"I beg your pardon—is this Homewood?" Norah, practising long putts at a hole on the far side of the terrace, turned with a start. The questioner was in uniform, bearing a captain's three stars. He was a short, strongly-built young man, with a square, determined face. "Yes, this is Homewood," she answered. "Did you—have you come to see my father?" "I wrote to him last week," the officer said—"from France. It's Miss "Oh—I've heard Jim speak of you ever so many times," she cried. She put out her hand, and felt it taken in a close grasp. "But we haven't had your letter. Dad would have told me if one had come." Captain Garrett frowned. "What a nuisance!" he ejaculated. "Letters from the front are apt to take their time, but I did think a week would have been long enough. I wrote directly I knew my leave was coming. You see—your brother told me——" He stopped awkwardly. Intelligence suddenly dawned upon Norah. "Why, you're a Tired Person!" she exclaimed, beaming. "Not at all, I assure you," replied he, looking a trifle amazed. "I don't mean quite that," she said—"at least I'll explain presently. "Well—your brother was good enough to——" He paused again. "Yes, of course. Jim told you we wanted you to come. This is the Home for Tired People, you see; we want to get as many of you as we can and make you fit. And you're our very first in the house, which will make it horribly dull for you." "Indeed, it won't," said Garrett gallantly. "Well, we'll do our best for you. I'm so very sorry you weren't met. "Yes. You're quite sure it's convenient to have me, Miss Linton? I could easily go back to London." "Good gracious, no!" said Norah. "Why, you're a godsend! We weren't justifying our name. But you will be dull to-day, because Dad has gone to London, and there's only me." Norah's grammar was never her strong point. "And little Geoff Hunt was coming to lunch with me. Will it bore you very much to have a small boy here?" "Rather not!" said Garrett. "I like them—got some young brothers of my own in Jamaica." "Well, that's all right. Now come in, and Allenby will show you your room. The car will bring your things up when it goes to meet Dad." Norah had often rehearsed in her own mind what she would do when the first Tired Person came. The rooms were all ready—"in assorted sizes," Allenby said. Norah had awful visions of eight or ten guests arriving together, and in her own mind characterized the business of allotting them to their rooms as a nasty bit of drafting. But the first guest had tactfully come alone, and there was no doubt that he deserved the blue room—a delightful little corner room looking south and west, with dainty blue hangings and wall-paper, and a big couch that beckoned temptingly to a tired man. Captain Garrett had had fourteen months in France without a break. He had spent the previous night in the leave-train, only pausing in London for a hasty "clean-up." The lavender-scented blue room was like a glimpse of Heaven to him. He did not want to leave it—only that downstairs Jim Linton's sister awaited him, and it appeared that the said sister was a very jolly girl, with a smile like her brother's cheerful grin, and a mop of brown curls framing a decidedly attractive face. Bob Garrett decided that there were better things than even the blue room, and, having thankfully accepted Allenby's offer of a hot tub, presently emerged from the house, much improved in appearance. This time Norah was not alone. A small boy was with her, who greeted the newcomer with coolness, and then suddenly fell upon him excitedly, recognizing the badge on his collar. "You're in Daddy's regiment!" he exclaimed. "Am I?" Garrett smiled at him. "Who is Daddy?" "He's Major Hunt," said Geoff; and had the satisfaction of seeing the new officer become as eager as he could have wished. "By Jove! Truly, Miss Linton?