"I'll drink one more gla.s.s o' ale afore I go homealong. Yes, my respectable, church-goin' friends, we be on the eve o' such battles as never was. And I couldn't hold up head amongst proper men, if I thought old England'd keep out o' the sc.r.a.p. I practises what I preaches. I've three big sons--fair whoppers. If wanted, I'll see to it that they be amongst the first to go, and wi' all my honest, generous soul I wish I could go along wi' en."

The publican, William Saint, who served the ale, said sharply:

"Your sons, Uncle, may have something to say about that."

Uncle stared at him disdainfully. William Saint was of Nether-Applewhite, but he had begun a prosperous career as a footman at Pomfret Court. Uncle despised lackeys in his heart. And he detested what he termed "quality talk" from people who were not quality. William Saint spoke mincingly, which indicated cant and prosperity. He was accused, not without reason, of holding radical views, although, being a time-server, he voted Conservative in accordance with the Squire's wishes. Nevertheless, Saint was not a man to be ignored or taken lightly. His tavern, the _Sir John Barleycorn_, did not engross all his activities. He had many small irons in the fire, bought and sold horses, dealt in corn and hay, and farmed a few acres of land. In appearance, he somewhat resembled Napoleon: the same ma.s.sive jaw, the thin lips, the pale complexion and brooding brow. Under his management a small ale-house was becoming a rival of the princ.i.p.al inn, the _Pomfret Arms_.

He catered for a better cla.s.s of customer than his predecessor. And he saw possibilities in a tavern, happily situated in the middle of the village, overlooking the Avon, a comfortable house of call, clean outwardly and within, heavily-thatched, picturesque enough to catch the eye and beguile the fancy of the ubiquitous motorist.

Uncle drank his ale before he answered Saint. The mighty draught restored his good-humour.

"May be. I listens to all men, and suffers fools and knaves as gladly as King Solomon. The Kayser be spoiling for a big fight wi' we. You be on the side o' peace, William Saint, and there's many to keep 'ee company.

I don't blame 'ee. 'Tis your ignorance. The country be full o' just such men as you, wi' their eyes glued to their own tills, and counters, mindin' their own business, pore souls! and puffed up wi' conceit." He paused and concluded impressively: "We be tee-totally unprepared, and there be millions over yonder a-waiting and a-longing to stick us like so many fat hogs. I wish 'ee, one and all, good-night."

Uncle c.o.c.ked his bowler--a genuine Billy c.o.ke hat, with Lock's historical name on a much-soiled lining (the bowler had belonged to Captain Davenant)--at a martial angle, and strode to his cottage, whistling Garryowen. When out with the fox-hounds, he wore a stained red coat, another sometime hartog of the Captain's, surmounting well-cut breeches and gaiters, once again part of a generous employer's wardrobe.

He was wearing the breeches and gaiters to-day, but his mind had wandered from sport to war. Tremendous military ardour possessed him. By the luck of things, on leaving the ale-house, he encountered Lionel Pomfret returning from fishing. Lionel had a great affection for Uncle, although he knew him to be a poacher on the sly. Uncle hailed him with respectful geniality, reasonably a.s.sured that five minutes' talk with t'young Squire meant more war news and a shining half-crown. On such occasions he employed a formula, rarely known to fail to open either hearts or purses.

"How well 'ee look, Master Lionel! And Lard bless 'ee, I was thinkin' of 'ee as you turned carner. Any fish this fine evening?"

Lionel Pomfret opened his creel and displayed a nice brace and a half.

But Uncle was in no mood to talk of trout. He had more notable fish to fry.

"What be they Frenchies doing, sir?"

Lionel answered gravely:

"I hear that twenty thousand Germans have been repulsed at Nancy, but I don't believe it, Uncle."

"No more don't I, Master Lionel. These be troublous times."

Lionel nodded.

"Be we coming in?"

"d.a.m.n it, we can't keep out."

"What I says exzactly. The Rads be kickin' up a fine hullabaloo--a very dirty, timorsome lot. And bound to crawl down the pole bimeby."

"France is invaded," said Lionel.

"Quick work, sir."

"Quick? After forty years' elaborate preparation? This thing is horribly serious, Uncle. I'm wondering what they think about it in the village."

"I can tell 'ee, no man better. 'Tis none o' their business, they thinks. Such shameless ignerunce makes wiser folk value their wisdom. I happened into the _Sir John Barleycorn_ just afore seein' you, sir. I'd a matter o' business wi' William Saint."

Not for wealth untold would Uncle have admitted that he visited an ale-house to drink ale. Lionel smiled. He knew his man.

"Very thirsty evening, too, Uncle."

"I bain't denying that, Master Lionel. And I did take a gla.s.s o' what they calls ale there for the good o' the house. We fell to talkin'. I made bold to tell 'em what me and Lord Roberts felt about that there Kayser. And it miffed 'em. I could see that. And the less they pore souls says the more they thinks. They be chewin' my cud now. But what do 'ee really think, sir?"

Lionel laughed, not wholeheartedly. He was a six months' bridegroom.

"I think, Uncle, that inside of a fortnight I shall be at my depot in Winchester, drilling recruits."

"Lard save us! And you wi' so young and be-utiful a wife!"

"Sir Geoffrey thinks as I do. There is going to be a terrific strain on the manhood of this country. Will it stand that strain?"

"I thinks it will, Master Lionel, so be as they chin-wobblin'

politicians keeps their dirty fingers out o' pie. I'd like to march wi'

'ee to Winchester, and overseas, too, by Jo'!"

Lionel nodded. A minute later Uncle strode on his way with the expected half-crown snug in his breeches' pocket. He told himself that he had earned it.

When he reached his cottage, he found George, the youngest of his three sons, just back from the woods, where he worked as a hurdler at this time of year. The other sons were married and established in cottages of their own. Jane Mucklow was busy preparing the eight o'clock hot supper.

An agreeable odour filled the kitchen. Uncle kicked the dust off his boots and entered the house, with George at his heels. The good smell of baked pork provoked, as usual, a pleasant word. Indeed, Habakkuk Mucklow had discovered very early in life that soft words do b.u.t.ter parsnips.

"Well, Mother, you looks very sanitary, and what a colour!"

"Got, as you well knows, from stewin' over a fire. Been painting your nose wi' ale, or worse, I reckons."

Uncle stroked his nose.

"'Tis a very handsome feature, Jane, and allers a true friend to your good cookin'. I met Master Lionel in village street, and let 'un know what a wise man was thinking about the times. Agreed wi' every word, he did. I told 'un he'd be called to jine up again in Winchester inside o'

fortnit. Like as not Garge here'll be wearin' out shoe-leather in some barrack-yard afore he's much older."

Mrs. Mucklow stared at him, paralysed by astonishment. George, being the most interested party, said heavily:

"Not if I knows meself."

"I say, Garge, as you'll enlist if they want 'ee."

"They won't want the likes o' me."

Jane Mucklow said sharply:

"Don't you go upsettin' the boy wi' your ridiculous war-talk, Father. He come nigh on leavin' us to freeze to death in Canady. Why should we fight to save they Frenchies?"

Uncle grinned and chuckled.

"Ah-h-h! I've a notion about that. I told 'un to the old Captain, and he said 'twas a very notable remark. Fight we shall and must to save our own souls and bodies."

George opened a wide mouth; his mother laughed scornfully.

"Never heard o' the British Fleet, I suppose?"

Uncle smiled. Such a smile might have been seen upon the face of Ulysses after his wanderings, when Penelope asked foolish question.