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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1064d33 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50274 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50274) diff --git a/old/50274-0.txt b/old/50274-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 90e012d..0000000 --- a/old/50274-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2103 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little House, by Coningsby Dawson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Little House - -Author: Coningsby Dawson - -Illustrator: Stella Langdale - -Release Date: October 21, 2015 [EBook #50274] -Last Updated: March 12, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE HOUSE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -THE LITTLE HOUSE - -By Coningsby Dawson - -With Illustrations By Stella Langdale - -New York: John Lane Company - -1920 - - - - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0008] - -[Illustration: 0009] - - -TO - -THE LITTLE LADY - - - - - -THE LITTLE HOUSE - - - - -CHAPTER I - -[Illustration: 9017] - -HE little house, tell this story. It was lived within my walls; not a -line is invented and it was I, by my interfering, who brought about the -happy ending. Who wants a story that does not end happily, especially a -Christmas story? To have been responsible for the happy ending is pretty -nearly as clever as to have made the story up out of one's own head or, -as we houses say, out of one's own walls. - -Perhaps you never heard before of a house telling a story. If that be -so, it is because you don't listen or because you go to bed too early. -Unlike people, we houses sleep all day long; but after midnight we wake -up and talk. When the clock strikes twelve, our stairs begin to crack -and our windows to rattle and our floors to creak. If you ever hear -these sounds, don't be frightened; they simply mean that the kind old -walls that shelter you have begun to remember and to think. And we have -so many things to remember and to think about, especially we old houses -who have been standing for almost two hundred years. We have seen so -much; we have been the friends of so many generations. More little -children have been born beneath our roofs than we have stairs on which -to count. We reckon things on our stairs, just as people reckon things -on their fingers. When our stairs crack after midnight, it's usually -because we're counting' the births and love-makings and marriages we -have watched. We very often get them wrong because there are so many of -them. Then the doors and windows and floors will chip in to correct us. -“Ha,” a window will rattle, “you've forgotten the little girl who used -to gaze through my panes in 1760 or thereabouts.” One of the doors will -swing slowly on its hinges and, if anyone disputes with it, will bang, -shouting angrily, “Wrong again--all wrong.” Then the walls and the -windows and the doors and the floors all start whispering, trying to -add up correctly the joys and sorrows they have witnessed in the years -beyond recall. - -[Illustration: 0019] - -When that happens, if you're awake and listening, you'll hear us start -adding afresh, from the lowest to the topmost stair. - -I am a London house and a very little house, standing in a fashionable -square near Hyde Park. I have known my ups and downs. Once was the time -when I was almost in the country and the link-boys used to make a fuss -at having to escort my lady so far in her sedan-chair. It's a long way -to the country now, for the city has spread out miles beyond me. Within -sight through the trees at the end of the square red motor-buses pass, -bumping their way rowdily down to Hammersmith and Kew. In my young days -these places were villages, but I am told they are full of noises now. -I have at least escaped that, for our square is a backwater of quiet and -leads to nowhere, having an entrance only at one end. All the houses -in the square were built at the same time as I was, which makes things -companionable. We all look very much alike, with tiny areas, three stone -steps leading up from the pavement, one window blinking out from the -ground-floor, two blinking out from each of the other floors and a -verandah running straight across us. In summer-time the verandah is -gay with flowers. Our only difference is the colour we are painted, -especially the colour of our doors. Mine is white; but some of our -neighbours' are blue, some green, some red. We're very proud of the -front-doors in our square. In the middle stands a railed-in garden, -to which none but our owners have access. Its trees are as ancient as -ourselves. Behind us, so hidden that it is almost forgotten, stands -the grey parish-church, surrounded by a graveyard in which many of the -people who have been merry in us rest. - -For some years we were what is known as a “gone down neighborhood,” - till a gentleman who writes books bought us cheap, put us in repair and -rented us to his friends. This has made us very select; since then we -have become again fashionable. - -Now you know all that is necessary to form a mental picture of us. -Because we are so small, we are sometimes spoken of as “Dolls' House -Square.” All the things that I shall tell you I do not pretend to -have witnessed, for houses have to spend their lives always in the one -place--they cannot ride in taxis and move about. We gain our knowledge -of how the world is changing by listening to the conversations of people -who inhabit us; when night has fallen we mutter among ourselves, passing -on to one another beneath the starlight down the lamp-lit streets -the gossip we have overheard. Whatever of importance we miss, the -churchbells tell us. Big Ben, with his sweet tenor voice, booming out -the hours, is in this respect particularly thoughtful. - -[Illustration: 0025] - -So now, having explained myself, I come to my story of the little lady -who needed to be loved, but did not know it, and the wounded officer who -wanted rest. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -[Illustration: 9029] - -HE little lady who needed to be loved, but did not know it, discovered -me quite by accident. This story is a series of accidents; if it had -not been for the _ifs_ and the _perhaps's_ and the _possibilities_ there -wouldn't have been any story to tell. - -I was empty when she found me, for my late tenants had grown frightened -and had moved into the country on account of airraids. They said that I -was too near the giant searchlights and anti-aircraft guns of Hyde Park -Corner to be healthy. If they weren't killed by bombs, sooner or later -they would be struck by our own expended shell-cases that came toppling -from two miles out of the clouds. So they had made their exit hurriedly -in November, taking all their furniture and leaving me to spend my -one-hundred-and-ninety-eighth Christmas in the company of a caretaker. - -It was shortly before Christmas when I first saw her. Night had settled -peacefully down; it was about nine o'clock when the maroons and sirens -began to give warning that the enemy was approaching. In an instant, -like a lamp extinguished, the lights of London flickered and sank. Down -the forests of streets innumerable doors swiftly opened and people came -pattering out. Dragging half-clad children by the hand and carrying -babies snatched up from their warm beds, they commenced to run hither -and thither, seeking the faint red lights of shelters, where cellars and -overhead protection might be found. Policemen, mounted on bicycles, rode -up and down the thoroughfares, blowing whistles. Ambulances dashed by, -tooting horns and clanging bells. From far and near out of the swamp -of darkness rose a medley of panic and sound. Prodding the sky, like -detectives with lanterns, searchlights hunted and turned back the edges -of the clouds. Then ominously, with solemn anger, the guns opened up -and in fierce defiance the first bomb fell. The pattering of feet ceased -suddenly. Streets grew forlorn and empty. The commotion of living and -the terror of dying were transferred from the earth to the air. - -I was standing deserted with my door wide open, for at the first signs -of clamour the old woman, who was supposed to take care of me, had -hobbled up from her basement and out on to the pavement in search of the -nearest Tube Station. In her fear for her safety, she had forgotten to -close my door, so there I stood with the damp air drifting into my hall, -at the mercy of any chance vagrant. - -The guns had been booming for perhaps five minutes when I heard running -footsteps entering the square. Our square is so shut in and small that -it echoes like a church; every sound is startling and can be heard in -every part of it. I could not see to whom the footsteps belonged on -account of the trees and the darkness. They entered on the side farthest -from me, from the street where the red motor-buses pass. When they had -reached the top, from which there is no exit, they hesitated; then -came hurrying back along the side on which they would have to pass me. -_Tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap_ and panting breath--the sound of -a woman's high-heeled shoes against the pavement. Accompanying the -_tip-a-tap_ were funny, more frequent, shuffling noises, indistinct and -confused. Three shadows grew out of the gloom, a small one on either -side and a bigger one in the centre; as they drew near they resolved -themselves into a lady in an evening-wrap and two children. - -I was more glad than I cared to own, for I'd been feeling lonely. Now -that peace has come and we've won the war, I don't mind acknowledging -that I'd been feeling frightened; at the time I wouldn't have confessed -it for the world lest the Huns should have got to know it. We London -houses, trying to live up to the example of our soldiers, always -pretended that we liked the excitement of airraids. We didn't really; we -quaked in all our bricks and mortar. One's foundations aren't what -they were when one is a hundred-and-ninety-eight years old. So I'm not -ashamed to tell you that I was delighted when the lady and her children -came in my direction. I tried to push my front-door wider that they -might guess that they were welcome. I was terribly nervous that they -might pass in their haste without seeing that I was anxious to give them -shelter. It was shelter that they were looking for. In coming into the -square they had been seeking a shortcut home. - -They drew level without slackening their steps and had almost gone by -me when, less than a quarter of a mile away, a bomb crashed deafeningly. -Everything seemed to reel. Far and near you could hear the tinkling of -splintered glass. The world leapt up red for a handful of seconds as -though the door of a gigantic furnace had been flung open. Against -the glow you could see the crouching roofs of houses, the crooked -chimney-pots and the net-work of trees in the garden with their branches -stripped and bare. The lady clutched at my railings to steady herself. -Her face was white and her eyes were dark with terror. The last bomb had -been so very close that it seemed as though the next must fall in the -square itself. One of the searchlights had spotted the enemy and was -following his plane through the clouds, holding it in its glare. - -“Mummy, it's all right. Don't be frightened. You've got me to take care -of you.” It was the little boy speaking. Then he saw my _To Let_ sign -above and pointed, “We'll go in here till it's over. Look, the door's -wide open.” - -He tugged on her hand. With her arm about the shoulder of the little -girl on the other side of her, she followed. The glow died down -and faded. Soon the square was as secret and shadowy as it had been -before--a tank full of darkness in which nothing stirred. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -[Illustration: 9037] - -EVER since I had been built had any visit quite as unceremonious as this -occurred. Who was the strange lady? What was she doing wandering the -streets at this hour unescorted? She was beautiful and richly gowned; -her face was young, but very sad. I was anxious to learn more, so I -listened intently. - -At first on entering, they halted just across the threshold, huddled -together, the little lady with an arm flung about each of the children. -She seemed to think that someone might be hidden in the darkness -watching--someone to whom I belonged--for presently she addressed that -supposed someone tremblingly: “We hope you don't mind, but the car -forgot to come for us. Grandfather had been giving us a party. When we -heard the warning, we tried to run home before the raid started; but -we got lost. The Tube Stations were all so crowded that... And we found -your door open, so we hope you don't mind us entering.” - -She paused nervously, waiting for someone to answer. A board creaked; -apart from that the silence was unbroken. - -Speaking to herself more than to the children, “It's quite empty,” she -said at last. - -“Shall I close the door, Mumsie?” the little boy questioned. - -“No, Robbie darling,” she whispered; “they might be angry, when they -come back. I mean the people who live here.” - -“But it's dreadfully cold.” - -“Then let's go farther in and find somewhere to sit down till the raid -is over.” They stumbled their way in the darkness through the hall and -up the narrow staircase, where only one can walk abreast. Robbie went -first on this voyage of discovery; he felt that if anything were hiding -from them, his body would form a protection. His mother didn't want to -lose sight of the street by climbing higher, but he coaxed her on -from stair to stair. As pioneer of the expedition, he reached the tiny -landing with the single door, which gives entrance to the drawing-room -which occupies the whole of the second storey. Turning the handle he -peeped in warily. Then, “Cheer up, Mummy,” he cried, “there's been a -fire and there's a wee bit of it still burning.” - -The room was carpetless and bare of furniture, save for an old sofa with -sagging springs that had been pulled up across the hearth. Perched on -the bars of the grate sat a tin kettle, gasping feebly, with nearly all -its water boiled away. Under the kettle a few coals glowed faintly and -a weak flame jumped and sank, like a ghost trying to make up its mind to -vanish. Through the tall French windows that opened on to the verandah -one could see the sky lit up with the tumultuous display of monstrous -fireworks. From high overhead, above the clatter of destruction and the -banging of guns, came the long-drawn, contented humming of the planes. - -“They're right over us,” the little boy whispered. - -As if afraid that any movement on their part would draw the enemy's -attention, they stood silent, clinging together, and listened. Oblongs -of light, falling through the windows, danced and shifted. Once the -beam of a searchlight groping through the shadows, gazed straight in -and dwelt on them astounded, as if to say, “Well, I never! Who'd have -thought to find you here?” - -They tiptoed over to the couch and sat down, making as little noise -as possible, for they still weren't sure that they were welcome. They -didn't speak or move for some time; with the excitement and running and -losing their way they were very tired. Presently the little boy got up, -and went and stood by the window looking out, with his legs astraddle -and his hands behind his back like a man. He wore a sailor-suit and had -bare, sturdy knees. He was very small to try to be so manly. - -[Illustration: 0041] - -“I'm not frightened, Mummy,” he said. - -“If father were here, he wouldn't be frightened.” - -She shifted her position so that she could glance proudly back at him. -“Father was never frightened.” - -For the first time the little girl spoke. “If father were here, they -wouldn't dare to come to London. I expect they knew...” - -“Yes, Joan,” her mother interrupted quickly, “I expect they knew.” - -“And when I'm a man they won't dare to come to London, either,” said -Robbie. “How many of them did father...?” - -But at that moment, before he could finish his question, his mother -pressed her finger against his lips warningly. Above the roar of what -was going on in the clouds, she had heard another and more alarming -sound; the front-door closed quietly, a match struck and then the slow -deliberate tread of someone groping up the stairs. