Sir Geoffrey wrestled valiantly with these words.

"I grope, Hamlin, I grope. It sounds humiliating when one is past sixty."

Hamlin nodded. He was groping, too, but he had greater faith in human nature. He said hesitatingly:

"The result of all wars, according to history, has been this: the poor emerge poorer; the rich richer. I hope that it will not be so after this world-war. And our energies should be directed to that end, Pomfret:--a more generous distribution of material wealth, a happier understanding between all cla.s.ses, a breaking-down of barriers everywhere, not only as between man and man, but as between nation and nation."

Sir Geoffrey jumped up, holding out his hand.

"You are a good fellow, Hamlin, sound at core. I have often misjudged you in the past. Forgive me! The past, as we knew it, is dead. We will work together in the present."

Hamlin rose quickly, grasping the outstretched hand. After discussing practical details concerning the lecture, they separated. The Squire strode on to the village, much heartened. The Parson sat down at his desk to write the Sunday morning sermon. For a time, he put no pen to paper. He leaned head upon hand, thinking deeply. Out of the dump-heap which was left of his pet theories, he tried to piece together some sort of mosaic pavement upon which he could stand. It was difficult to realise the change in himself, more difficult to realise the change in the Squire. But the change had taken place. What would be the effect on his parishioners? Who would help? Who would hinder? If this war meant the regeneration and reconstruction of the world, all were involved. He thought of the dead Pope, who had pa.s.sed away without exciting a ripple of excitement outside the Vatican. What part would his successor play?

Would the Church of England grasp a tremendous opportunity? Would the Nonconformists gird up their loins for the spiritual battle?

Consider Armageddon how he might and did, from every point of view which presented itself to an active and prescient brain,--the material outlook of diplomatists struggling to adjust the balance of European powers, of monarchs gazing at tottering thrones, of politicians still grabbing loaves and fishes, of business men thinking of their tills, of the rank and file in all countries working apathetically for their daily bread,--this thought rose up and dominated others. To him and men like him, ardently concerned with the potentialities of souls, ordained teachers of G.o.d's Word, called upon to interpret, so far as they could, the mysterious designs of Omnipotence, the issues shone clearly forth.

Evil was arrayed against Good. The pomps and vanities of the world were marshalled against the powers of the Spirit.

And, in the end, the Spirit would triumph.

He began his sermon.

The Squire, meanwhile, was approaching the _Sir John Barleycorn_ tavern, intending to have a word with William Saint, and, later on, with Susan Yellam and others, whom he regarded as aides-de-camp. Not being a very judicious reader of character, indolently disposed (because he was so busy himself) to accept his own people as they appeared to be, he regarded William Saint as a respectable, intelligent publican, who had been an excellent servant as first footman at the Court. He counted upon William as a likely "whipper-in" in the hunt for recruits. The Boniface of the _Pomfret Arms_, the larger of the two Nether-Applewhite taverns, happened to be stout and scant o' breath. He seldom stirred out of his snug bar-parlour. William Saint scoured the countryside, a very energetic, enterprising fellow.

"Morning, William."

"Good morning, Sir Geoffrey."

The Squire removed his hat and wiped an ample brow. He had found Saint in the sanded tap-room, overhauling supplies. He noted the man's drab complexion, and wondered whether he consumed too much of his own beer.

The publican asked his old master deferentially if he would drink a gla.s.s of ale. Time was when the Squire never refused such invitations.

To-day, he declined the ale, saying trenchantly:

"No, no. We shall have to tighten our belts, William. Take my word for it. You must reckon with being hit. We shall all be hit in our purses and our stomachs."

William Saint agreed politely. He had no intention of being hit in either place, but he kept that to himself. Already he was secretly enrolled amongst the would-be profiteers, and resolutely determined to extract good from an ill wind. Sir Geoffrey stated the nature of his errand. The village must set an example to less beatified hamlets, such as Ocknell, for example. Did William think the younger men would come forward with enthusiasm? William was doubtful about the enthusiasm. With discreet pressure from Authority, they might be induced to follow the example of George Mucklow. The Squire slapped his thigh.

"I am very pleased with George Mucklow. A snug billet shall be kept for him."

William smiled, not very pleasantly.

"His father, Sir Geoffrey, used pressure."

"Did he, b'Jove? And very proper, too. Uncle is one of the right sort.

Even his weaknesses are endearing. The truth is, William, in such d.a.m.nable times as these we must keep an eye peeled for the good in our fellow-men, and wink the other discreetly."

Perhaps William profited by this advice, and winked the eye farthest from Sir Geoffrey. After more conversation, dealing strictly with recruiting methods to be applied to a community essentially peace-loving, Sir Geoffrey walked off and on, very well satisfied with his talk with an old servant. William apostrophised his diminishing figure in language never printed nowadays.

As the Squire walked down village he, too, like the Parson, thought seriously of what he should say to his people when he met them in the school-house. He was not concerned with spiritual issues. As a former M.F.H., he went a-hunting recruits with the same ardour and resource formerly consecrated to foxes. With profoundest sincerity he wished that he were of an age to bear arms. Indeed, he had offered himself, as an ex-Guardsman, quite ready to tackle a new drill-manual, to an old schoolfellow, now a general at the War Office. Sound advice had been tendered him.