—does Major Hunt live here? I'd give something to see him." "He lives just round the corner of that bush," said Norah, laughing. "No—he's gone to London," Geoff answered. "But he'll be back for tea." "Then we'll go and call on Mrs. Hunt and ask her if we may come to tea," Norah said. They strolled off, Geoff capering about them. "I don't know Mrs. Hunt," Garrett said. "You see I only joined the regiment when war broke out—I had done a good bit of training, so they gave me a commission among the first. I didn't see such a lot of the Major, for he was doing special work in Ireland for awhile; but he was a regular brick to me. We're all awfully sick about his being smashed up." "But he's going to get better," Norah said cheerfully. "He's ever so much better now." They came out in front of the cottage, and discovered Mrs. Hunt playing hide-and-seek with Alison and Michael—with Alison much worried by Michael's complete inattention to anything in the shape of a rule. Michael, indeed, declined to be hid, and played on a steady line of his own, which consisted in toddling after his mother whenever she was in sight, and catching her with shrill squeaks of joy. It was perfectly satisfactory to him, but somewhat harassing to a stickler for detail. Mrs. Hunt greeted Garrett warmly. "Douglas has often talked about you—you're from Jamaica, aren't you?" she said. "He will be so delighted that you have come. Yes, of course you must come to tea, Norah. I'd ask you to lunch, only I'm perfectly certain there isn't enough to eat! And Geoff would be so disgusted at being done out of his lunch with you, which makes me think it's not really your society he wants, but the fearful joy of Allenby behind his chair." "I don't see why you should try to depress me," Norah laughed. "Well, we'll all go for a ride after lunch, and get back in time for tea, if you'll put up with me in a splashed habit—the roads are very muddy. You ride, I suppose, Captain Garrett?" "Oh, yes, thanks," Garrett answered. "It's the only fun I've had in France since the battalion went back into billets: a benevolent gunner used to lend me a horse—both of us devoutly hoping that I wouldn't be caught riding it." "Was it a nice horse?" Geoffrey demanded. "Well, you wouldn't call it perfect, old chap. I think it was suffering from shell-shock: anyhow, it had nerves. It used to shake all over when it saw a Staff-officer!" He grinned. "Or perhaps I did. On duty, that horse was as steady as old Time: but when it was alone, it jumped out of its skin at anything and everything. However, it was great exercise to ride it!" "We'll give him Killaloe this afternoon, Geoff," said Norah. "Come on, and we'll show him the stables now." They bade au revoir to Mrs. Hunt and sauntered towards the stables. On the way appeared a form in a print frock, with flying cap and apron-strings. "Did you want me, Katty?" Norah asked. "There's a tallygrum after coming, miss, on a bicycle. And the boy's waiting." Norah knitted her brows over the sheet of flimsy paper. "There's no answer, Katty, tell the boy." She turned to Garrett, laughing. "You're not going to be our only guest for long. Dad says he's bringing two people down to-night—Colonel and Mrs. West. Isn't it exciting! I'll have to leave you to Geoff while I go and talk to the housekeeper. Geoff, show Captain Garrett all the horses—Jones is at the stables." "Right!" said Geoffrey, bursting with importance. "Come along, Mrs. Atkins looked depressed at Norah's information. "Dear me! And dinner ordered for three!" she said sourly. "It makes a difference. And of course I really had not reckoned on more than you and Mr. Linton." "I can telephone for anything you want," said Norah meekly. "The fish will not be sufficient," said the housekeeper. "And other things likewise. I must talk to the cook. It would be so much easier if one knew earlier in the day. And rooms to get ready, of course?" "The big pink room with the dressing-room," Norah said. "Oh, I suppose the maids can find time. Those Irish maids have no idea of regular ways: I found Bride helping to catch a fowl this morning when she should have been polishing the floor. Now, I must throw them out of routine again." Norah suppressed a smile. She had been a spectator of the spirited chase after the truant hen, ending with the appearance of Mrs. Atkins, full of cold wrath; and she had heard Bride's comment afterwards. "Is it her, with her ould routheen? Yerra, that one wouldn't put a hand to a hin, and it eshcapin'!" "Yes," said Mrs. Atkins. "Extraordinary ways. Very untrained, I must say." "But you find that they do their work, don't they?" Norah asked. "Oh, after a fashion," said the housekeeper, with a sniff—unwilling to admit that Bride and Katty got through