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -[Illustration: 9047] - -HE tread reached the landing and proceeded to mount higher. Then it -hesitated. Another match was struck and it commenced to descend. On -arriving at the landing again, it halted uncertain. The handle of -the door was tried. The door swung open and a man peered across the -threshold. No one spoke. The little lady on the couch drew Joan closer -to her side and held her breath, hoping that the man might not observe -them and that, when he had gone, they might escape. But the man did not -go, he stood there on the alert, listening and searching the darkness. - -It was Robbie who spoke first. He had thrust his hands deep into his -knickerbockers' pockets to gain courage. “What do you want? We think you -might speak,” he said. - -The man laughed pleasantly. “I'm sorry if I've frightened you. I didn't -know that anyone was here. I thought this was an empty house. Perhaps -you weren't aware of it, but you'd left your front-door open.” Then, -because no one replied, he added, “It's all right now; it's closed.” - -He wasn't looking at Robbie any longer. He was trying to probe the -shadows by the fireplace, where he had caught the rustle of a woman's -dress. He had caught something else--the faint sweet fragrance of -Jacqueminot. - -“I've alarmed you,” he said. “I'm a stranger in London and I couldn't -find any way out of your square. I strayed into your house for shelter. -I'm sorry I intruded. Good-night to you all, however many there are of -you.” - -He was actually going. It was impossible to see what he looked like, but -he was evidently well-mannered and a gentleman. Suddenly to the lady -in the lonely house, from being a creature of dread, he became a -heaven-sent protector. Who could tell how many less desirable visitors -might not call before the raid was ended? The care-taker might return. -Were that to happen, it would be much more comfortable to have this -male trespasser present to help make the explanations. Just as he was -withdrawing, the lady rose from the shabby couch and called him back. - -“Oh, please, we'd much rather you didn't go.” - -“But who are we?” - -“I and Robbie and Joan. We did the same thing as you. The house doesn't -belong to us. We got caught, just as you did. We were terribly scared -and... and it's creepy being in an empty, strange house where you -haven't any right to be.” - -Though she could only see the blur of him, she could feel the smile that -was in his eyes when she had finished her appeal. And it was an appeal, -eager and nervous and tremulous. The tears in her voice said much more -than the words. As he turned on his heel, she heard the jingle of his -spurs and guessed that he was a man in khaki. - -“I'm on my way to France,” he said, speaking slowly; “I only landed -yesterday. I was lonely too; I didn't know a soul. A queer way to make a -friend!” - -As he stepped into the room, the light from the windows fell on him; he -was dressed in the uniform of an American officer. - -“Which are you?” he asked. “I've heard only your voice as yet. I'll do -anything I can to help.” - -The little lady held out her hand, but her face was still in shadow. It -was a very tiny hand. “It's good of you to be willing to stay with us,” - she said gratefully. - -At that point their conversation languished. The circumstances were so -unprecedented that they were at a loss what to say or how to act. It -was he who broke the awkward silence: “We ought to be able to rouse this -fire with a little effort.” He bent over it, trying to pull it together. -“We need more coal. If you'll excuse me and won't be frightened while -I'm gone, I'll run down and see what I can forage.” - -It seemed a long time that he was gone--so long that she had begun to be -afraid that he'd taken his chance to slip out. She wouldn't have blamed -him. In the last two years, since she'd been by herself, she'd become -used to men doing things like that. She had ceased to bank overmuch on -masculine chivalry. Few men had leisure to expend on a woman, however -charming and beautiful, whose children had always to be included in the -friendship. - -When she had made quite sure that he was no more chivalrous than other -men, she heard him laboriously returning. He came in carrying a scuttle -in one hand and some bundles of wood in the other. “And now we'll pull -down the blinds,” he said, “and make a blaze and get her going.” - -On his knees before the hearth he started to work, ramming paper between -the bars, piling sticks criss-cross and using his cheeks as bellows. In -the intervals between his exertions he chatted, “I'm no great shakes -at house-work. You mustn't watch me too closely or laugh at me. I'll do -better than this when I've been at the Front, I guess. Are these your -kiddies?... I suppose your husband's over there, where I'm going?” - -“He was.” - -“Oh, so you've got him back! You're lucky. Is he wounded or has he got a -staff job in England?” - -“He'll never come back.” - -He paused in what he was doing and sat gazing into the flames which were -licking at the wood. He hung his head. He ought to have thought of that; -in the last few years so many Englishmen were dead. And then there came -another reflection--the picture of what it must have cost her husband to -say good-bye to his wife and children, and go marching away to anonymous -glory. He wasn't married himself, but if he had been... It took enough -bolstering up of one's courage to go when one was single; but to go when -one was married... And yet selfishly, ever since he had put on khaki his -paramount regret had been that, were he to peg out, he would leave no -one to carry on in his stead. This air-raid was his first remote taste -of warfare; within the next few weeks he was to know it in its full -fury. What had impressed him most was the difference between war as -imagined and witnessed. As imagined it had seemed the most immense of -sports; as witnessed it was merely murder. Just before he had -sought shelter he had seen where a bomb had fallen. People had been -killed--people not so different from the mother and children hiding in -this house. The suddenness of extinction had made him feel that in the -game of life he had somehow “missed out.” There would be no woman to -think of him as “her man” were he to go west. And here was the woman's -price for such caring, “He'll never come back.” - -He turned his head slowly; by the light of the crackling wood for the -first time he saw her. The little boy was lying wearied out, with -his head bowed in her lap. The little girl sat drowsing against her -shoulder. - -She herself was leaning forward, gazing at and beyond him with a -curious air of resigned intensity. She seemed to him to be listening -for someone, whom she knew in her heart was never coming. He noticed the -white half-moon of her shoulders faintly showing beneath her chinchilla -wrap. He noticed her string of perfect pearls, the single ring on -her hand and the expensive simplicity of her velvet gown. He was -sufficiently a man of the world to make a guess at her social station. -But it wasn't her beauty or elegance that struck him, though they were -strangely in contrast to the empty room in which she sat; it was her -gentleness and expression of patient courage. He knew, as surely as if -she had told him, that this empty room, in which he had found her, was -the symbol of her days. It was with her as it was with himself; there -was no man to whom she was “his woman.” - -“I've hurt you by the impertinence of my questions.” - -She smiled and shook her head. “You've not hurt me. Don't think that. -I shouldn't like you to think that you'd hurt me or anything that would -make you sad. Are you going to France soon?” - -“Tomorrow.” - -“Then you won't be here for Christmas. I wonder where you'll spend it. -Perhaps next Christmas the war will be ended and you'll...” She caught -the instant change in his expression. She had seen that look too often -in soldiers' eyes when the future was mentioned not to know what it -meant. She laid her hand on his arm impulsively. “But everyone who goes -doesn't stay there. You'll be one of the lucky ones. You'll come back. -I have that feeling about you. I know what's in your mind; you're a long -way from home, you're going to face a great danger and you believe that -everything is ended. You can only think of war now, but there are so -many better things to do with life than fighting. All the better things -will be here to welcome you, when you return.” - -He found himself talking to her in a way in which he had never spoken to -any woman. Afterwards, when he recalled their conversation, he wondered -why. Was it because she had filled him with so complete a sense of rest? -One didn't have to explain things to her; she understood. He asked her -how it was that she understood and she replied, “You don't have to go -to war to learn how to endure. You can stay at home and yet beat off -attacks in the front-line trench. We women defeat despair by keeping on -smiling when there's nothing left to smile about, and by wearing pretty -dresses when there's no one to take a pride in what we wear.” - -He retorted unguardedly, as he felt. “But there must be heaps of people -who take a pride in you.” - -“You think so? You're unspoilt and generous. Life's a wonderful dream -that lies all before you. You haven't known sorrow. Do you know what you -seemed to be saying when you spoke to me through the shadows? 'Everybody -has always loved and trusted me, so you love and trust me, too.' If it -hadn't been for that, that I saw that you'd always been loved and were -lonely for the moment, I shouldn't have sat here talking with you for -the last hour. You'll get everything you want from life, if you'll only -wait for it. You'll come back.” - -While he sat at her feet in the firelight, she had the knack of making -him feel like a little boy who was being comforted. She kept aloof from -him, but she mothered him with words. He found himself glancing up at -her furtively to make sure that she wasn't as old as she pretended. She -wasn't old at all--not a single day older than himself. He turned over -in his mind what she had said about having no one to be proud of her. He -would have given a lot for the chance to be proud of her himself. But he -was going to France tomorrow--there was no time left for that. With -so much fighting and dying to be done, it seemed as though there would -never again be time for anything that was personal. - -The clamour in the skies had died down. - -The crash of guns had been growing infrequent; now it had subsided. -The drone of planes could be no more heard. The invader had been driven -back; hard on his heels our aerial cavalry were following across the -Channel, awaiting their moment to exact revenge when he tried to land. - -[Illustration: 0059] - -The restored normality seemed to rouse her reserve. Lifting the sleeping -head from her lap, she whispered, “Wake up, Robbie; we can go home now. -It's all over.” - -The officer had risen and stood leaning against the mantel, “So it's -good-bye?” - -“I'm afraid so.” - -“You've made me happy when I least expected to be happy. Shall we meet -again, I wonder?” - -She smiled at his seriousness. “Perhaps. One never knows what the good -God will allow. We didn't expect to meet tonight.” - -He was sensitive to her evasion and laughed, pretending to make light -of it. “We don't want them to think they've had burglars. We had better -leave something for the coals we've burned.” He placed a pound note on -the mantel. - -Taking Joan in his arms and going first, he led the way down the stairs. -When they were out of the hall and the front-door had closed behind -them, he left the little group on the steps and went in search of a -taxi. After a lengthy expedition he found one and, by promising an -excessive fare, induced the driver to accompany him back. He knew -neither the name of the square nor the number of the house, so he had -to keep his head out of the window and shout directions. On entering the -square he searched the pavement ahead, but could catch no sign of his -recent companions. He halted the cab against the curb at the point where -he thought he had left them; he was made certain that it was the point -when he saw the notice TO LET. Perhaps the caretaker had come back and -invited them to enter till he returned. He rang the bell and knocked -vigorously. The driver was eyeing him with suspicion. When his repeated -knockings were unanswered, he got into the taxi and ordered him to move -slowly round the square. - -She had completely vanished. Either she had picked up a conveyance for -herself, while he had been engaged in his search, or else she had lost -faith in him and had taken it for granted that he had deserted her. He -did not know her name. She had given him no address. Tomorrow night -he would be in France. He had neither the time nor the necessary -information to hunt for her. - -In reply to the driver's request for further instructions, he growled -the name of his hotel. Then he spread himself out on the cushions and -gave way to disconsolate reflections. The night was full of smoke and -heavy with the smell of a bonfire burnt out. Things had become again -uninteresting. He told himself that the most wonderful hour of his life -was ended. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -[Illustration: 9065] - -HRISTMAS came and went unmerrily. The old woman who took care of me had -known better days; she stayed in bed in an effort to forget. Next door, -but one, a son had returned unexpectedly from the trenches. There were -laughing, dancing and piano playing. I tried to share their happiness; -but happiness isn't the same when it is borrowed second-hand. My rooms -were cheerless and empty of all sound. - -I kept thinking of my air-raid visitors, wondering where they were and -hoping that the American officer had re-found the little lady. If -he had, I felt sure he would be good to her. I told myself a foolish -fairy-story, as old houses will, of how, when the war was ended, they -would drive up to my door together, as if by accident, and exclaim, -“Why, it's the little house where we first met!” Then the TO LET sign -would be taken down and, having fetched Joan and Robbie, we would all -live together forever. With luck and love we might have smaller feet to -toddle up and down my stairs. - -January, February, March commenced and ended, and the TO LET sign was -still there. It seemed that nobody would ever want me. It was April now; -to their nests in the railed-in garden of the square the last year's -birds were coming back. Trees had become a mist of greenness. Tulips and -daffodils were shining above the ground. In the window-boxes of other -houses geraniums were making a scarlet flare. Without warning the dream, -which had been no more than a dream, began to become a fact. - -I had been drowsing in the sun, taking no notice of what was happening, -when I was suddenly awakened by a sharp rat-a-tat-tat. I came to myself -with a start to find that the little lady, unaccompanied, was standing -on my steps. - -She knocked again and then a third time. There could be no doubt about -her determination to enter. At last the old woman heard her and dragged -herself complainingly up from the basement. When the door had been -narrowly opened, the little lady pushed it wider and stepped smartly -into the hall with an exceedingly business-like air. “I have an order -from the agents to view the house.” - -“I'm 'ard of 'earing. Wot did yer say? Speak louder.” - -“I have an order from the agents to look over the house.” - -“Let's see your order?” - -While the caretaker fumbled for her spectacles, she went on talking. -“You won't like it. There's no real sense in your seeing it. It ain't -much of a 'ouse--not modern, too little and all stairs.” - -It made me furious to hear her running me down and to have no chance to -defend myself. - -“Nevertheless, I rather like it and I think I'll see it,” the little -lady said. - -She went from room to room, making notes of the accommodations and -thinking aloud as she set them down. “Four floors beside the basement. -On the top floor two bedrooms; they'll do for Robbie and Joan and nurse. -On the next floor one bedroom and a bathroom; I'll have that for myself. -On the second floor one big room, running from front to back; that's -where we'II have the parrot and the piano, and where I'll do my sewing. -On the ground-floor a dining-room in front and a bedroom at the back; -the bedroom at the back will do for cook. I won't have anyone sleeping -below-stairs. It's a very wee house, but tremendously cosy. And what -pretty views--the garden in the square in front, and the old grey church -with its graveyard at the back! It's all so green and quiet, like being -in the country.” - -[Illustration: 0069] - -She had far out-distanced the caretaker, hurrying over the first two -floors that she might get to the top by herself. Now, as she descended, -she inspected each room more leisurely. As yet she had said no word that -would indicate that she had recognised me. I wondered what her motive -had been in coming; whether she had deliberately sought me or stumbled -on me simply by accident. I would have known her anywhere, though I had -been blind and deaf, by the fragrance of Jacqueminot that clung about -her. - -She had come to the tiny landing on the second floor, when something -familiar in her surroundings struck her. She stood there holding -the handle of the door and wrinkling her forehead. “It's odd,” she -whispered; “I can't understand it.” She turned the handle and entered. -The room smelt stuffy; its windows had not been opened since she was -last there. The sunlight, pouring in, revealed motes of dust which rose -up dancing every time she stirred. In the grate were the accumulated -ashes of many fires. Drawn across the hearth was the shabby couch. -Nothing had been altered since she had left it. She passed her hand -across her eyes, “It can't be; it would be too strange to find it like -that.” Then she started to reconstruct the scene as she remembered it. -“Robbie was there against the window, asking how many Huns his daddy had -brought down, and I was sitting here in the shadow, when quite suddenly -we heard his tread on the stairs. The door opened; he said something -about being sorry that he'd frightened us, and then.... Why yes, I'm -positive.” She stepped out onto the verandah and stood looking down into -the square. When she turned to re-enter her eyes were moist and shining. -“You _are_ the little house. Oh, little house, I've dreamt of you so -often. Does he dream of you too, where he is out there? Was I right to -run away and to doubt him? If you had a tongue you could tell me; did he -say hard things about me when he found me gone on coming back?” