called me son?'

'Have I noticed it! I was feared, Kenneth. You said I was on probation.'

'And so you were. Well, the probation's ended.' He laughs uncomfortably.

'The like of me! But if you want me you can have me.'

'Kenneth, will I do?'

'Woman,' artfully gay, 'don't be so forward. Wait till I have proposed.'

'Propose for a mother?'

'What for no?' In the grand style, 'Mrs. Dowey, you queer carl, you s.p.u.n.ky tiddy, have I your permission to ask you the most important question a neglected orphan can ask of an old lady?'

She bubbles with mirth. Who could help it, the man has such a way with him.

'None of your sauce, Kenneth.'

'For a long time, Mrs. Dowey, you cannot have been unaware of my sonnish feelings for you.'

'Wait till I get my mop to you!'

'And if you're not willing to be my mother, I swear I'll never ask another.'

The old divert pulls him down to her and strokes his hair.

'Was I a well-behaved infant, mother?'

'Not you, sonny, you were a rampaging rogue.'

'Was I slow in learning to walk?'

'The quickest in our street. He! he! he!' She starts up. 'Was that the whistle?'

'No, no. See here. In taking me over you have, in a manner of speaking, joined the Black Watch.'

'I like to think that, Kenneth.'

'Then you must behave so that the ghost piper can be proud of you.

'Tion!' She stands bravely at attention. 'That's the style. Now listen, I've sent in your name as being my nearest of kin, and your allowance will be coming to you weekly in the usual way.'

'Hey! hey! hey! Is it wicked, Kenneth?'

'I'll take the responsibility for it in both worlds. You see, I want you to be safeguarded in case anything hap--'

'Kenneth!'

''Tion! Have no fear. I'll come back, covered with mud and medals. Mind you have that cup of tea waiting for me.' He is listening for the whistle. He pulls her on to his knee.

'Hey! hey! hey! hey!'

'What fun we'll have writing to one another! Real letters this time!'

'Yes.'

'It would be a good plan if you began the first letter as soon as I've gone.'

'I will.'

'I hope Lady Dolly will go on sending me cakes.'

'You may be sure.'

He ties his scarf round her neck.

'You must have been a bonny thing when you were young.'

'Away with you!'

'That scarf sets you fine.'

'Blue was always my colour.'

The whistle sounds.

'Old lady, you are what Blighty means to me now.'

She hides in the pantry again. She is out of sight to us, but she does something that makes Private Dowey take off his bonnet. Then he shoulders his equipment and departs. That is he laughing coa.r.s.ely with Dixon.

We have one last glimpse of the old lady--a month or two after Kenneth's death in action. It would be rosemary to us to see her in her black dress, of which she is very proud; but let us rather peep at her in the familiar garments that make a third to her mop and pail. It is early morning, and she is having a look at her medals before setting off on the daily round. They are in a drawer, with the scarf covering them, and on the scarf a piece of lavender. First, the black frock, which she carries in her arms like a baby. Then her War Savings Certificates, Kenneth's bonnet, a thin packet of real letters, and the famous champagne cork. She kisses the letters, but she does not blub over them.