more work in two hours than Sarah in a morning, were never unwilling, and accepted any and every job with the utmost cheerfulness. "Their ways aren't my ways. Very well, Miss Linton. I'll speak to the cook." Feeling somewhat battered, Norah escaped. In the hall she met Katty, who jumped—and then broke into a smile of relief. "I thought 'twas the Ould Thing hersilf," she explained. "She'd ate the face off me if she found me here again—'tis only yesterday she was explaining to me that a kitchenmaid has no business in the hall, at all. But Bridie was tellin' me ye've the grandest ould head of an Irish elk here, and I thought I'd risk her, to get a sight of it." "It's over there," Norah said, pointing to a mighty pair of horns on the wall behind the girl. Katty looked at it in silence. "It's quare to think of the days when them great things walked the plains of Ireland," she said at length. "Thank you, miss: it done me good to see it." "How are you getting on, Katty?" Norah asked. "Yerra, the best in the world," said Katty cheerfully. "Miss de Lisle's that kind to me—I'll be the great cook some day, if I kape on watchin' her. She's not like the fine English cooks I've heard of, that 'ud no more let you see how they made so much as a pudding than they'd fly over the moon. 'Tis Bridie has the bad luck, to be housemaid." Norah knew why, and sighed. There were moments when her housekeeper seemed a burden too great to be borne. "But Mr. Allenby's very pleasant with her, and she says wance you find out that Sarah isn't made of wood she's not so bad. She found that out when she let fly a pillow at her, and they bedmaking," said Katty, with a joyous twinkle. "'Tis herself had great courage to do that same, hadn't she, now, miss?" "She had, indeed," Norah said, laughing. The spectacle of the stiff "And then, haven't we Con to cheer us up if we get lonely?" said Katty. "And Misther Jones and the groom—they're very friendly. And the money we'll have to send home! But you'd be wishful for Ireland, no matter how happy you'd be." The telephone bell rang sharply, and Norah ran to answer it. It was "That you, Nor?" said his deep voice. "Good—I'm in a hurry. I say, can you take in a Tired Person to-night?" Norah gasped. "Oh, certainly!" she said, grimly. "Who is it, Jimmy? Not you or "No such luck," said her brother. "It's a chap I met last night; he's just out of a convalescent home, and a bit down on his luck." His voice died away in a complicated jumble of whir and buzz, the bell rang frantically, and Norah, like thousands of other people, murmured her opinion of the telephone and all its works. "Are you there?" she asked. "B-z-z-z-z-z!" said the telephone. Norah waited a little, anxiously debating whether it would be more prudent to ring up herself and demand the last speaker, or to keep quiet and trust to Jim to regain his connexion. Finally, she decided to ring: and was just about to put down the receiver when Jim's voice said, "Are you there?" in her ear sharply, and once more collapsed into a whir. She waited again, in dead silence. At last she rang. Nothing happened, so she rang again. "Number, please?" said a bored voice. "Some one was speaking to me—you've cut me off," said Norah frantically. "I've been trying to get you for the last ten minutes. You shouldn't have rung off," said the voice coldly. "Wait, please." Norah swallowed her feelings and waited. "Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!—oh, is that you, Norah?" said Jim, his tone crisp with feeling. "Isn't this an unspeakable machine! And I'm due in three minutes—I must fly. Sure you can have Hardress? He'll get to you by the 6.45. Are you all well? Yes, we're all right. Sorry, I'll get told off horribly if I'm late. Good-bye." Norah hung up the receiver, and stood pondering. She wished the telephone had not chosen to behave so abominably; only the day before Wally had rung her up and had spent quite half an hour in talking cheerful nonsense, without any hindrance at all. Norah wished she knew a little more about her new "case"; if he were very weak—if special food were needed. It was very provoking. Also, there was Mrs. Atkins to be faced—not a prospect to be put off, since, like taking Gregory's Powder, the more you looked at it the worse it got. Norah stiffened