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -[Illustration: 9075] - -WO weeks later they took possession of me. They did it with so much -friendliness that at the end of a month it was as though we had always -lived together. Even the furniture fitted into all my odd nooks and -angles as if it had been made especially for me. And, indeed, it might -have been, for most of it was created in the reign of Queen Anne, at -which period my walls were, as one might say, feeling their legs. It was -very pleasant when night had settled down and everyone was sleeping, to -listen to the conversations which were carried on between the new-comers -and my own floors and stairs. One grandfather's clock was particularly -interesting in his reminiscences. He had told the time to Dr. Johnson -and had ticked away the great lexicographer's last hours. On this -account he was inclined to be amusingly self-important; it was a -permanent source of grievance with him that, so far as the present -generation was concerned, his pedigree was unknown. There were times -when he would work himself into such passions that his weights would -drop with a bang. He was always sorry for it next morning and ashamed -to face the little lady. As she came down to breakfast, she would catch -sight of his hands and say, “So the poor old clock has stopped again! -The old fellow's worn out. We shall have to send him to the mender's.” - -Perhaps it is hardly fair to repeat this gossip about one piece of the -furniture, for everything, myself included, was old; whether we were -tables, chairs or stair-cases, we all had our crochets and oddities. -But, however much we differed among ourselves, we were united in adoring -the youth of the little lady and her children. More than any of us the -whispering parrot adored her. - -The whispering parrot was a traveller. He had come from Australia fifty -years ago. - -He played so indispensable a part in producing the happy ending that he -deserves an introduction. - -He had been the gift of the children's grandfather, a retired General. -His plumage was Quaker grey, all except his breast and crest which were -a wonderful rose-pink. He had black beady eyes which took in everything; -what they saw, he invariably remembered. He had a confidential, hoarse -way of speaking, that never rose above a whisper. When you heard him -for the first time you supposed that he had a bad sore throat. He had -a favorite question which he asked whenever he thought he was not being -paid sufficient attention, “What shall we talk about?” He would ask it -with his head cocked on one side, while he rubbed his feathers up and -down the bars. “What shall we talk about?” he would ask the little lady -as she sat sewing beneath the lamp of an evening. She was always by -herself when the children had been put to bed. She had no callers and -never went anywhere. - -“Talk about Polly!” she would say. “I don't know, you good grey bird. -Did you think I was lonely? Well, let's see! Who loves Mummy best? Can -you answer me that?” - -Then he would cock his head still farther on one side and pretend to -think furiously. She would have to ask him several times before he would -attempt an answer. Usually, when he got ready, he would clear his throat -and whisper, “The dustman.” After which he would laugh as though his -sides were aching: “What a naughty Polly! What a naughty Polly!” - -She would maintain a dignified silence till she had emptied her -needle. Then she would glance at him reproachfully, “Think again, Mr. -Impudence--not the dustman.” - -So he would think again, and having clambered all over his cage and hung -upside down to amuse her, would hazard, “Polly?” - -“Not Polly.” - -Then he would make any number of suggestions, though he knew quite well -the answer she required. After each wrong guess he would go off -into gales of ghostly merriment. At last he would say very solemnly, -“Robbie.” - -“Yes, Robbie,” she would reply and scratch his head; after which the -game was ended. Soon she would fold away her work, put out the lights -and climb the narrow stairs to her quiet bed. - -It seemed very sad that, when she was so young, she should have to spend -so many hours in talking to a rascally old bird. One can be young for so -short a time. How short, those who are old know best. - -There were evenings, however, when, after the parrot had answered -“Robbie,” she would whisper, “I wonder!” and clasp her hands in her lap, -gazing straight before her. On these evenings she would sit very late -and would look down at her feet from time to time, as though expecting -to see someone crouching there. Taxis would chug their way into the -square and draw up at one or other of the dolls' houses. The taxi door -would open and after a few seconds close with a bang. There would be the -rustle of a woman's dress and the tripping of her slippered feet across -the pavement; the bass muttering of her husband paying the driver; -laughter; the rattling of a key in the latch; and silence. The little -lady would sit quite motionless, listening to the secret homecomings -of lovers. Then at last she would nod her head, “You're right, Polly, I -expect. There's no one else. No doubt it's Robbie who loves me best.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -[Illustration: 9083] - -UT it wasn't Robbie. The diningroom window was the first to make the -discovery. Being on the ground-floor, it gazes across the pavement under -the trees and sees many things after nightfall which are missed by the -upper storeys. The first and second time that something unusual happened -I was not told; not until the third time was I taken into the secret. -The dining-room window does most of the watching for the entire house; -it sees so much that it has learnt to be discreet. - -It was Armistice night when the unusual happening first occurred. London -had gone mad with relief from suspense. Wherever a barrel-organ could be -found people were dancing. Where more suitable music was not available, -tin-cans were being beaten with a dervish, rhythmic monotony. Dance the -people must. Their joy had gone into their feet; they could not convince -themselves that peace had come till they had danced themselves to a -standstill. They invented impromptu steps, dancing twenty abreast in the -open spaces, humming any tune that caught their fancy, with their arms -linked in those of strangers. But there were no strangers that night; -everyone was a friend. Top-hats, evening-dress, corduroys and privates' -uniforms hobnobbed together. A mighty roar of laughter and singing went -up from thousands of miles of streets, dim-lit and dusk-drenched to -ward off the ancient peril from the air. How suddenly unmodern peril -had become! All London laughed; all England; all the world. The sound -reached the Arctic; polar bears lumbered farther northward, stampeded by -the strum of our guffaws. If there were inhabitants on Mars, they must -have heard. The war was won. The news was so incredible that we had to -make a noise to silence our doubts. - -Everything that could rejoice was out under the stars making merry. -We had hidden so long, walked so stealthily, wept so quietly, hated so -violently that our right to be happy was almost too terrible to bear. -We expressed our joy foolishly, hysterically, inadequately by shouting, -embracing, climbing lamp-posts, riding on the roofs of taxis. What did -it matter so long as we expressed it and brought the amazing truth home -to ourselves? The last cannon had roared. The final man had died in -battle. The wicked waste of white human bodies was ended. There would be -no more rushing for the morning papers and searching the casualty lists -with dread; no more rumours of invasions; no more musterings for new -offensives. The men whom we loved were safe; they had been reprieved at -the eleventh hour. We should have them home presently, seated by their -firesides. It seemed like the fulfilment of a prophet's ecstasy; as -though sorrow and crying had passed away and forever there would be no -death. - -There were two people who did not dance, climb lamp-posts, beat tin-cans -and ride on the roofs of taxis that night. Perhaps they were the only -two in London; they were both in Dolls' House Square. The little lady -was one. She had tucked Joan and Robbie safely in their beds. She had -kissed them “Good-night” and turned the gas on the landing to a jet. She -had gone part way down the narrow stairs and then... and then she had -come back. She had picked up Joan and carried her into Robbie's room. -When the two heads were lying close together on the pillow, she had -seated herself in the darkness beside them. - -The little boy stretched up his arms to pull her down; she resisted. His -hands wandered over her face and reached her eyes. They were wet. His -heart missed a beat. He knew what that meant. So often in the dark, dark -night he had wakened with the sure sense that she was crying and had -tiptoed down the creaking stairs to creep in beside her and place his -small arms tightly about her. - -“Never mind; you have me, Mummy.” That was what he always said. He -whispered it now. - -“Yes, I have my wee man.” - -“And me, Mummy,” Joan murmured sleepily. - -“Mummy knows. She has you both. Don't worry about her. She's feeling -silly tonight.” - -“Because you're happy?” Joan questioned. - -“Yes, happy for so many little boys and girls whose soldier daddies will -be coming back to them soon. Don't talk any more. Go sleepy-bye.” - -But Robbie knew that it wasn't happiness that made her cry; he knew that -she was crying because she had no soldier to come back. What could he -say to comfort her? His eyes grew drowsy while he thought about it. He -waited till Joan was in Sleepy-bye Land, then with an effort he opened -his eyes. - -“Mummy, do you know what I'd like best for Christmas?” - -“I thought you were sleeping. Don't tell me now. There's heaps of time. -It's six weeks till Christmas.” - -“But Joan and I have talked about it,” he persisted. “We don't want him, -if you don't want him.” - -“What is he, dear? If he doesn't cost too much, you shall have him.” - -Robbie procrastinated now that he had brought his mother to the point -of listening. It was a delicate proposal that he was about to make. “I -don't know whether you can get one,” he hesitated. “A boy at my school -got one without asking, and it wasn't even Christmas.” - -He was sitting up in bed now, very intense and serious, and very much -awake. - -“But you've not told me yet what it is you want. If you don't tell me, I -can't say whether I can afford it.” - -She slipped her arm about the square little body and feeling how it -trembled, held it close against her breast. He hid his face in the -hollow of her neck. “Robbie's place,” she whispered. “If it's difficult -to say, whisper it to mother there.” - -His lips moved several times before a sound came and then, “If it isn't -too much trouble, we should like to have a Daddy.” - -Against his will she held him back from her, trying to see his eyes. -“But why?” - -It was he who was crying now. “Oh Mummy, I didn't mean to hurt you.... -To be like all the other little boys and girls.” When at last he was -truly asleep and she had come down to the lamp-lit room in which she -sewed, she did not take up her work. The parrot tried to draw her into -conversation with his eternal question, “What shall we talk about?” - -“Nothing tonight, Polly,” she said. Presently she crossed the room and, -pulling back the curtains, stood staring out into the blackness. So her -children had felt it, too--the weight of loneliness! She had tried so -hard to prevent them from sharing it; had striven in so many ways to -be their companion. Try as she would, she could never make up for a -father's absence. She could never give them the sense of security that a -man could have given without effort, even though he had loved them less. -It was a bitter realisation--one which vaguely she had always dreaded -must come to her. It was doubly bitter coming to her now, on a night -when all the world was glad. She might be many things to her children; -she could never be a man.... What did Robbie think? That you bought -a father from an agency or engaged him through an advertisement? She -smiled sadly, “Not so easy as that.” - -“What shall we talk about?” asked the parrot. - -She drew the curtains together, extinguished the lights and groped her -way up to bed. - -But her eyes had not peered far enough into the blackness. There was -another person in London who had not danced or climbed lamp-posts or -ridden on the roofs of taxis that night. For three hours he had watched -the little house from the shadow of the trees across the road. From the -pavement, had you been passing, you would hardly have distinguished him -as he leant against the garden-railings. The only time he gave a sign -of his presence was when the red flare of his cigarette betrayed him. He -did not seem to be planning harm to anyone; he could not have done much -harm in any case, for the left sleeve of his coat hung empty. He was -simply waiting for something that he hoped might happen. At last his -patience was rewarded when she drew aside the curtain and stood with the -lighted room behind her, staring out into the blackness. Only when she -had again hidden herself and all the house was in darkness, did he turn -to go. He was there the next night and the next. It was after his third -night of watching that the dining-room window told me. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -[Illustration: 9095] - -HE fourth night he was there again. By this time everything in the -house, from the kettle in the kitchen to the carpet on the topmost -landing, was aware that a one-armed man was hidden beneath the trees -across the road, watching. The whole house was on the alert, listening -and waiting--everybody, that is to say, except the people most -concerned, who inhabited us. It seemed strange that they alone should be -in ignorance. The grandfather clock did his best to tell them. “Beware; -take care. Beware; take care,” he ticked as his pendulum swung to and -fro. They stared him in the face and read the time by his hands, but -they had no idea what he was saying. - -What could it be that the watching man wanted? Whatever it was, he -wanted it badly, for it was by no means pleasant to stand motionless for -several hours when the November chill was in the air. Nor did he seem -to find it pleasant, for every now and then he coughed and shook himself -like a dog inside his coat, and sunk his chin deeper into his collar. - -He had been there since six o'clock. He had seen the cook and the -housemaid come up the area-steps and meet their respective sweethearts -under the arc-light at the end of the square. There was only one other -grown person in the house beside the little lady--Nurse; and Nurse had -been in bed since the afternoon with a sick headache. He could not have -known that. It was at precisely eight that he consulted his luminous -wrist-watch, crossed the road, hesitated and raised the knocker very -determinedly, as if he had only just arrived and had not much time to -spare. _Rat-tat-tat!_ The sound echoed alarmingly through the silence. -The little lady dropped her sewing in her lap and listened. The sound -was repeated. _Rat-tat-tat!_ It seemed to say, “Come along. Don't keep -me waiting. You've got to let me in sooner or later. You know that.” - -“It can't be the postman at this hour,” she murmured, “and yet it sounds -like his knock.” - -Laying her work on the table beneath the lamp, she rose from her chair -and descended. She opened the door only a little way at first, just wide -enough for her to peer out, so that she could close it again if she saw -anything disturbing. - -“So you do live here!” The man outside spoke gladly. “I guessed it could -be no one else the moment I saw that the house was no longer empty.” - -She opened the door a few more inches. His tone puzzled her by its -familiarity. His face had not yet come into the ray of light which -slanted from the hall across the steps. - -“You don't recognise me?” he questioned. “I called to let you know that -I did fetch that taxi. It's been on my mind that you thought I deserted -you. Taxi-cabs were hard to find in an air-raid.” - -She flung the door wide. “Why it's----” - -She didn't know how to call him--how to put what he was into words. He -had been simply “the American officer”--that was how she had named him -in talking with the children. He had been often remembered, especially -during the fireside hour when in imaginary adventures he had been the -hero of many stories. How brave she had made him and how often she had -feared that he was dead! There were other stories which she had told -only to herself, when the children were asleep and the house was silent. -And there he stood on the threshold, with the same gallant bearing and -the same eager smile playing about his mouth. “I've always been loved -and trusted; you love and trust me, too”--that was what his smile was -saying to her. - -Her heart was beating wildly; but nothing of what she felt expressed -itself in what she said. “I'm by myself. I've let the maids go out. I'm -terribly apologetic for having treated you so suspiciously.” - -He laughed and stepped into the hall. “I seem fated to find you by -yourself; you were alone last time. I'm in hospital and have to be back -by ten. Won't you let me sit with you for half an hour?” - -He had begun to remove his top-coat awkwardly. His awkwardness attracted -her attention. - -“Please let me do that for you.” - -“Oh, I'm learning to manage. It's all right.... Well, if you must. -Thanks.” She didn't dare trust herself. There was a pricking sensation -behind her eyes. She motioned to him to go first. As she followed him -up the stairs, she gazed fixedly at his flattened left side, where the -sleeve was tucked limply into the tunic-pocket. She knew that when she -was again face to face with him she must pretend not to have noticed. - -He entered the room and stood staring round. “The same old room! But it -didn't belong to you then. How did you manage it?” - -“Easily, but not on purpose.” - -“Truly, not on purpose?” His tone was disappointed. - -“No, not on purpose. I didn't know the name of the square or the number -of the house that night. I stumbled on it months later by accident. It -was still to let.” - -“So you took it? Why did you take it?” - -“Because I'd liked it from the first and it suited me,” she smiled. “Why -else?” - -“I thought perhaps...” - -“Well, say it. You're just like Robbie. When Robbie wants to tell me -something that's difficult, he has a special place against which he -hides his face; it's easier to tell me there. You men are all such -little boys. If it's difficult to tell, you do the same and say it -without looking at me.” - -She reseated herself beneath the lamp and took up her sewing. “Now tell -me, why did you want me to say that I took it on purpose?” - -“I don't quite know. Perhaps it was because, had I been you, I should -have taken it on purpose. One likes to live in places where he has been -happy, even though the happiness lasted only for an hour.” - -He wandered over to the couch before the fire and sat down where he -could watch her profile and the slope of her throat beneath the lamp. -The only sound was the prick of the needle and the quiet pulling through -of the thread. It had all happened just as he would have planned it. He -was glad that she was alone. He was glad that it was in this same room -that they had met. He was glad in a curious unreasoning way for the -faint fragrance of Jacqueminot that surrounded her. It had been just -like this at the Front that he had thought of her--thought of her so -intensely that he had almost caught the scent and the rustle of her -dress, moving towards him through the squalor of the trench. Through all -the horror the brief memory of her gentleness had remained with him. And -what hopes he had built on that memory! He had told himself that, if he -survived, by hook or by crook he would search her out. In hospital, when -he had returned to England, all his impatience to get well had been to -get to her. In his heart he had never expected success. The task had -seemed too stupendous. And now here he was, sitting with her alone, the -house all quiet, the fire shining, the lamp making a pool of