"Don't 'ee? I wager the half-crown Master Lionel gi' me that you be the equal o' ten Frenchwomen, and, old as I be, I'd fair scorn to turn back on any 'arf-dozen furriners. If so be as my calkilatin' ain't out o'

whack, our n.o.ble army o' two hundred thousand valiant souls be more'n equal o' two million Frenchies. And, if that be so, the Germans be up agen four millions in all. Leastways, if I bain't out in my figurin'."

Mrs. Yellam smiled faintly.

"Your figures, Habakkuk, be Satan's figures. I allows that one true Englishman can down three Frenchies, not more. Men'll be wanted--and soon."

Uncle remarked mournfully:

"Such talk takes away my appet.i.te for cracklin'. I go my ways, dear, leavin' this mossel o' comfort behind me: they won't be askin' for widows' only sons. Good-night to 'ee."

After Uncle's departure Mrs. Yellam busied herself with her work, pausing now and again to sigh deeply. If Sir Geoffrey Pomfret said that England was coming in, why, England was in. A doubtful hypothesis became certainty. And some widows' sons, if she knew her countrymen, would fight for England, tooth and nail, even if they were not directly asked to do so.

Presently Alfred appeared, sharp-set after a good day's business. He repeated the gossip of the market-place. Russia was going to surprise the world. England must come in. A greengrocer, on intimate terms with a lady of quality, had told him as a secret that the Guards were already embarking for Belgium. Alfred concluded cheerfully:

"In Salisbury, Mother, 'tis agreed that six weeks'll see the end on't."

"Captain Davenant be talkin' o' conscription, Alferd."

"Let him talk. He's a sour man. I put my faith in G.o.d Almighty, not in the likes of him."

"Ah-h-h!"

"I say to myself, in all Christian humility, that G.o.d Almighty in His wisdom is fair fed up with the Proosians. Such talk as they use, all spitting and choking, is quite enough to sicken ordinary folks. 'Tis the swelled head that this Kayser has. However, wiser men prophesy a rare uplifting move in trade."

"Alferd--don't talk o' that. 'Tis more than I can bear to hear o' folks makin' money out o' the miseries o' others."

He stared at her, noticing at last her drawn expression.

"You ain't got the headache, Mother?"

"No."

"Wouldn't own up to it, if you had. Something's gnawing at you."

Very gravely she told him about the young Squire. Alfred's face fell, thinking of Joyce Pomfret, and then of Fancy. What would that pretty dear be feeling, if her Alfred was on the march? The light faded from his rubicund face. Till that moment the possibility of going had never occurred to him. If England did take a hand in the mighty game, surely her Army and Fleet would suffice for all eventualities. Suddenly, he banged the table with his clenched fist, startling his mother.

"Alferd--!" she exclaimed irritably.

Alfred hastened to apologise. A confounding thought had begotten a thoughtless action. He said earnestly:

"Fancy is a oner for telling fortunes with cards."

Mrs. Yellam frowned. Cards she held to be playthings of Satan, expressly invented by him together with strong drink and bad women. Alfred continued hastily:

"A lady in Salisbury, real quality, Mother, told Fancy's fortune."

"Did she? Better be using her needle, I says."

"No doubt. 'Tis a very odd thing, and food for sober thought, but the lady did foretell as Fancy'd marry a soldier."

"A very foolish, mischievous notion to put i' the maid's head."

Alfred nodded. Then he said portentously:

"It might come true, Mother, if the pessimists be right."

"Pessimists?"

"'Tis a new word to me, and means--crokers, as looks on the dark side of the cloud."

"Well, what do they tell 'ee?"

"'Twas a solitary he. A shoemaker by trade, and a radical. The smell of leather be enough to account for his politics and gloomy views. When I take shoes to him, we always pa.s.s time o' day, and I come away thinking 'tis just before dawn on a cold, drizzling, November morning. He says to me: 'My lad, these Proosians may be drinking ale in Salisbury before this war's over.' I laughed at him. And he told me I'd laugh t'other side of my face in six months."

Mrs. Yellam made no comment, a strange abstention. Her firm jaws set beneath strongly-marked brows, her eyes glowered into the future. Mother and son finished the meal in silence.

These things were talked over on Monday, the 2nd of August.

On the Wednesday all England knew that we were at war with Germany.

The first effect of this stupendous happening was comical. The banks were closed; many people found themselves without money and unable to borrow it. Fishpingle, the bailiff at the Home Farm, had to lend Lionel Pomfret five pounds to take him to Winchester. Some pessimists predicted a financial panic. The foreign stock exchanges transacted no business.

All this affected Nether-Applewhite but mildly; tongues wagged a little faster than usual; very few believed that an Expeditionary Force would be sent to France. Sir Geoffrey Pomfret walked down to the village and talked with his people. His jolly face and hearty voice indicated immense relief. He--and thousands like him--had been tormented by the fear that a nation stigmatised as shopkeepers would place self-interest before honour. He writhed when he recalled the cynical gibe of the Russian to England's amba.s.sador at a time when England did "keep out."

Old Captain Davenant and the Squire were types of men whom the more Radical press derided as reactionary and fire-eaters. Let the verdict of history speak for such after the war. Few, to-day, will deny that the privileged cla.s.ses with most at stake stood shoulder to shoulder in their determination to sc.r.a.p everything except sc.r.a.ps of paper bearing England's sign-manual.

The villagers listened agape to Sir Geoffrey and Captain Davenant. Then each went his way perfectly satisfied that others would dance to war's pipings and alarums, whilst they "carried on" as before.

Old Gilbert Parish, a great-granfer, was convinced that war had been declared with the hereditary foe. He asked Mr. Hamlin shrilly, holding hand to ear:

"What I wants to know, Pa'son, be this--whatever shall we do wi' they Frenchies when us have beat'h 'em?"

Mr. Hamlin answered gravely: "I suppose we shall have to eat them, Master Gilbert."

The nonagenarian displayed toothless gums.

"Ah-h-h! That's what the Dook said at Waterloo. 'Up, Guards, and eat 'en,' he says. _And they did!_"

"Was you there, Granfer, on that notable day?" asked a bystander.

The old fellow cackled joyously.

"'Tis so far back along, I disremembers. To speak sober truth, my lad, the Dook won that gert battle wi'out me. 'Tis a fact beyond gainsayin'

that I be here, and hale and hearty, because, maybe, I was not there."

His humour so tickled him that he hobbled forthwith to the _Sir John Barleycorn_ to wet a still serviceable whistle. Many followed his example; the two taverns sold much ale.

In a miraculously short time village life ambled on as before. The small boys played at soldiers; some of the more prescient mothers laid in stores. Lionel Pomfret returned from Winchester with the a.s.surance, hot from the mouth of the officer commanding the depot, that every regular would be sent abroad. The Squire was absorbed in the details. Each officer would be allowed thirty pounds of kit, such kit to be snugly packed in a pale-green carry-all. It comprised one change, two blankets, a few surgical dressings, a folding-lamp, a pair of wire-cutters, and under-linen. The Territorials and Yeomanry would defend our sh.o.r.es.

According to experts, invasion might be deemed practicable, if unlikely.

Next day Lionel went to London, to the War Office. He came back with a Captain's commission.