her shoulders and marched off to the housekeeper's room. "Oh, Mrs. Atkins," she said pleasantly, "there's another officer coming this evening." Mrs. Atkins turned, cold surprise in her voice. "Indeed, miss. And will that be all, do you think?" "I really don't know," said Norah recklessly. "That depends on my father, you see." "Oh. May I ask which room is to be prepared?" "The one next Captain Garrett's, please. I can do it, if the maids are too busy." Mrs. Atkins froze yet more. "I should very much rather you did not, miss, thank you," she said. "Just as you like," said Norah. "Con can take a message for anything you want; he is going to the station." "Thank you, miss, I have already telephoned for larger supplies," said the housekeeper. The conversation seemed to have ended, so Norah departed. "What did she ever come for?" she asked herself desperately. "If she didn't want to housekeep, why does she go out as a housekeeper?" Turning a corner she met the butler. "Oh, Allenby," she said. "We'll have quite a houseful to-night!" She told him of the expected arrivals, half expecting to see his face fall. Allenby, on the contrary, beamed. "It'll be almost like waiting in Mess!" he said. "When you're used to officers, miss, you can't get on very well without them." He looked in a fatherly fashion at Norah's anxious face. "All the arrangements made, I suppose, miss?" "Oh, yes, I think they're all right," said Norah, feeling anything but confident. "Allenby—I don't know much about managing things; do you think it's too much for the house?" "No, miss, it isn't," Allenby said firmly. "Just you leave it all to me, and don't worry. Nature made some people bad-tempered, and they can't 'elp it. I'll see that things are all right; and as for dinner, all that worries Miss de Lisle, as a rule, is, that she ain't got enough cooking to do!" He bent the same fatherly glance on her that evening as she came into the hall when the hoot of the motor told that her father and his consignment of Tired People were arriving. Norah had managed to forget her troubles during the afternoon. A long ride had been followed by a very cheerful tea at Mrs. Hunt's, from which she and Garrett had returned only in time for Norah to slip into a white frock and race downstairs to meet her guests. She hoped, vaguely, that she looked less nervous than she felt. The hall door opened, letting in a breath of the cold night air. "Ah, Norah—this is my daughter, Mrs. West," she heard her father's voice; and then she was greeting a stout lady and a grey-haired officer. "Dear me!" said the lady. "I expected some one grown up. How brave! Fancy you, only—what is it—a flapper! And don't you hate us all very much? I should, I'm sure!" Over her shoulder Norah caught a glimpse of her father's face, set in grim lines. She checked a sudden wild desire to laugh, and murmured something civil. "Our hostess, Algernon," said the stout lady, and Norah shook hands with Colonel West, who was short and stout and pompous, and said explosively, "Haw! Delighted! Cold night, what?"—which had the effect of making his hostess absolutely speechless. Somehow with the assistance of Allenby and Sarah, the newcomers were "drafted" to their rooms, and Norah and her father sought cover in the morning-room. "You look worn, Daddy," said his daughter, regarding him critically. "I feel it," said David Linton. He sank into an armchair and felt hurriedly for his pipe. "Haven't had a chance of a smoke for hours. They're a little trying, I think, Norah." "Where did you get them?" Norah asked, perching on the arm of his chair, and dropping a kiss on the top of his head. "From the hospital where the boys were. Colonel West has been ill there. Brain-fever, Mrs. West says, but he doesn't look like it. Anyhow, they're hard up, I believe; their home is broken up and they have five or six children at school, and a boy in Gallipoli. They seemed very glad to come." "Well, that's all right," said Norah practically. "We can't expect to have every one as nice as the Hunts. But they're not the only ones, Dad: Captain Garrett is here, and Jim is sending some one called Hardress by the 6.45—unfortunately the telephone didn't allow Jim to mention what he is! I hope he isn't a brigadier." "I don't see Jim hob-nobbing to any extent with