gold among -the shadows, and she, most quiet of all, taking him comfortably for -granted and carrying on with her woman's work. At last he was at rest; -not in love with her, he told himself, but at rest. - -It was she who broke the silence. “How did you know? What made you come -so directly to this house?” - -He met her eyes and smiled. “Where else was there to come? It was the -one place we both knew. I took a chance at it.” And then, after a -pause, “No, that's not quite true. I was sent up to London for special -treatment. The first evening I was allowed out of hospital, I hurried -here and, finding that our empty house was occupied, stayed outside to -watch it.” - -“But why to watch it?” - -“Because it was a million to one that you weren't the tenant. Before I -rang the bell I wanted to make certain. You see I don't know your name; -I couldn't ask to see the lady of the house. If she hadn't been you, how -could I have explained my intrusion?” - -“And then you made certain?” - -He nodded. “You came to the window on Armistice night and stood for a -few minutes looking out.” - -“I remember.” She shivered as if a cold breath had struck her. “I was -feeling stupid and lonely; all the world out there in the darkness -seemed so glad. I wish you had rung my bell. That was three nights ago.” - -“You mean why did I let three nights go by. I guess because I was a -coward. I got what we call in America 'cold feet.' I thought...” - -He waited for her to prompt him. She sat leaning forward, her hands -lying idle in her lap. He noticed, as he had noticed nearly a year -ago, the half-moon that her shoulders made in the dimness. She was -extraordinarily motionless; her motionlessness gave her an atmosphere -of strength. When she moved her gestures said as much as words. Nothing -that she did was hurried. - -“Tell me what you thought.” she said quietly. She spoke to him as she -would have spoken to Robbie, making him feel very young and little. When -she spoke like that there was not much that he would not have told her. - -“I thought that you might not remember me or want to see me. We met so -oddly; after the lapse of a year you might easily have regarded my call -as an impertinence.” - -“An impertinence!” There were tears in her eyes when she raised her -head. “You lost your arm that I and my children might be safe, and you -talk about impertinence.” - -“Oh, that!” He glanced down at his empty sleeve. “That's nothing. It's -the luck of the game and might have happened to anybody.” - -“But you lost it for me,” she re-asserted, “that I might be safe. You -must have suffered terribly.” - -Seeing her distress, he laughed gaily. “Losing an arm wasn't the worst -that might have happened. I'm one of the fortunate ones; I'm still above -ground. The thing wasn't very painful--nothing is when you've simply got -to face it. It's the thinking about pain that hurts.... Hulloa, look -at the time; I can just get back to the hospital by ten. If we're late, -they punish us by keeping us in next night.” - -At the top of the stairs as she was seeing him out, he halted and looked -back into the room. “It's quiet and cosy in there. I don't want -to leave; I feel like a boy being packed off to school. You can't -understand how wonderful it is after all the marching and rough times -and being cut about to be allowed to sit by a fire with a woman. I loved -to watch you at your sewing.” - -“It's because you're tired,” she said, “more tired than you know. You -must come very often and rest.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -[Illustration: 9109] - -N the weeks that followed the little house came to know him well. -Everybody in the little house treated him as though his injury were a -decoration, which had been won especially in their defence. They were -prouder to see him come walking up their steps with his blue hospital -band on his remaining arm, than if Sir Douglas Haig himself had called -upon them. Nobody took any count of the frequency of his visits--nobody -except himself. Nobody seemed to think it strange that the moment the -doctors had finished his dressings, he should wander off to Dolls' House -Square. Nobody seemed to guess just how fond he was of the little lady. -He hardly guessed himself. There were times when he wondered exactly -how fond he was. He did not believe he was in love with her; the feeling -that he had was too gentle. He had always understood that love was -exciting, passionate and tumultuous with dreads, whereas in her presence -he knew neither fears nor hesitancies. He wasn't the least in terror -that he would lose her. He felt simply safe, the way a ship might feel -when the winds had ceased to buffet and it lay still in a sheltered -harbour on a level keel. This feeling of safety struck him as an -extraordinary sensation to be produced in a soldier by a woman; he was a -trifle ashamed of it, as though it were not quite manly. - -While he spoke with her, he found himself believing with a child-like -faith that all women were mothers and that the world was good. He knew -that for the present he could not do without her, but he was at a -loss to imagine what he would do with her for always. She was like -religion--she went beyond him, was bigger and better. He only dimly -understood her, but was comfortable in believing that everything -hidden was as kind as the part he knew. In a strangely intimate way -he worshipped her, as a child adores his mother, thinking her the most -perfect and beautiful being in the world. He discovered in her a wisdom -of which nothing in her conversation gave the least indication; her -unhurried attitude towards life created the impression. If this were -love, then all the hearsay information he had gathered on the subject -was mistaken. - -There were days when, after his wound had been dressed and he had left -the hospital, he made a pretence that he was not going to visit her. He -told himself that he was making her a habit, and that to make a habit -of anyone was foolish. Instead of going to Dolls' House Square, he -would invent some urgent business and take himself off citywards. But -expeditions in which she had no share soon grew flat. He would find -himself thinking about her, wondering whether she was waiting for -him. He would end up, as he always ended up, by jumping in a taxi and -knocking on her door in Dolls' House Square. - -He never once found her out. There was invariably a welcome for him. He -would take his seat by the fire in the quiet room and watch her sewing -till the darkness deepened and the lamp had to be brought out. It didn't -seem to matter much whether he talked or was silent; her contentment -seemed complete when he was there. She made no effort to entertain him, -which was the best proof of their friendship. She was perfectly willing -that he should ignore her, if that was his mood, by reading the paper or -playing with the children. - -Though she made no effort to entertain him, the entire household had -re-organised itself in readiness for his sharp _rat-a-tat_. Everyone, -without expressing the fact, recognised that it was nice to have a man -about the house. When one rose in the morning, there was something to -which to look forward now. A man dropping in, even occasionally, gave -this group of women a sense of protection and of contact with the -unwidowed world. - -To Robbie and Joan he stood for something midway between a big -brother and a pal. They had sharp rivalries as to who should light his -cigarette. It wasn't easy for him to grip the box between his knees -and strike the match with only one hand. They watched him and by -anticipating his wishes tried to constitute themselves his missing hand. - -When they were with him, the little lady withdrew into the background, -making herself so still and self-effacing that it scarcely seemed that -he had come to see her. It was as though she had three children; he -appeared to be their friend much more than hers. He would carry them -off to the Zoo, to matinees or to see the Christmas toys in the West End -shops. Sometimes she would accompany them; more often she would listen -to their adventures when they had returned. But she never was really -left out. While they were absent from her, she formed the main topic of -conversation. Of this she was well aware; if she had not been, she would -not have been so happy. - -In a way she derived more pleasure from staying at home and picturing -them laughing through the crowded streets, going into tea-shops, riding -in taxis and coming back through the dusk together. The children looked -so proud in their sole possession of a man, especially of a soldier who -had been wounded. Had their father come through the war, that was how -they would have looked in his company. She was glad that they should get -away from skirts. He could give them something which it was not in her -power to give, however much she loved them. She was only a woman. Her -reward followed when they returned a little conscience-stricken at -having left her, bringing with them a present as indisputable proof that -she had been remembered. - -One evening in talking with her after the children had been put to bed, -he asked her if she didn't think she ought to go out more often. - -“I know I ought.” - -“Then why don't you?” - -She smiled gently, thinking how little he knew of the world. “When -you've not got your own man to take you, it's difficult. The world moves -in pairs. A woman can't go to many places unaccompanied.” - -“But surely you don't need to. You must have quantities of friends who -would be glad...” - -She cut him short. “When a woman is left by herself, she learns a good -many things about men that she didn't suspect when she was married. The -men she would trust herself with have their wives or fiancées--they have -no time to trouble over shipwrecked women like myself. And the other -kind of men... The world has no place for a widow. It doesn't mean to be -unkind, but it simply doesn't know what to do with her. Unmarried women -consider her an unfair rival; they think she's seeking a second chance -before they've had their first. In the old days India solved the problem -by burying us with our husbands. In England they do the same thing, only -less frankly. It's rather stupid to have to live and yet to be treated -as though you ought to be dead. One fights against it at first; then one -gradually becomes reconciled to be out of the running. If one's wise, -she puts all her living into her children.” - -“But that's not fair,” he spoke hotly. - -“It's the way it happens.” - -He sat frowning into the fire. What she had told him had upset all his -preconceptions about her. Without looking at her, he re-started the -conversation. “I've thought of you as being so happy. I always thought -of you that way at the Front. I've pictured you as being perched high on -a ledge out of reach of waves and storms. From the first you've given me -the feeling that nothing could hurt or move you, and that nothing could -hurt or move me while I was near you. It's a queer thing for a man to -admit to a woman, but you make me feel absolutely safe.” - -“That's not so very queer,” she said, “because that's the way you make -me feel.” - -“Do I? You're not laughing at me?” He swung round, leaning over the back -of the couch, his entire attitude one of amazement. - -She met his surprise with a quiet smile. “I'm perfectly serious. But -you know the reason why we feel so safe in each other's company? It's -because, in our different ways, we're both lonely people. We're not like -the rest of the world; we don't move in pairs. I'm lonely because I'm -a woman on my own, and you're lonely because you're in hospital in a -foreign country. We met just at the time when we could give each other -courage.” - -“But you don't look lonely,” he protested; “one always thinks of -lonely people as being sad and untidy. You always look so terrifically -well-groomed and expensive. You create the impression that you're either -going to or returning from a party. I never saw you when you weren't -self-assured and occupied. I used to wonder how you spared me so much -time from your engagements.” - -“Clever of me, wasn't it?” - -Instead of answering her, he came over and stood above where she sat -stitching beneath the lamp. He was seeing her for the first time not -as wise, self-reliant and fashionable, but as beautiful, alone and -unprotected. He could almost feel the ache of the bruises she had -suffered. He felt self-reproached; what had he given her? Up to now -anything that he could have given had seemed too small to mention. He -had taken from her continually, supposing that she had a surplus of -everything. And all the while she had been sharing his own hunger for -the presents that money cannot buy. - -“It's great to be alive, when you'd expected to be dead.” - -It was her turn to be surprised. She raised her head quickly, -recognising a new earnestness in his tone. - -[Illustration: 0119] - -“One doesn't talk much about what happened at the Front,” he said; -“but one can't help feeling that his life was spared for some definite -purpose. I believe the purpose was to be happy and to make others happy. -I don't want to hog my own pleasure any more or to trifle in the old -slovenly ways. I want to crowd every second with gratefulness for the -mere fact of living. That's what's been bringing me here so often. -That's why I've been so glad to carry Joan and Robbie away. Kiddies mean -so tremendously much more to me than they did before I nearly died. And -then there's home and women. I took them for granted once, but now... -It's like saying one's prayers to be in a good woman's presence. I -don't know if you at all understand me. I'm trying to thank you for what -you've done....” - -And there his eloquence failed, leaving him gazing down at her and -wondering whether she thought him foolish. She patted his hand, but -she did not meet his eyes. “It's all right. Don't explain. I know what -you're meaning to say.” - -“Do you?” He spoke doubtfully. “I think I was trying to ask you if we -couldn't be happy together. I'm not married and I'm not engaged; but I'm -not like the other men you mentioned.” - -“My dear boy, I never thought you were. If I had, you wouldn't have been -here. You're honourable all the way through; I knew that the moment I -saw you. Does that make you feel better?” - -He laughed happily. “Much. Do you know what I believe I've been trying -to ask you through all this maze of words? If I get permission from the -doctor to stay out late tomorrow night, would you be gay and go with me -to a theatre?” - -Her eyes met his with gladness. “I should love it.” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -[Illustration: 9125] - -HAT evening at the theatre was the first conscious step in their -experiment of being happy together. She received word from him at -lunch-time that the doctor's permission had been granted and that he -would call for her at seven. The news made her as excited as if she -had never been to a theatre before in her life. She spent the afternoon -before the mirror, brushing and re-brushing her hair, and in laying -out all the pretty clothes which she knew men liked. It was three years -since she had dressed with the deliberate intent that a man should -admire her. Once to do that had been two-thirds of her life. To find -herself doing it again seemed like waking from a long illness; she could -hardly bring herself to believe that the monotony of sorrow was ended -and that she was actually going to be happy again. She had been made to -feel so long that to be happy would be disloyalty to past affections. - -She locked her bedroom door, for fear any of the servants should guess -how she was occupied. She was filled with an exultant shame that she -should still be capable of valuing so highly a man's opinion of her -appearance. “But I will be happy,” she kept telling herself; “I have -the right.” And then, in a whisper, “Oh, little house, you have been so -kind. Wish me luck and say that he'll think me nice.” - -[Illustration: 0127] - -Outside in the bare black cradle of the trees the November afternoon -faded. Sparrows twittered of how winter was almost come. Against the -cold melancholy of the London sky, like silhouettes crayoned on a wall -of ice, roofs and chimneys stood smudged. In flickering pin-points of -incandescence street-lamps wakened; night came drifting like a ship into -harbour under shrouded sails. - -She had been sitting listening for a long time, haunted by childish -fears that he would not come. At seven promptly a taxi panted into -the square and drew up wheezing and coughing before the little house. -Seizing her evening-wrap, she ran down the stairs and had her hand -on the door before his knock had sounded. “I didn't want to keep you -waiting,” she explained. - -He handed her into the cab. With a groan and a thump the engine pulled -itself together and they made good their escape. As she settled back -into her corner, pulling on her gloves, she watched him. So he also had -regarded it as a gala-night! He was wearing a brand-new uniform and had -been at extra pains to make his boots and belt splendid and shiny. -She did her best not to be observed too closely, for her eyes were -overbright and her color was high. She felt annoyed at herself for being -so girlish. - -“It's tremendous fun. I haven't been to the theatre in the evening -since... for years and years,” she whispered. “The war is really ended. -I'm believing it for the first time.” - -They dined together at Prince's to the fierce discords of Jazz music. -It suited her mood; it was primitive and reckless. Diners kept rising -between courses and slipping out in pairs to where dancing was in -progress. The whole world went in pairs tonight. And she had her man; -no one could make her lonely for just this one night. It was exciting to -her to notice how much more they seemed to belong to each other now that -they were in public. He felt it also, for he showed his sense of pride -and ownership in a hundred little ways. It was good to be owned after -having been left so long discarded. As he faced her across the table, he -had the air of believing that everybody was admiring her and envying him -his luck. She was immensely grateful that he should think so. It was as -though he could hear them saying, “How on earth did a one-armed fellow -do it?” Had they asked him, he could only have told them, “The house was -empty, so I entered.” Yes, and even he had not guessed how empty! But -what had changed her? Knowing nothing about the locked door and how her -afternoon had been spent, he was puzzled. All he knew was that the woman -whom he had thought perfect, had revealed herself as more perfect. She -had become radiantly beautiful in a way quite new and unexpected. - -Of the play to which they went she saw but little; all she realised was -that it was merry--a fairy-tale of life. One does not notice much when -the heart is swollen with gladness. People sang, and looked pretty, and -fell in love. Everyone was paired and married before the curtain was -rung down. Something, however, she did remember: two lilting lines which -had been sung: - - And, while the sun is shining, - - Make hay, little girl, make hay. - -They kept repeating themselves inside her head. Unconsciously in the -darkness as they were driving home, she started humming them. - -“What did you say?” he questioned. - -“I didn't say anything. It was just a snatch from a tune we heard.” - -“Was it? Won't you hum it again?” - -So in the intermittent gloom of the passing lights she tried; but -for some reason, inexplicable to herself, it made her feel choky. She -couldn't reach the end. Gathering her wrap closer about her, she drew -the fur collar higher to hide the stupid tears which had forced their -way into her eyes. - -“I believe you're crying!” he exclaimed with concern. “Do tell me what's -the matter.” - -“I'm too happy,” she whispered brokenly. The taxi drew up against the -pavement with a jerk. There was no knowing what he might say next to -comfort her. She both yearned to learn and dreaded. Flight was the safer -choice. Before he could assist her, she had jumped out. “Come tomorrow -and I'll thank you properly. I can't now. And... I'm sorry for having -been a baby.” Catching at her skirts, she fled up the steps and let -herself into the darkened house. - -Not until his wheels had moved reluctantly away, did she climb the -narrow stairs to the room from which she had departed so gaily. Her -solitariness had returned. She had had her own man for a handful of -hours. They were ended. - -As she threw off her finery, she could still hear that voice -persistently advising, - - And, while the sun is shining, - - Make hay, little girl, make hay. - -In the darkness she flung herself down on the bed, burying her face in -the pillow. “I want to; oh, I want to,” she muttered. