  The house in which the Ramseys lived was large. Its kitchen was immense—large as the entire first floor of a modern American home. Its fireplace took a five-foot log at its back. Walled round with two-foot thick stone, with flagstone floor and massive beamed ceiling, this room seemed the inside of a fort. And that, in days long gone bye, it might very well have been, for a moat—in these days dry and grown up to shrubs—ran round the house. It was in this great room, when the day’s work was done and night had shut out both the beauty and the horror of the day, that the family gathered about the cheery fire. Over the massive glowing logs a teakettle sang. By the hearth lay Flash, the golden collie. Back of him, on a rug, the two young girls played at jacks. Dave, who sat nearest to them, noted with approval that their hair was now neatly combed, their dresses clean, their faces shining—“That’s the part Alice plays,” he thought with approval. As his eyes swept the circle, Alice knitting, Cherry smiling over a book, Jock and Brand talking about cattle that had strayed, he thought: “This is indeed a happy home.” At that moment there came the sound of a motor, followed by a loud honk. At once Cherry, with cheeks aglow, was at the door. She ushered in a young man of medium height, with smooth dark hair and smiling black eyes. “Good evening, everybody,” he exclaimed. “Thought I’d just drop by to see how you liked the bombing. Stirred you up a bit. I’ll bet on that. I—” He paused as his eyes fell on Dave. Dave was new to him. So too were the small girls who stared up at him. “Lord Applegate,” Cherry began, “I want you—” “Forget about the Lord part,” the young man laughed. “I’m not yet a lord. If ever I receive the title it will never fit. Call me Harmon, as you’ve always done, or Lieutenant Applegate of the R. A. F.” “That,” Brand exclaimed, “is an honor indeed. I only wish—” He did not finish but stared enviously at the Lieutenant’s uniform. “I’d be content if I were only a private,” he whispered under his breath. “Well, anyway,” Cherry laughingly began all over, “I want you to meet David Barnes. He’s from America. His uncle is a war reporter who knew father in the World War. And so—” “So he’s paying you a visit. That’s fine.” The young lord who wasn’t yet a lord but was a Lieutenant in the Royal Air Force shook hands with Dave, then accepted a place beside him. “Where did you get the children, Cherry?” Applegate asked, looking down at the pair who had resumed their game. “Oh, they are Alice’s,” Cherry laughed. “Nice work, Alice,” the Young Lord said. “It must have been a very long time since I was here.” “It has been,” Alice agreed. “Quite too long. But these children,—they are refugees from London. Bombed out, you know. “You should have seen them when they came!” she added in a low voice, with a grimace. “Their mothers came with them. But they couldn’t stand the eternal silence of this place.” “So they left you the children?” said Applegate. “Good old Alice!” “Oh, they’re really a joy!” The girl’s face lighted. “But Harm!” Her face sobered. “That plane dropped a bomb on the old playhouse. Blew it to bits. You know, you used to come and play with us sometimes long ago—with dolls and things,” she added teasingly. “With dolls! Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “And today the dolls had their heads blown off,” Cherry added. “Just think! It might have been our heads that were blown off!” “Yes,” the young man’s face sobered, “it might have been. That was a real scrap. Didn’t come out so badly on the whole. Did they catch the men who bailed out?” “Two of them.” Brand’s brow wrinkled. “The Home Guard tells me the other got away.” “Oh, they’ll catch him,” Applegate prophesied cheerfully. “I’m not so sure about that.” Brand did not smile. “They did find his parachute and his uniform half hidden under leaves.” “Oh! Fixing to turn into a spy!” Applegate’s face sobered. “Alice,” the younger of the two children called. “What is a spy?” “A spy,” said Cherry, “steals secrets.” “And blows up castles and bridges. A terrible man!” said Alice. “I know all about it. I’ll tell you a story about a spy when it’s time for bed.” “Ooo.” Peggy gave a delectable shiver. “After that we won’t dare go to sleep!” “The most astonishing thing,”—Brand leaned forward in his chair—“is that one of the men we captured today is the son of the prisoner who worked on this farm more than twenty years ago.” “What?” Applegate exclaimed. “It can’t be possible!” “How do you expect us to believe that?” Cherry demanded with a wave of the hand. “I’ll leave it to Dave and Jock,” Brand defended. “That’s right,” Jock agreed. Dave nodded his head. “See?” Brand’s voice was low. “What’s more, I’m almost sure the fellow who eluded us is his brother. If you don’t believe that, look at this picture.” He passed the paper and the photo around. “Hans Schlitz,” Applegate said, musingly, “That’s the name, right enough. I’ve often heard my mother speak of him. Gloomy, brooding sort of fellow, he was. Probably went back to Europe after the war to tell his sons vile tales of the way he was treated. Poisoned their minds with hate.” “Oh—ah!” Cherry shuddered. “Gives me the creeps to think of that son of his prowling about here at night.” “Oh come!” Applegate sprang up. “It’s not as bad as all that. Come on, Cherry.” He put out his hands. “How about a song. I’ll do the honors at the old grand. Happy days.” “I’d love it!” said Cherry, allowing herself to be led away to the corner where a huge grand piano loomed out of the shadows. Taking up a candle, Alice carried it to that corner, set it on the piano, then tiptoed back. With this pale light playing across their interesting mobile faces the young Lord and Cherry took their places. The moments that followed will linger long in David’s memory. Never before had he seen or heard anything like it. The pale light playing on two bright happy faces, eager for all life, and most of all the perfect blending of mellow tones from the ancient piano with the fresh, free joy of Cherry’s voice. Ah! That was something indeed! More than once, without knowing it, he whispered: “Oh Cherry! I didn’t know you could sing like that!” From moment to moment the mood of the music changed. Now the girl’s slender form was swaying to “It’s a Lovely Day Tomorrow,” the next she was bringing back for good old Jock’s sake a song loved by all those of twenty years before: “There’s a long, long trail awinding Into the land of my dreams, Where the nightingale is singing And the white moon beams.” And then, springing to a place on the long piano bench she cried: “Now! Let’s all sing, Roll out the barrel.” Long before this songfest was over Dave found himself bursting with a wonderful plan. No, it was not his war. But he could do his bit, couldn’t he? And he would. When quite out of breath after her last rollicking song Cherry was led to her place by the fire, she exclaimed: “Oh! It’s wonderful just to live!” “Yes,” the Young Lord agreed. “It is grand. And yet, perhaps tomorrow we die. “Come!” He took Brand by the shoulder. “Let’s go out and see the holes those bombs dug for you. I’ve got to report to my C. O. about them.” And so the two of them disappeared into the night. “Come Peggy. Come Tillie,” Alice called. “Time for a goodnight story. And then to bed.” “Will you really tell us a spy story?” Peggy begged. “Perhaps.” “A real, true spy story!” Tillie was fairly dancing. “Yes, I guess so.” At that Alice, the two children, and Flash, the dog, marched into the small dining room to close the door behind them. “It was the Young Lord who piloted that Tomahawk plane this afternoon,” Jock said in a hoarse whisper. “I have it on good authority, the very best.” “And he said never a word about it!” Dave marvelled. “He’s like that.” Cherry’s lips went white. “He never tells of such things. But just think! He nearly crashed!” “So near I closed my eyes,” Dave replied admiringly. “Young Lord,” he thought. “Not a bad name for a chap like that!” |
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