brigadiers," said her father. "I say, this is rather a shock. Four in a day!" "Yes, business is looking up," said Norah, laughing. "Captain Garrett is a dear—and he can ride, Dad. I had him out on Killaloe. I'm a little uneasy about the Hardress person, because he's just out of a convalescent home, and Jim seemed worried about him. But the telephone went mad, and Jim was in a hurry, so I didn't get any details." "Oh, well, we'll look after him. How is the household staff standing the invasion?" "Every one's very happy except Mrs. Atkins, and she is plunged in woe. "Has Mrs. Atkins been unpleasant?" "Well," said Norah, and laughed, "you wouldn't call her exactly a bright spot in the house. But she has seen to things, so that is all that counts." "I won't have that woman worry you," said Mr. Linton firmly. "I won't have you worried about anything," said Norah. "Don't think about Mrs. Atkins, or you won't enjoy your tea. And here's Allenby." "Tea!" said Mr. Linton, as the butler entered, bearing a little tray. "I thought I was too late for such a luxury—but I must say I'm glad of it." "I sent some upstairs, sir," said Allenby, placing a little table near his master. "Just a little toast, sir, it being so late. And if you please, miss, Miss de Lisle would be glad if you could spare a moment in the kitchen." The cook-lady, redder than ever, was mixing a mysterious compound in a bowl. Katty, hugely important, darted hither and thither. A variety of savoury smells filled the air. "I just wanted to tell you," said Miss de Lisle confidentially, "that I'm making a special souffle of my own, and Allenby will put it in front of you. Promise me"—she leaned forward earnestly—"to use a thin spoon to help it, and slide it in edgeways as gently as—as if you were stroking a baby! It's just a perfect thing—I wouldn't sleep to-night if you used a heavy spoon and plunged it in as if it was a suet-pudding!" "I won't forget," Norah promised her, resisting a wild desire to laugh. "That's a dear," said the cook-lady, disregarding the relations of employer and employed, in the heat of professional enthusiasm. "And you'll help it as quickly as possible, won't you? It will be put on the table after all the other sweets. Every second will be of importance!" She sighed. "A souffle never gets a fair chance. It ought, of course, to be put on a table beside the kitchen-range, and cut within two seconds of leaving the oven. With a hot spoon!" She sighed tragically. "We'll do our best for it," Norah promised her. "I'm sure it will be lovely. Shall I come and tell you how it looked, afterwards?" Miss de Lisle beamed. "Now, that would be very kind of you," she said. "It's so seldom that any one realizes what these things mean to the cook. A souffle like this is an inspiration—like a sonata to a musician. But no one ever dreams of the cook; and the most you can expect from a butler is, 'Oh, it cut very nice, ma'am, I'm sure. Very nice!'" She made a despairing gesture. "But some people would call Chopin 'very nice'!" "Miss de Lisle," said Norah earnestly, "some day when we haven't any guests and Dad goes to London, we'll give every one else a holiday and you and I will have lunch here together. And we'll have that souffle, and eat it beside the range!" For a moment Miss de Lisle had no words. "Well!" she said at length explosively. "And I was so horrible to you at first!" To Norah's amazement and dismay a large tear trickled down one cheek, and her mouth quivered like a child's. "Dear me, how foolish I am," said the poor cook-lady, rubbing her face with her overall, and thereby streaking it most curiously with flour. "Thank you very much, my dear. Even if we never manage it, I won't forget that you said it!" Norah found herself patting the stalwart shoulder. "Indeed, we'll manage it," she said. "Now, don't you worry about anything but that lovely souffle." "Oh, the souffle is assured now," said Miss de Lisle, beating her mixture scientifically. "Now I shall have beautiful thoughts to put into it! You have no idea what that means. Now, if I sat here mixing, and thought of, say, Mrs. Atkins, it would probably be as heavy as lead!" She sighed. "I believe, Miss Linton, I could teach you something of the real poetry of cooking. I'm sure you have the right sort of soul!" |