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -[Illustration: 9137] - -OR three weeks she followed the song's advice. No one knew how long -happiness would last. With her it had never lasted. He would leave her -presently; already he was anticipating an early return to America. - -“I shall feel terribly flat when you've gone,” she told him. - -“But I'll write. I'll write you the longest letters.” - -“Ah, but letters aren't the same as being together.” - -He didn't seem to share her need of him, and it hurt. If he did share -it, it was unconsciously. He had yet to awaken to what the need meant. -She had allowed him to become too sure of her, perhaps; had she kept him -more uncertain, he might have awakened. In any case, it was too late to -alter attitudes now and to think up reasons. - -He liked her in the jolliest kind of way as the most splendid of -diversions; but she wasn't essential to him for all time--only for the -present. She treasured no illusions about the longest letters. She knew -men--the world was filled with women; out of sight would be out of mind. -So every evening when he visited her, her heart was in her throat till -she had made him confess that he had not yet received his embarkation -orders. Some day he would tell her that he was going and would expect -her to congratulate him. She would have to smile and pretend that -she was glad for his sake. After that he would vanish and the long -eventlessness would re-commence. He would write intimately and often at -first; little by little new interests would claim him. There would be -a blank and then, after a long silence, a printed announcement, curtly -stating that he had found his happiness elsewhere. - -She saw herself growing old. The children would spring up so quickly. -She would be left with her pride, to dress and make herself beautiful -for an anonymous someone whose coming was indefinitely postponed. Youth -would go from her. For interminable evenings, stretching into decades, -she would watch afternoons fade into evenings. Everything would grow -quiet. She would sit beneath the lamp at her sewing. The whispering -parrot would take pity on her and croak, “What shall we talk about?” - Even that game would end one day, for Robbie would become a man and -marry. When that had happened it wouldn't be truthful for the parrot to -tell her that Robbie loved her best. She would listen for the clock -to strike, the fire to rustle, the coals to drop in the grate. Towards -midnight taxis would enter the square. Lovers would alight. She would -hear the paying of the fare, the tapping of a woman's high-heeled shoes -on the pavement, the slipping of the key into the latch, the opening and -closing of the door, and then again the silence. She would fold up her -work, turn out the lights and stand alone in the darkness, invisible as -a ghost. - -Ah, but he had not sailed yet. “Make hay, little girl, make hay.” His -going was still only a threat. There was time, still time. She set a -date to her respite. She would not gaze beyond it. If she could only -have him till Christmas! - -Meanwhile he kept loyally to his contract that they should be happy -together. He gave her lavishly of his time. If he guessed how much the -gift meant, he said nothing to show it. He was like a great, friendly -schoolboy in his cheerfulness; he filled every niche of her desire. Now, -in the afternoon, when he took the children on adventures, she found -herself included. On the return home, he shared with her the solemn rite -of seeing them safely in bed. Then forth they would sally on some fresh -excursion. Always and increasingly there was the gnawing knowledge that -the end was nearer in sight--that soon to each of the habits they were -forming they would have to say, “We have done it for the last time.” - -We, the bricks and mortar of the little house, watched her. We grew -desperate, for we loved her. What we had observed and overheard by -day we discussed together by night. If we could prevent it, we were -determined that he should not go. - -“But, if he goes,” creaked the staircase, “he may return. They used to -say in my young days that the heart grows fonder through absence.” - -“Rubbish,” banged the door on the first landing. “Rubbish, I say.” - -“He'll go,” ticked the grandfather clock pessimistically. “He'll go. -He'll go.” - -“Not if I know it,” shouted the door and banged again. - -We had come to a few nights before Christmas. Which night I do not -remember, but I recall that we had started our decorations. Mistletoe -was hanging in the hall. Holly had been arranged along the tops of the -picture-frames. The children had been full of whisperings and secrets. -Parcels had already begun to arrive. They were handed in with a -crackling of paper and smuggled upstairs to a big cupboard in which they -were hidden from prying eyes. The children were now in bed, sleeping -quietly for fear of offending Santa Claus. The little lady was in the -room where she worked, checking over her list of presents. She had got -something for everyone but Robbie; she had postponed buying Robbie's -present for a very special reason of which we were all aware. Perhaps -it was superstition; perhaps a desperate hope. He had told her what he -wanted; it didn't look as if she would be able to get it. “It's no -good waiting,” she told herself; “I shall have to buy him something -tomorrow.” Just then, as if in answer to her thoughts, an impatient -_rat-tat-tat_ re-sounded. It was his unmistakably, but he had never -come so late as this before. All day she had listened and been full of -foreboding; she had despaired of his ever coming. There was an interval -after the door had been opened, during which he removed his coat. She -could picture his awkwardness in doing it. Then the swift, leaping step -of him mounting the stairs. Why had he delayed so long, only to come to -her at the last moment in such a hurry? She rose from her chair to face -him, her hands clenched and her body tense, as if to resist a physical -blow. As he appeared in the doorway his lips were smiling. There was -evidently something which he was bursting to tell her. On catching sight -of her face he halted. His smile faded. - -“What's the matter? What's happened?” She unclenched her hands and -looked away from him. “Nothing.” - -“There must be something. Something's troubling you. What have you been -doing with yourself this evening?” - -Her gaze came back to him. She smiled feebly. “Wondering whether you -were coming and worrying over Robbie's present.” - -“Robbie's present! That's nothing to worry over. We'II go together and -choose one tomorrow. I'll have time.” - -“Time!” She straightened up bravely, the way she had rehearsed the scene -so often in her imagination. “Then it's true. You won't be here for -Christmas? You're sailing?” - -Her knowledge of his doings was uncanny. He came a step nearer, but she -backed away. He realised her fear lest he should touch her. For a moment -he was offended. Then, “My orders came today. How did you know? It was -what I came to tell you.” - -“How did I know!” She laughed unsteadily. “How does one know anything? -The heart tells one things sometimes. You'll be busy tomorrow--so many -other things to think about. Robbie's present doesn't matter. It's -growing late... Good-bye.” He stood astonished at her abruptness. What -had he done that she should be so anxious to rid herself of him? When he -did not seem to see her proffered hand, but stared at her gloomily, -her nerves broke. “Go. Why don't you go?” she cried fiercely. “You know -you'll be happy.” - -“You want me to go?” he asked quietly. Had she heard her own voice, she -would have given way to weeping. With her handkerchief pressed tightly -against her lips, she nodded. - -He turned slowly, looked back from the threshold for a sign of relenting -and dragged his way haltingly down the stairs. In the hall beneath the -mistletoe he paused to listen. He fancied he had heard the muttering -of sobbing. So long as he paused he heard nothing; it was only when he -began to move that again he thought he heard it. Having flung his coat -about his shoulders, he eased his arm into the sleeve. This wasn't what -he had come for--a very different ending! - -And now the chance of the little house had arrived. Windows, chairs, -tables, walls, we had all pledged ourselves to help her. He attempted to -let himself out; the frontdoor refused to budge. He pulled, tugged and -worked at the latch without avail. - -“Shan't go. Shan't go. Shan't go,” ticked the grandfather's clock -excitedly. Then the usual thing happened, which always happened when the -grandfather's clock got excited. - -There was a horrible _whirr_ of the spring running down; the weights -dropped with a bang. - -In the silence that followed he listened. She thought he had gone. There -could be no mistake now; she was crying as if her heart would break. - -The stairs creaked to warn her as he ascended. She could not have heard -them, for when he stepped into the room she took no notice. She had sunk -to the floor and lay with her face hidden in the cushions of the chair, -with the gold light from the lamp spilling over her. For some moments he -watched her--the shuddering rise and fall of her shoulders. - -“You told me to go,” he said. “The little house won't let me; it was -always kind to us.” And then, when she made no answer, “It's true. I've -got my sailing orders. But it was you who told me to go.” - -She was listening now. He knew that, for the half-moon shoulders had -ceased to shudder. The smell of Jacqueminot drew him to her. Bending -over her, he stole one hand from beneath the buried face. “Do I need to -go?” - -And still there was no answer. It was then that the old grey parrot -spoke. He had pretended to be sleeping. “What shall we talk about?” he -whispered hoarsely; and, when an interval had elapsed, “Robbie?” - -The little lady, who had needed to be loved, lifted up her tear-stained -face and the wounded officer who had wanted rest, bent lower. - -“I don't need to go,” he whispered. “I came to bring you Robbie's -present. He told me what he wanted.” - - -THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little House, by Coningsby Dawson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE HOUSE *** - -***** This file should be named 50274-0.txt or 50274-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/2/7/50274/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Little House - -Author: Coningsby Dawson - -Illustrator: Stella Langdale - -Release Date: October 21, 2015 [EBook #50274] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE HOUSE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -THE LITTLE HOUSE - -By Coningsby Dawson - -With Illustrations By Stella Langdale - -New York: John Lane Company - -1920 - - - - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0008] - -[Illustration: 0009] - - -TO - -THE LITTLE LADY - - - - - -THE LITTLE HOUSE - - - - -CHAPTER I - -[Illustration: 9017] - -HE little house, tell this story. It was lived within my walls; not a -line is invented and it was I, by my interfering, who brought about the -happy ending. Who wants a story that does not end happily, especially a -Christmas story? To have been responsible for the happy ending is pretty -nearly as clever as to have made the story up out of one's own head or, -as we houses say, out of one's own walls. - -Perhaps you never heard before of a house telling a story. If that be -so, it is because you don't listen or because you go to bed too early. -Unlike people, we houses sleep all day long; but after midnight we wake -up and talk. When the clock strikes twelve, our stairs begin to crack -and our windows to rattle and our floors to creak. If you ever hear -these sounds, don't be frightened; they simply mean that the kind old -walls that shelter you have begun to remember and to think. And we have -so many things to remember and to think about, especially we old houses -who have been standing for almost two hundred years. We have seen so -much; we have been the friends of so many generations. More little -children have been born beneath our roofs than we have stairs on which -to count. We reckon things on our stairs, just as people reckon things -on their fingers. When our stairs crack after midnight, it's usually -because we're counting' the births and love-makings and marriages we -have watched. We very often get them wrong because there are so many of -them. Then the doors and windows and floors will chip in to correct us. -"Ha," a window will rattle, "you've forgotten the little girl who used -to gaze through my panes in 1760 or thereabouts." One of the doors will -swing slowly on its hinges and, if anyone disputes with it, will bang, -shouting angrily, "Wrong again--all wrong." Then the walls and the -windows and the doors and the floors all start whispering, trying to -add up correctly the joys and sorrows they have witnessed in the years -beyond recall. - -[Illustration: 0019] - -When that happens, if you're awake and listening, you'll hear us start -adding afresh, from the lowest to the topmost stair. - -I am a London house and a very little house, standing in a fashionable -square near Hyde Park. I have known my ups and downs. Once was the time -when I was almost in the country and the link-boys used to make a fuss -at having to escort my lady so far in her sedan-chair. It's a long way -to the country now, for the city has spread out miles beyond me. Within -sight through the trees at the end of the square red motor-buses pass, -bumping their way rowdily down to Hammersmith and Kew. In my young days -these places were villages, but I am told they are full of noises now. -I have at least escaped that, for our square is a backwater of quiet and -leads to nowhere, having an entrance only at one end. All the houses -in the square were built at the same time as I was, which makes things -companionable. We all look very much alike, with tiny areas, three stone -steps leading up from the pavement, one window blinking out from the -ground-floor, two blinking out from each of the other floors and a -verandah running straight across us. In summer-time the verandah is -gay with flowers. Our only difference is the colour we are painted, -especially the colour of our doors. Mine is white; but some of our -neighbours' are blue, some green, some red. We're very proud of the -front-doors in our square. In the middle stands a railed-in garden, -to which none but our owners have access. Its trees are as ancient as -ourselves. Behind us, so hidden that it is almost forgotten, stands -the grey parish-church, surrounded by a graveyard in which many of the -people who have been merry in us rest. - -For some years we were what is known as a "gone down neighborhood," -till a gentleman who writes books bought us cheap, put us in repair and -rented us to his friends. This has made us very select; since then we -have become again fashionable. - -Now you know all that is necessary to form a mental picture of us. -Because we are so small, we are sometimes spoken of as "Dolls' House -Square." All the things that I shall tell you I do not pretend to -have witnessed, for houses have to spend their lives always in the one -place--they cannot ride in taxis and move about. We gain our knowledge -of how the world is changing by listening to the conversations of people -who inhabit us; when night has fallen we mutter among ourselves, passing -on to one another beneath the starlight down the lamp-lit streets -the gossip we have overheard. Whatever of importance we miss, the -churchbells tell us. Big Ben, with his sweet tenor voice, booming out -the hours, is in this respect particularly thoughtful. - -[Illustration: 0025] - -So now, having explained myself, I come to my story of the little lady -who needed to be loved, but did not know it, and the wounded officer who -wanted rest. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -[Illustration: 9029] - -HE little lady who needed to be loved, but did not know it, discovered -me quite by accident. This story is a series of accidents; if it had -not been for the _ifs_ and the _perhaps's_ and the _possibilities_ there -wouldn't have been any story to tell. - -I was empty when she found me, for my late tenants had grown frightened -and had moved into the country on account of airraids. They said that I -was too near the giant searchlights and anti-aircraft guns of Hyde Park -Corner to be healthy. If they weren't killed by bombs, sooner or later -they would be struck by our own expended shell-cases that came toppling -from two miles out of the clouds. So they had made their exit hurriedly -in November, taking all their furniture and leaving me to spend my -one-hundred-and-ninety-eighth Christmas in the company of a caretaker. - -It was shortly before Christmas when I first saw her. Night had settled -peacefully down; it was about nine o'clock when the maroons and sirens -began to give warning that the enemy was approaching. In an instant, -like a lamp extinguished, the lights of London flickered and sank. Down -the forests of streets innumerable doors swiftly opened and people came -pattering out. Dragging half-clad children by the hand and carrying -babies snatched up from their warm beds, they commenced to run hither -and thither, seeking the faint red lights of shelters, where cellars and -overhead protection might be found. Policemen, mounted on bicycles, rode -up and down the thoroughfares, blowing whistles. Ambulances dashed by, -tooting horns and clanging bells. From far and near out of the swamp -of darkness rose a medley of panic and sound. Prodding the sky, like -detectives with lanterns, searchlights hunted and turned back the edges -of the clouds. Then ominously, with solemn anger, the guns opened up -and in fierce defiance the first bomb fell. The pattering of feet ceased -suddenly. Streets grew forlorn and empty. The commotion of living and -the terror of dying were transferred from the earth to the air. - -I was standing deserted with my door wide open, for at the first signs -of clamour the old woman, who was supposed to take care of me, had -hobbled up from her basement and out on to the pavement in search of the -nearest Tube Station. In her fear for her safety, she had forgotten to -close my door, so there I stood with the damp air drifting into my hall, -at the mercy of any chance vagrant. - -The guns had been booming for perhaps five minutes when I heard running -footsteps entering the square. Our square is so shut in and small that -it echoes like a church; every sound is startling and can be heard in -every part of it. I could not see to whom the footsteps belonged on -account of the trees and the darkness. They entered on the side farthest -from me, from the street where the red motor-buses pass. When they had -reached the top, from which there is no exit, they hesitated; then -came hurrying back along the side on which they would have to pass me. -_Tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap_ and panting breath--the sound of -a woman's high-heeled shoes against the pavement. Accompanying the -_tip-a-tap_ were funny, more frequent, shuffling noises, indistinct and -confused. Three shadows grew out of the gloom, a small one on either -side and a bigger one in the centre; as they drew near they resolved -themselves into a lady in an evening-wrap and two children. - -I was more glad than I cared to own, for I'd been feeling lonely. Now -that peace has come and we've won the war, I don't mind acknowledging -that I'd been feeling frightened; at the time I wouldn't have confessed -it for the world lest the Huns should have got to know it. We London -houses, trying to live up to the example of our soldiers, always -pretended that we liked the excitement of airraids. We didn't really; we -quaked in all our bricks and mortar. One's foundations aren't what -they were when one is a hundred-and-ninety-eight years old. So I'm not -ashamed to tell you that I was delighted when the lady and her children -came in my direction. I tried to push my front-door wider that they -might guess that they were welcome. I was terribly nervous that they -might pass in their haste without seeing that I was anxious to give them -shelter. It was shelter that they were looking for. In coming into the -square they had been seeking a shortcut home. - -They drew level without slackening their steps and had almost gone by -me when, less than a quarter of a mile away, a bomb crashed deafeningly. -Everything seemed to reel. Far and near you could hear the tinkling of -splintered glass. The world leapt up red for a handful of seconds as -though the door of a gigantic furnace had been flung open. Against -the glow you could see the crouching roofs of houses, the crooked -chimney-pots and the net-work of trees in the garden with their branches -stripped and bare. The lady clutched at my railings to steady herself. -Her face was white and her eyes were dark with terror. The last bomb had -been so very close that it seemed as though the next must fall in the -square itself. One of the searchlights had spotted the enemy and was -following his plane through the clouds, holding it in its glare. - -"Mummy, it's all right. Don't be frightened. You've got me to take care -of you." It was the little boy speaking. Then he saw my _To Let_ sign -above and pointed, "We'll go in here till it's over. Look, the door's -wide open." - -He tugged on her hand. With her arm about the shoulder of the little -girl on the other side of her, she followed. The glow died down -and faded. Soon the square was as secret and shadowy as it had been -before--a tank full of darkness in which nothing stirred. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -[Illustration: 9037] - -EVER since I had been built had any visit quite as unceremonious as this -occurred. Who was the strange lady? What was she doing wandering the -streets at this hour unescorted? She was beautiful and richly gowned; -her face was young, but very sad. I was anxious to learn more, so I -listened intently. - -At first on entering, they halted just across the threshold, huddled -together, the little lady with an arm flung about each of the children. -She seemed to think that someone might be hidden in the darkness -watching--someone to whom I belonged--for presently she addressed that -supposed someone tremblingly: "We hope you don't mind, but the car -forgot to come for us. Grandfather had been giving us a party. When we -heard the warning, we tried to run home before the raid started; but -we got lost. The Tube Stations were all so crowded that... And we found -your door open, so we hope you don't mind us entering." - -She paused nervously, waiting for someone to answer. A board creaked; -apart from that the silence was unbroken. - -Speaking to herself more than to the children, "It's quite empty," she -said at last. - -"Shall I close the door, Mumsie?" the little boy questioned. - -"No, Robbie darling," she whispered; "they might be angry, when they -come back. I mean the people who live here." - -"But it's dreadfully cold." - -"Then let's go farther in and find somewhere to sit down till the raid -is over." They stumbled their way in the darkness through the hall and -up the narrow staircase, where only one can walk abreast. Robbie went -first on this voyage of discovery; he felt that if anything were hiding -from them, his body would form a protection. His mother didn't want to -lose sight of the street by climbing higher, but he coaxed her on -from stair to stair. As pioneer of the expedition, he reached the tiny -landing with the single door, which gives entrance to the drawing-room -which occupies the whole of the second storey. Turning the handle he -peeped in warily. Then, "Cheer up, Mummy," he cried, "there's been a -fire and there's a wee bit of it still burning." - -The room was carpetless and bare of furniture, save for an old sofa with -sagging springs that had been pulled up across the hearth. Perched on -the bars of the grate sat a tin kettle, gasping feebly, with nearly all -its water boiled away. Under the kettle a few coals glowed faintly and -a weak flame jumped and sank, like a ghost trying to make up its mind to -vanish. Through the tall French windows that opened on to the verandah -one could see the sky lit up with the tumultuous display of monstrous -fireworks. From high overhead, above the clatter of destruction and the -banging of guns, came the long-drawn, contented humming of the planes. - -"They're right over us," the little boy whispered. - -As if afraid that any movement on their part would draw the enemy's -attention, they stood silent, clinging together, and listened. Oblongs -of light, falling through the windows, danced and shifted. Once the -beam of a searchlight groping through the shadows, gazed straight in -and dwelt on them astounded, as if to say, "Well, I never! Who'd have -thought to find you here?" - -They tiptoed over to the couch and sat down, making as little noise -as possible, for they still weren't sure that they were welcome. They -didn't speak or move for some time; with the excitement and running and -losing their way they were very tired. Presently the little boy got up, -and went and stood by the window looking out, with his legs astraddle -and his hands behind his back like a man. He wore a sailor-suit and had -bare, sturdy knees. He was very small to try to be so manly. - -[Illustration: 0041] - -"I'm not frightened, Mummy," he said. - -"If father were here, he wouldn't be frightened." - -She shifted her position so that she could glance proudly back at him. -"Father was never frightened." - -For the first time the little girl spoke. "If father were here, they -wouldn't dare to come to London. I expect they knew..." - -"Yes, Joan," her mother interrupted quickly, "I expect they knew." - -"And when I'm a man they won't dare to come to London, either," said -Robbie. "How many of them did father...?" - -But at that moment, before he could finish his question, his mother -pressed her finger against his lips warningly. Above the roar of what -was going on in the clouds, she had heard another and more alarming -sound; the front-door closed quietly, a match struck and then the slow -deliberate tread of someone groping up the stairs. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -[Illustration: 9047] - -HE tread reached the landing and proceeded to mount higher. Then it -hesitated. Another match was struck and it commenced to descend. On -arriving at the landing again, it halted uncertain. The handle of -the door was tried. The door swung open and a man peered across the -threshold. No one spoke. The little lady on the couch drew Joan closer -to her side and held her breath, hoping that the man might not observe -them and that, when he had gone, they might escape. But the man did not -go, he stood there on the alert, listening and searching the darkness. - -It was Robbie who spoke first. He had thrust his hands deep into his -knickerbockers' pockets to gain courage. "What do you want? We think you -might speak," he said. - -The man laughed pleasantly. "I'm sorry if I've frightened you. I didn't -know that anyone was here. I thought this was an empty house. Perhaps -you weren't aware of it, but you'd left your front-door open." Then, -because no one replied, he added, "It's all right now; it's closed." - -He wasn't looking at Robbie any longer. He was trying to probe the -shadows by the fireplace, where he had caught the rustle of a woman's -dress. He had caught something else--the faint sweet fragrance of -Jacqueminot. - -"I've alarmed you," he said. "I'm a stranger in London and I couldn't -find any way out of your square. I strayed into your house for shelter. -I'm sorry I intruded. Good-night to you all, however many there are of -you." - -He was actually going. It was impossible to see what he looked like, but -he was evidently well-mannered and a gentleman. Suddenly to the lady -in the lonely house, from being a creature of dread, he became a -heaven-sent protector. Who could tell how many less desirable visitors -might not call before the raid was ended? The care-taker might return. -Were that to happen, it would be much more comfortable to have this -male trespasser present to help make the explanations. Just as he was -withdrawing, the lady rose from the shabby couch and called him back. - -"Oh, please, we'd much rather you didn't go." - -"But who are we?" - -"I and Robbie and Joan. We did the same thing as you. The house doesn't -belong to us. We got caught, just as you did. We were terribly scared -and... and it's creepy being in an empty, strange house where you -haven't any right to be." - -Though she could only see the blur of him, she could feel the smile that -was in his eyes when she had finished her appeal. And it was an appeal, -eager and nervous and tremulous. The tears in her voice said much more -than the words. As he turned on his heel, she heard the jingle of his -spurs and guessed that he was a man in khaki. - -"I'm on my way to France," he said, speaking slowly; "I only landed -yesterday. I was lonely too; I didn't know a soul. A queer way to make a -friend!" - -As he stepped into the room, the light from the windows fell on him; he -was dressed in the uniform of an American officer. - -"Which are you?" he asked. "I've heard only your voice as yet. I'll do -anything I can to help." - -The little lady held out her hand, but her face was still in shadow. It -was a very tiny hand. "It's good of you to be willing to stay with us," -she said gratefully. - -At that point their conversation languished. The circumstances were so -unprecedented that they were at a loss what to say or how to act. It -was he who broke the awkward silence: "We ought to be able to rouse this -fire with a little effort." He bent over it, trying to pull it together. -"We need more coal. If you'll excuse me and won't be frightened while -I'm gone, I'll run down and see what I can forage." - -It seemed a long time that he was gone--so long that she had begun to be -afraid that he'd taken his chance to slip out. She wouldn't have blamed -him. In the last two years, since she'd been by herself, she'd become -used to men doing things like that. She had ceased to bank overmuch on -masculine chivalry. Few men had leisure to expend on a woman, however -charming and beautiful, whose children had always to be included in the -friendship. - -When she had made quite sure that he was no more chivalrous than other -men, she heard him laboriously returning. He came in carrying a scuttle -in one hand and some bundles of wood in the other. "And now we'll pull -down the blinds," he said, "and make a blaze and get her going." - -On his knees before the hearth he started to work, ramming paper between -the bars, piling sticks criss-cross and using his cheeks as bellows. In -the intervals between his exertions he chatted, "I'm no great shakes -at house-work. You mustn't watch me too closely or laugh at me. I'll do -better than this when I've been at the Front, I guess. Are these your -kiddies?... I suppose your husband's over there, where I'm going?" - -"He was." - -"Oh, so you've got him back! You're lucky. Is he wounded or has he got a -staff job in England?" - -"He'll never come back." - -He paused in what he was doing and sat gazing into the flames which were -licking at the wood. He hung his head. He ought to have thought of that; -in the last few years so many Englishmen were dead. And then there came -another reflection--the picture of what it must have cost her husband to -say good-bye to his wife and children, and go marching away to anonymous -glory. He wasn't married himself, but if he had been... It took enough -bolstering up of one's courage to go when one was single; but to go when -one was married... And yet selfishly, ever since he had put on khaki his -paramount regret had been that, were he to peg out, he would leave no -one to carry on in his stead. This air-raid was his first remote taste -of warfare; within the next few weeks he was to know it in its full -fury. What had impressed him most was the difference between war as -imagined and witnessed. As imagined it had seemed the most immense of -sports; as witnessed it was merely murder. Just before he had -sought shelter he had seen where a bomb had fallen. People had been -killed--people not so different from the mother and children hiding in -this house. The suddenness of extinction had made him feel that in the -game of life he had somehow "missed out." There would be no woman to -think of him as "her man" were he to go west. And here was the woman's -price for such caring, "He'll never come back." - -He turned his head slowly; by the light of the crackling wood for the -first time he saw her. The little boy was lying wearied out, with -his head bowed in her lap. The little girl sat drowsing against her -shoulder. - -She herself was leaning forward, gazing at and beyond him with a -curious air of resigned intensity. She seemed to him to be listening -for someone, whom she knew in her heart was never coming. He noticed the -white half-moon of her shoulders faintly showing beneath her chinchilla -wrap. He noticed her string of perfect pearls, the single ring on -her hand and the expensive simplicity of her velvet gown. He was -sufficiently a man of the world to make a guess at her social station. -But it wasn't her beauty or elegance that struck him, though they were -strangely in contrast to the empty room in which she sat; it was her -gentleness and expression of patient courage. He knew, as surely as if -she had told him, that this empty room, in which he had found her, was -the symbol of her days. It was with her as it was with himself; there -was no man to whom she was "his woman." - -"I've hurt you by the impertinence of my questions." - -She smiled and shook her head. "You've not hurt me. Don't think that. -I shouldn't like you to think that you'd hurt me or anything that would -make you sad. Are you going to France soon?" - -"Tomorrow." - -"Then you won't be here for Christmas. I wonder where you'll spend it. -Perhaps next Christmas the war will be ended and you'll..." She caught -the instant change in his expression. She had seen that look too often -in soldiers' eyes when the future was mentioned not to know what it -meant. She laid her hand on his arm impulsively. "But everyone who goes -doesn't stay there. You'll be one of the lucky ones. You'll come back. -I have that feeling about you. I know what's in your mind; you're a long -way from home, you're going to face a great danger and you believe that -everything is ended. You can only think of war now, but there are so -many better things to do with life than fighting. All the better things -will be here to welcome you, when you return." - -He found himself talking to her in a way in which he had never spoken to -any woman. Afterwards, when he recalled their conversation, he wondered -why. Was it because she had filled him with so complete a sense of rest? -One didn't have to explain things to her; she understood. He asked her -how it was that she understood and she replied, "You don't have to go -to war to learn how to endure. You can stay at home and yet beat off -attacks in the front-line trench. We women defeat despair by keeping on -smiling when there's nothing left to smile about, and by wearing pretty -dresses when there's no one to take a pride in what we wear." - -He retorted unguardedly, as he felt. "But there must be heaps of people -who take a pride in you." - -"You think so? You're unspoilt and generous. Life's a wonderful dream -that lies all before you. You haven't known sorrow. Do you know what you -seemed to be saying when you spoke to me through the shadows? 