"You can serve your country, Pomfret, on your own pitch. We shall want men and food. Food may become the more difficult problem."

Hence the allusion to tightened belts.

Sir Geoffrey walked briskly, reflecting complacently upon his excellent physical condition. He might be slightly dazed in mind, but fit as a fiddle in body. An odd expression that! What const.i.tuted a "fit" fiddle?

Obviously, an instrument tuned to the right pitch. He felt taut all over. What had kept him fit at an age when many men of his acquaintance were falling into the sere and yellow stage of life? Sport. To sc.r.a.p sport filled him with apprehension. So far, sport in England went on as usual. When he visited Euston to make enquiries concerning Russians, he had seen many cheery-looking fellows on their way north, bent on slaying grouse and stags, reasonably convinced in their own simple minds that, Germans or no Germans, the world must wag on as before. Sir Geoffrey was not so optimistic. He knew much better. Already the supreme sacrifice of an only son had been demanded of him and made instantly. Other sacrifices bulked larger and larger in the immediate future. Standing in his fine hall, with the portraits of dead-and-gone Pomfrets looking down upon him, he had smelt antic.i.p.atingly the pungent odours of carbolic acid and iodoform. The stately saloon must be turned into a ward--! The mere thought was hateful, but he never flinched from it. Let the poor boys come! He would welcome them with courtesy and geniality. A Mandarin predicted a five-shilling-in-the-pound income tax! The Squire had responded generously to the Prince of Wales's Fund.

The situation could be summed up in one all-embracing word--h.e.l.l!

Little girls curtsied, small boys touched their caps, as the Autocrat of Nether-Applewhite pa.s.sed them by with a kindly word and glance for each.

He reflected: "The little 'uns are out of it, bless 'em!" He wondered whether respectful salutations would last his time. They were dear to him, outward and visible signs of the respect paid to Authority. Would they be sc.r.a.pped? The Government had taken over the railroads. If the Labourites came into power, the land might be grabbed ruthlessly.

Sir Geoffrey walked less briskly, as the possibility obtruded itself.

He stopped first at Uncle's cottage. Mrs. Mucklow received him. Uncle, it appeared, was at work, thatching a dormer window, which exacted his particular skill. Yes, George, poor boy, had gone for a soldier. His father had insisted upon it.

"Quite right," said the Squire heartily.

Jane Mucklow sniffed. She dared not contradict the Squire, but a sour face betrayed her feelings. The Squire laid a sovereign on the mantelpiece, saying that it was for Uncle, with the donor's compliments.

Jane thanked him, wondering whether the piece of gold could be despatched, surrept.i.tiously, to George. Always, Uncle got credit for what more deserving individuals accomplished. An exasperating thought! A recital of her own aches and pains, however, provoked the promise of a bottle of port. Sir Geoffrey shook hands with his former cook on leaving, and said graciously:

"Now, remember, Jane, if George gets leave and comes home, I want to see him. Send him up to the Hall."

"Thank you kindly, sir."

Sir Geoffrey went his way. As he approached the Yellam cottage, he muttered half audibly:

"Good people. Good people."

If he had known the truth--! At this moment Jane Mucklow was reviling him, because she laid her George's approaching death at the Squire's door. She made quite sure--and so did George--that he would be killed in his first action. With much reluctance we present these two old servants of the Autocrat smiling deferentially to his face and cursing him behind his back! And he believed so absolutely in their honesty and sincerity.

Five minutes later, Mrs. Yellam dusted a chair which needed no dusting.

The Squire sat down upon it. He liked and respected Susan Yellam, and she--you may be sure--was well aware of that. No insincerity lurked behind her welcoming smile. But, in justice to the unhappy Jane Mucklow, it must be stated that Susan happened to be independent of the Autocrat.

Many times and oft had Uncle been "behindhand" with his rent. More than once Sir Geoffrey had remitted that rent altogether, simply because Uncle was so knowledgeable about foxes and deer, and such a wrath-disarming scallywag even in his cups. Mrs. Yellam paid her rent punctually, and possessed independent means. She had never been in service. She exercised brains, rare in any village, which enabled her to apprehend something withheld from the unprivileged cla.s.ses, to wit:--that position carried with it crushing responsibilities and disabilities. Mr. Fishpingle, so near and dear to Sir Geoffrey, a friend and servant of fifty years, had often pointed out to her the sacrifices made by the Squire for his people. And she had kept eyes and ears open to these, deducing inferences from them.

For some minutes Sir Geoffrey talked about the Red Cross Hospital, enlisting Susan's sympathies. Co-operation had been promised already to Lady Pomfret.

"My lady be none too strong," observed Mrs. Yellam.

The Squire was not of Mrs. Yellam's opinion, but he didn't say so. He mentioned his proposed lecture, and solemnly invited her considered views on the recruiting campaign. She was not enthusiastic.

"Be they wanted real bad, Sir Geoffrey?"

"Of course they are."

"Wanted as soldiers more than they be wanted on the land?"

The Squire frowned. He had not weighed the pros and cons of a question hardly raised as yet even by far-seeing men.

"Lord Kitchener asks for them."