'Everybody -has always loved and trusted me, so you love and trust me, too.' If it -hadn't been for that, that I saw that you'd always been loved and were -lonely for the moment, I shouldn't have sat here talking with you for -the last hour. You'll get everything you want from life, if you'll only -wait for it. You'll come back." - -While he sat at her feet in the firelight, she had the knack of making -him feel like a little boy who was being comforted. She kept aloof from -him, but she mothered him with words. He found himself glancing up at -her furtively to make sure that she wasn't as old as she pretended. She -wasn't old at all--not a single day older than himself. He turned over -in his mind what she had said about having no one to be proud of her. He -would have given a lot for the chance to be proud of her himself. But he -was going to France tomorrow--there was no time left for that. With -so much fighting and dying to be done, it seemed as though there would -never again be time for anything that was personal. - -The clamour in the skies had died down. - -The crash of guns had been growing infrequent; now it had subsided. -The drone of planes could be no more heard. The invader had been driven -back; hard on his heels our aerial cavalry were following across the -Channel, awaiting their moment to exact revenge when he tried to land. - -[Illustration: 0059] - -The restored normality seemed to rouse her reserve. Lifting the sleeping -head from her lap, she whispered, "Wake up, Robbie; we can go home now. -It's all over." - -The officer had risen and stood leaning against the mantel, "So it's -good-bye?" - -"I'm afraid so." - -"You've made me happy when I least expected to be happy. Shall we meet -again, I wonder?" - -She smiled at his seriousness. "Perhaps. One never knows what the good -God will allow. We didn't expect to meet tonight." - -He was sensitive to her evasion and laughed, pretending to make light -of it. "We don't want them to think they've had burglars. We had better -leave something for the coals we've burned." He placed a pound note on -the mantel. - -Taking Joan in his arms and going first, he led the way down the stairs. -When they were out of the hall and the front-door had closed behind -them, he left the little group on the steps and went in search of a -taxi. After a lengthy expedition he found one and, by promising an -excessive fare, induced the driver to accompany him back. He knew -neither the name of the square nor the number of the house, so he had -to keep his head out of the window and shout directions. On entering the -square he searched the pavement ahead, but could catch no sign of his -recent companions. He halted the cab against the curb at the point where -he thought he had left them; he was made certain that it was the point -when he saw the notice TO LET. Perhaps the caretaker had come back and -invited them to enter till he returned. He rang the bell and knocked -vigorously. The driver was eyeing him with suspicion. When his repeated -knockings were unanswered, he got into the taxi and ordered him to move -slowly round the square. - -She had completely vanished. Either she had picked up a conveyance for -herself, while he had been engaged in his search, or else she had lost -faith in him and had taken it for granted that he had deserted her. He -did not know her name. She had given him no address. Tomorrow night -he would be in France. He had neither the time nor the necessary -information to hunt for her. - -In reply to the driver's request for further instructions, he growled -the name of his hotel. Then he spread himself out on the cushions and -gave way to disconsolate reflections. The night was full of smoke and -heavy with the smell of a bonfire burnt out. Things had become again -uninteresting. He told himself that the most wonderful hour of his life -was ended. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -[Illustration: 9065] - -HRISTMAS came and went unmerrily. The old woman who took care of me had -known better days; she stayed in bed in an effort to forget. Next door, -but one, a son had returned unexpectedly from the trenches. There were -laughing, dancing and piano playing. I tried to share their happiness; -but happiness isn't the same when it is borrowed second-hand. My rooms -were cheerless and empty of all sound. - -I kept thinking of my air-raid visitors, wondering where they were and -hoping that the American officer had re-found the little lady. If -he had, I felt sure he would be good to her. I told myself a foolish -fairy-story, as old houses will, of how, when the war was ended, they -would drive up to my door together, as if by accident, and exclaim, -"Why, it's the little house where we first met!" Then the TO LET sign -would be taken down and, having fetched Joan and Robbie, we would all -live together forever. With luck and love we might have smaller feet to -toddle up and down my stairs. - -January, February, March commenced and ended, and the TO LET sign was -still there. It seemed that nobody would ever want me. It was April now; -to their nests in the railed-in garden of the square the last year's -birds were coming back. Trees had become a mist of greenness. Tulips and -daffodils were shining above the ground. In the window-boxes of other -houses geraniums were making a scarlet flare. Without warning the dream, -which had been no more than a dream, began to become a fact. - -I had been drowsing in the sun, taking no notice of what was happening, -when I was suddenly awakened by a sharp rat-a-tat-tat. I came to myself -with a start to find that the little lady, unaccompanied, was standing -on my steps. - -She knocked again and then a third time. There could be no doubt about -her determination to enter. At last the old woman heard her and dragged -herself complainingly up from the basement. When the door had been -narrowly opened, the little lady pushed it wider and stepped smartly -into the hall with an exceedingly business-like air. "I have an order -from the agents to view the house." - -"I'm 'ard of 'earing. Wot did yer say? Speak louder." - -"I have an order from the agents to look over the house." - -"Let's see your order?" - -While the caretaker fumbled for her spectacles, she went on talking. -"You won't like it. There's no real sense in your seeing it. It ain't -much of a 'ouse--not modern, too little and all stairs." - -It made me furious to hear her running me down and to have no chance to -defend myself. - -"Nevertheless, I rather like it and I think I'll see it," the little -lady said. - -She went from room to room, making notes of the accommodations and -thinking aloud as she set them down. "Four floors beside the basement. -On the top floor two bedrooms; they'll do for Robbie and Joan and nurse. -On the next floor one bedroom and a bathroom; I'll have that for myself. -On the second floor one big room, running from front to back; that's -where we'II have the parrot and the piano, and where I'll do my sewing. -On the ground-floor a dining-room in front and a bedroom at the back; -the bedroom at the back will do for cook. I won't have anyone sleeping -below-stairs. It's a very wee house, but tremendously cosy. And what -pretty views--the garden in the square in front, and the old grey church -with its graveyard at the back! It's all so green and quiet, like being -in the country." - -[Illustration: 0069] - -She had far out-distanced the caretaker, hurrying over the first two -floors that she might get to the top by herself. Now, as she descended, -she inspected each room more leisurely. As yet she had said no word that -would indicate that she had recognised me. I wondered what her motive -had been in coming; whether she had deliberately sought me or stumbled -on me simply by accident. I would have known her anywhere, though I had -been blind and deaf, by the fragrance of Jacqueminot that clung about -her. - -She had come to the tiny landing on the second floor, when something -familiar in her surroundings struck her. She stood there holding -the handle of the door and wrinkling her forehead. "It's odd," she -whispered; "I can't understand it." She turned the handle and entered. -The room smelt stuffy; its windows had not been opened since she was -last there. The sunlight, pouring in, revealed motes of dust which rose -up dancing every time she stirred. In the grate were the accumulated -ashes of many fires. Drawn across the hearth was the shabby couch. -Nothing had been altered since she had left it. She passed her hand -across her eyes, "It can't be; it would be too strange to find it like -that." Then she started to reconstruct the scene as she remembered it. -"Robbie was there against the window, asking how many Huns his daddy had -brought down, and I was sitting here in the shadow, when quite suddenly -we heard his tread on the stairs. The door opened; he said something -about being sorry that he'd frightened us, and then.... Why yes, I'm -positive." She stepped out onto the verandah and stood looking down into -the square. When she turned to re-enter her eyes were moist and shining. -"You _are_ the little house. Oh, little house, I've dreamt of you so -often. Does he dream of you too, where he is out there? Was I right to -run away and to doubt him? If you had a tongue you could tell me; did he -say hard things about me when he found me gone on coming back?" - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -[Illustration: 9075] - -WO weeks later they took possession of me. They did it with so much -friendliness that at the end of a month it was as though we had always -lived together. Even the furniture fitted into all my odd nooks and -angles as if it had been made especially for me. And, indeed, it might -have been, for most of it was created in the reign of Queen Anne, at -which period my walls were, as one might say, feeling their legs. It was -very pleasant when night had settled down and everyone was sleeping, to -listen to the conversations which were carried on between the new-comers -and my own floors and stairs. One grandfather's clock was particularly -interesting in his reminiscences. He had told the time to Dr. Johnson -and had ticked away the great lexicographer's last hours. On this -account he was inclined to be amusingly self-important; it was a -permanent source of grievance with him that, so far as the present -generation was concerned, his pedigree was unknown. There were times -when he would work himself into such passions that his weights would -drop with a bang. He was always sorry for it next morning and ashamed -to face the little lady. As she came down to breakfast, she would catch -sight of his hands and say, "So the poor old clock has stopped again! -The old fellow's worn out. We shall have to send him to the mender's." - -Perhaps it is hardly fair to repeat this gossip about one piece of the -furniture, for everything, myself included, was old; whether we were -tables, chairs or stair-cases, we all had our crochets and oddities. -But, however much we differed among ourselves, we were united in adoring -the youth of the little lady and her children. More than any of us the -whispering parrot adored her. - -The whispering parrot was a traveller. He had come from Australia fifty -years ago. - -He played so indispensable a part in producing the happy ending that he -deserves an introduction. - -He had been the gift of the children's grandfather, a retired General. -His plumage was Quaker grey, all except his breast and crest which were -a wonderful rose-pink. He had black beady eyes which took in everything; -what they saw, he invariably remembered. He had a confidential, hoarse -way of speaking, that never rose above a whisper. When you heard him -for the first time you supposed that he had a bad sore throat. He had -a favorite question which he asked whenever he thought he was not being -paid sufficient attention, "What shall we talk about?" He would ask it -with his head cocked on one side, while he rubbed his feathers up and -down the bars. "What shall we talk about?" he would ask the little lady -as she sat sewing beneath the lamp of an evening. She was always by -herself when the children had been put to bed. She had no callers and -never went anywhere. - -"Talk about Polly!" she would say. "I don't know, you good grey bird. -Did you think I was lonely? Well, let's see! Who loves Mummy best? Can -you answer me that?" - -Then he would cock his head still farther on one side and pretend to -think furiously. She would have to ask him several times before he would -attempt an answer. Usually, when he got ready, he would clear his throat -and whisper, "The dustman." After which he would laugh as though his -sides were aching: "What a naughty Polly! What a naughty Polly!" - -She would maintain a dignified silence till she had emptied her -needle. Then she would glance at him reproachfully, "Think again, Mr. -Impudence--not the dustman." - -So he would think again, and having clambered all over his cage and hung -upside down to amuse her, would hazard, "Polly?" - -"Not Polly." - -Then he would make any number of suggestions, though he knew quite well -the answer she required. After each wrong guess he would go off -into gales of ghostly merriment. At last he would say very solemnly, -"Robbie." - -"Yes, Robbie," she would reply and scratch his head; after which the -game was ended. Soon she would fold away her work, put out the lights -and climb the narrow stairs to her quiet bed. - -It seemed very sad that, when she was so young, she should have to spend -so many hours in talking to a rascally old bird. One can be young for so -short a time. How short, those who are old know best. - -There were evenings, however, when, after the parrot had answered -"Robbie," she would whisper, "I wonder!" and clasp her hands in her lap, -gazing straight before her. On these evenings she would sit very late -and would look down at her feet from time to time, as though expecting -to see someone crouching there. Taxis would chug their way into the -square and draw up at one or other of the dolls' houses. The taxi door -would open and after a few seconds close with a bang. There would be the -rustle of a woman's dress and the tripping of her slippered feet across -the pavement; the bass muttering of her husband paying the driver; -laughter; the rattling of a key in the latch; and silence. The little -lady would sit quite motionless, listening to the secret homecomings -of lovers. Then at last she would nod her head, "You're right, Polly, I -expect. There's no one else. No doubt it's Robbie who loves me best." - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -[Illustration: 9083] - -UT it wasn't Robbie. The diningroom window was the first to make the -discovery. Being on the ground-floor, it gazes across the pavement under -the trees and sees many things after nightfall which are missed by the -upper storeys. The first and second time that something unusual happened -I was not told; not until the third time was I taken into the secret. -The dining-room window does most of the watching for the entire house; -it sees so much that it has learnt to be discreet. - -It was Armistice night when the unusual happening first occurred. London -had gone mad with relief from suspense. Wherever a barrel-organ could be -found people were dancing. Where more suitable music was not available, -tin-cans were being beaten with a dervish, rhythmic monotony. Dance the -people must. Their joy had gone into their feet; they could not convince -themselves that peace had come till they had danced themselves to a -standstill. They invented impromptu steps, dancing twenty abreast in the -open spaces, humming any tune that caught their fancy, with their arms -linked in those of strangers. But there were no strangers that night; -everyone was a friend. Top-hats, evening-dress, corduroys and privates' -uniforms hobnobbed together. A mighty roar of laughter and singing went -up from thousands of miles of streets, dim-lit and dusk-drenched to -ward off the ancient peril from the air. How suddenly unmodern peril -had become! All London laughed; all England; all the world. The sound -reached the Arctic; polar bears lumbered farther northward, stampeded by -the strum of our guffaws. If there were inhabitants on Mars, they must -have heard. The war was won. The news was so incredible that we had to -make a noise to silence our doubts. - -Everything that could rejoice was out under the stars making merry. -We had hidden so long, walked so stealthily, wept so quietly, hated so -violently that our right to be happy was almost too terrible to bear. -We expressed our joy foolishly, hysterically, inadequately by shouting, -embracing, climbing lamp-posts, riding on the roofs of taxis. What did -it matter so long as we expressed it and brought the amazing truth home -to ourselves? The last cannon had roared. The final man had died in -battle. The wicked waste of white human bodies was ended. There would be -no more rushing for the morning papers and searching the casualty lists -with dread; no more rumours of invasions; no more musterings for new -offensives. The men whom we loved were safe; they had been reprieved at -the eleventh hour. We should have them home presently, seated by their -firesides. It seemed like the fulfilment of a prophet's ecstasy; as -though sorrow and crying had passed away and forever there would be no -death. - -There were two people who did not dance, climb lamp-posts, beat tin-cans -and ride on the roofs of taxis that night. Perhaps they were the only -two in London; they were both in Dolls' House Square. The little lady -was one. She had tucked Joan and Robbie safely in their beds. She had -kissed them "Good-night" and turned the gas on the landing to a jet. She -had gone part way down the narrow stairs and then... and then she had -come back. She had picked up Joan and carried her into Robbie's room. -When the two heads were lying close together on the pillow, she had -seated herself in the darkness beside them. - -The little boy stretched up his arms to pull her down; she resisted. His -hands wandered over her face and reached her eyes. They were wet. His -heart missed a beat. He knew what that meant. So often in the dark, dark -night he had wakened with the sure sense that she was crying and had -tiptoed down the creaking stairs to creep in beside her and place his -small arms tightly about her. - -"Never mind; you have me, Mummy." That was what he always said. He -whispered it now. - -"Yes, I have my wee man." - -"And me, Mummy," Joan murmured sleepily. - -"Mummy knows. She has you both. Don't worry about her. She's feeling -silly tonight." - -"Because you're happy?" Joan questioned. - -"Yes, happy for so many little boys and girls whose soldier daddies will -be coming back to them soon. Don't talk any more. Go sleepy-bye." - -But Robbie knew that it wasn't happiness that made her cry; he knew that -she was crying because she had no soldier to come back. What could he -say to comfort her? His eyes grew drowsy while he thought about it. He -waited till Joan was in Sleepy-bye Land, then with an effort he opened -his eyes. - -"Mummy, do you know what I'd like best for Christmas?" - -"I thought you were sleeping. Don't tell me now. There's heaps of time. -It's six weeks till Christmas." - -"But Joan and I have talked about it," he persisted. "We don't want him, -if you don't want him." - -"What is he, dear? If he doesn't cost too much, you shall have him." - -Robbie procrastinated now that he had brought his mother to the point -of listening. It was a delicate proposal that he was about to make. "I -don't know whether you can get one," he hesitated. "A boy at my school -got one without asking, and it wasn't even Christmas." - -He was sitting up in bed now, very intense and serious, and very much -awake. - -"But you've not told me yet what it is you want. If you don't tell me, I -can't say whether I can afford it." - -She slipped her arm about the square little body and feeling how it -trembled, held it close against her breast. He hid his face in the -hollow of her neck. "Robbie's place," she whispered. "If it's difficult -to say, whisper it to mother there." - -His lips moved several times before a sound came and then, "If it isn't -too much trouble, we should like to have a Daddy." - -Against his will she held him back from her, trying to see his eyes. -"But why?" - -It was he who was crying now. "Oh Mummy, I didn't mean to hurt you.... -To be like all the other little boys and girls." When at last he was -truly asleep and she had come down to the lamp-lit room in which she -sewed, she did not take up her work. The parrot tried to draw her into -conversation with his eternal question, "What shall we talk about?" - -"Nothing tonight, Polly," she said. Presently she crossed the room and, -pulling back the curtains, stood staring out into the blackness. So her -children had felt it, too--the weight of loneliness! She had tried so -hard to prevent them from sharing it; had striven in so many ways to -be their companion. Try as she would, she could never make up for a -father's absence. She could never give them the sense of security that a -man could have given without effort, even though he had loved them less. -It was a bitter realisation--one which vaguely she had always dreaded -must come to her. It was doubly bitter coming to her now, on a night -when all the world was glad. She might be many things to her children; -she could never be a man.... What did Robbie think? That you bought -a father from an agency or engaged him through an advertisement? She -smiled sadly, "Not so easy as that." - -"What shall we talk about?" asked the parrot. - -She drew the curtains together, extinguished the lights and groped her -way up to bed. - -But her eyes had not peered far enough into the blackness. There was -another person in London who had not danced or climbed lamp-posts or -ridden on the roofs of taxis that night. For three hours he had watched -the little house from the shadow of the trees across the road. From the -pavement, had you been passing, you would hardly have distinguished him -as he leant against the garden-railings. The only time he gave a sign -of his presence was when the red flare of his cigarette betrayed him. He -did not seem to be planning harm to anyone; he could not have done much -harm in any case, for the left sleeve of his coat hung empty. He was -simply waiting for something that he hoped might happen. At last his -patience was rewarded when she drew aside the curtain and stood with the -lighted room behind her, staring out into the blackness. Only when she -had again hidden herself and all the house was in darkness, did he turn -to go. He was there the next night and the next. It was after his third -night of watching that the dining-room window told me. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -[Illustration: 9095] - -HE fourth night he was there again. By this time everything in the -house, from the kettle in the kitchen to the carpet on the topmost -landing, was aware that a one-armed man was hidden beneath the trees -across the road, watching. The whole house was on the alert, listening -and waiting--everybody, that is to say, except the people most -concerned, who inhabited us. It seemed strange that they alone should be -in ignorance. The grandfather clock did his best to tell them. "Beware; -take care. Beware; take care," he ticked as his pendulum swung to and -fro. They stared him in the face and read the time by his hands, but -they had no idea what he was saying. - -What could it be that the watching man wanted? Whatever it was, he -wanted it badly, for it was by no means pleasant to stand motionless for -several hours when the November chill was in the air. Nor did he seem -to find it pleasant, for every now and then he coughed and shook himself -like a dog inside his coat, and sunk his chin deeper into his collar. - -He had been there since six o'clock. He had seen the cook and the -housemaid come up the area-steps and meet their respective sweethearts -under the arc-light at the end of the square. There was only one other -grown person in the house beside the little lady--Nurse; and Nurse had -been in bed since the afternoon with a sick headache. He could not have -known that. It was at precisely eight that he consulted his luminous -wrist-watch, crossed the road, hesitated and raised the knocker very -determinedly, as if he had only just arrived and had not much time to -spare. _Rat-tat-tat!_ The sound echoed alarmingly through the silence. -The little lady dropped her sewing in her lap and listened. The sound -was repeated. _Rat-tat-tat!_ It seemed to say, "Come along. Don't keep -me waiting. You've got to let me in sooner or later. You know that." - -"It can't be the postman at this hour," she murmured, "and yet it sounds -like his knock." - -Laying her work on the table beneath the lamp, she rose from her chair -and descended. She opened the door only a little way at first, just wide -enough for her to peer out, so that she could close it again if she saw -anything disturbing. - -"So you do live here!" The man outside spoke gladly. "I guessed it could -be no one else the moment I saw that the house was no longer empty." - -She opened the door a few more inches. His tone puzzled her by its -familiarity. His face had not yet come into the ray of light which -slanted from the hall across the steps. - -"You don't recognise me?" he questioned. "I called to let you know that -I did fetch that taxi. It's been on my mind that you thought I deserted -you. Taxi-cabs were hard to find in an air-raid." - -She flung the door wide. "Why it's----" - -She didn't know how to call him--how to put what he was into words. He -had been simply "the American officer"--that was how she had named him -in talking with the children. He had been often remembered, especially -during the fireside hour when in imaginary adventures he had been the -hero of many stories. How brave she had made him and how often she had -feared that he was dead! There were other stories which she had told -only to herself, when the children were asleep and the house was silent. -And there he stood on the threshold, with the same gallant bearing and -the same eager smile playing about his mouth. "I've always been loved -and trusted; you love and trust me, too"--that was what his smile was -saying to her. - -Her heart was beating wildly; but nothing of what she felt expressed -itself in what she said. "I'm by myself. I've let the maids go out. I'm -terribly apologetic for having treated you so suspiciously." - -He laughed and stepped into the hall. "I seem fated to find you by -yourself; you were alone last time. I'm in hospital and have to be back -by ten. Won't you let me sit with you for half an hour?" - -He had begun to remove his top-coat awkwardly. His awkwardness attracted -her attention. - -"Please let me do that for you." - -"Oh, I'm learning to manage. It's all right.... Well, if you must. -Thanks." She didn't dare trust herself. There was a pricking sensation -behind her eyes. She motioned to him to go first. As she followed him -up the stairs, she gazed fixedly at his flattened left side, where the -sleeve was tucked limply into the tunic-pocket. She knew that when she -was again face to face with him she must pretend not to have noticed. - -He entered the room and stood staring round. "The same old room! But it -didn't belong to you then. How did you manage it?" - -"Easily, but not on purpose." - -"Truly, not on purpose?" His tone was disappointed. - -"No, not on purpose. I didn't know the name of the square or the number -of the house that night. I stumbled on it months later by accident. It -was still to let." - -"So you took it? Why did you take it?" - -"Because I'd liked it from the first and it suited me," she smiled. "Why -else?" - -"I thought perhaps..." - -"Well, say it. You're just like Robbie. When Robbie wants to tell me -something that's difficult, he has a special place against which he -hides his face; it's easier to tell me there. You men are all such -little boys. If it's difficult to tell, you do the same and say it -without looking at me." - -She reseated herself beneath the lamp and took up her sewing. "Now tell -me, why did you want me to say that I took it on purpose?" - -"I don't quite know. Perhaps it was because, had I been you, I should -have taken it on purpose. One likes to live in places where he has been -happy, even though the happiness lasted only for an hour." - -He wandered over to the couch before the fire and sat down where he -could watch her profile and the slope of her throat beneath the lamp. -The only sound was the prick of the needle and the quiet pulling through -of the thread. It had all happened just as he would have planned it. He -was glad that she was alone. He was glad that it was in this same room -that they had met. He was glad in a curious unreasoning way for the -faint fragrance of Jacqueminot that surrounded her. It had been just -like this at the Front that he had thought of her--thought of her so -intensely that he had almost caught the scent and the rustle of her -dress, moving towards him through the squalor of the trench. Through all -the horror the brief memory of her gentleness had remained with him. And -what hopes he had built on that memory! He had told himself that, if he -survived, by hook or by crook he would search her out. In hospital, when -he had returned to England, all his impatience to get well had been to -get to her. In his heart he had never expected success. The task had -seemed too stupendous. And now here he was, sitting with her alone, the -house all quiet, the fire shining, the lamp making a pool of gold among -the shadows, and she, most quiet of all, taking him comfortably for -granted and carrying on with her woman's work. At last he was at rest; -not in love with her, he told himself, but at rest. - -It was she who broke the silence. "How did you know? What made you come -so directly to this house?" - -He met her eyes and smiled. "Where else was there to come? It was the -one place we both knew. I took a chance at it." And then, after a -pause, "No, that's not quite true. I was sent up to London for special -treatment. The first evening I was allowed out of hospital, I hurried -here and, finding that our empty house was occupied, stayed outside to -watch it." - -"But why to watch it?" - -"Because it was a million to one that you weren't the tenant. Before I -rang the bell I wanted to make certain. You see I don't know your name; -I couldn't ask to see the lady of the house. If she hadn't been you, how -could I have explained my intrusion?" - -"And then you made certain?" - -He nodded. "You came to the window on Armistice night and stood for a -few minutes looking out." - -"I remember." She shivered as if a cold breath had struck her. "I was -feeling stupid and lonely; all the world out there in the darkness -seemed so glad. I wish you had rung my bell. That was three nights ago." - -"You mean why did I let three nights go by. I guess because I was a -coward. I got what we call in America 'cold feet.' I thought..." - -He waited for her to prompt him. She sat leaning forward, her hands -lying idle in her lap. He noticed, as he had noticed nearly a year -ago, the half-moon that her shoulders made in the dimness. She was -extraordinarily motionless; her motionlessness gave her an atmosphere -of strength. When she moved her gestures said as much as words. Nothing -that she did was hurried. - -"Tell me what you thought." she said quietly. She spoke to him as she -would have spoken to Robbie, making him feel very young and little. When -she spoke like that there was not much that he would not have told her. - -"I thought that you might not remember me or want to see me. We met so -oddly; after the lapse of a year you might easily have regarded my call -as an impertinence." - -"An impertinence!" There were tears in her eyes when she raised her -head. "You lost your arm that I and my children might be safe, and you -talk about impertinence." - -"Oh, that!" He glanced down at his empty sleeve. "That's nothing. It's -the luck of the game and might have happened to anybody." - -"But you lost it for me," she re-asserted, "that I might be safe. You -must have suffered terribly." - -Seeing her distress, he laughed gaily. "Losing an arm wasn't the worst -that might have happened. I'm one of the fortunate ones; I'm still above -ground. The thing wasn't very painful--nothing is when you've simply got -to face it. It's the thinking about pain that hurts.... Hulloa, look -at the time; I can just get back to the hospital by ten. If we're late, -they punish us by keeping us in next night." - -At the top of the stairs as she was seeing him out, he halted and looked -back into the room. "It's quiet and cosy in there. I don't want -to leave; I feel like a boy being packed off to school. You can't -understand how wonderful it is after all the marching and rough times -and being cut about to be allowed to sit by a fire with a woman. I loved -to watch you at your sewing." - -"It's because you're tired," she said, "more tired than you know. You -must come very often and rest." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -[Illustration: 9109] - -N the weeks that followed the little house came to know him well. -Everybody in the little house treated him as though his injury were a -decoration, which had been won especially in their defence. They were -prouder to see him come walking up their steps with his blue hospital -band on his remaining arm, than if Sir Douglas Haig himself had called -upon them. Nobody took any count of the frequency of his visits--nobody -except himself. Nobody seemed to think it strange that the moment the -doctors had finished his dressings, he should wander off to Dolls' House -Square. Nobody seemed to guess just how fond he was of the little lady. -He hardly guessed himself. There were times when he wondered exactly -how fond he was. He did not believe he was in love with her; the feeling -that he had was too gentle. He had always understood that love was -exciting, passionate and tumultuous with dreads, whereas in her presence -he knew neither fears nor hesitancies. He wasn't the least in terror -that he would lose her. He felt simply safe, the way a ship might feel -when the winds had ceased to buffet and it lay still in a sheltered -harbour on a level keel. This feeling of safety struck him as an -extraordinary sensation to be produced in a soldier by a woman; he was a -trifle ashamed of it, as though it were not quite manly. - -While he spoke with her, he found himself believing with a child-like -faith that all women were mothers and that the world was good. He knew -that for the present he could not do without her, but he was at a -loss to imagine what he would do with her for always. She was like -religion--she went beyond him, was bigger and better. He only dimly -understood her, but was comfortable in believing that everything -hidden was as kind as the part he knew. In a strangely intimate way -he worshipped her, as a child adores his mother, thinking her the most -perfect and beautiful being in the world. He discovered in her a wisdom -of which nothing in her conversation gave the least indication; her -unhurried attitude towards life created the impression. If this were -love, then all the hearsay information he had gathered on the subject -was mistaken. - -There were days when, after his wound had been dressed and he had left -the hospital, he made a pretence that he was not going to visit her. He -told himself that he was making her a habit, and that to make a habit -of anyone was foolish. Instead of going to Dolls' House Square, he -would invent some urgent business and take himself off citywards. But -expeditions in which she had no share soon grew flat. He would find -himself thinking about her, wondering whether she was waiting for -him. He would end up, as he always ended up, by jumping in a taxi and -knocking on her door in Dolls' House Square. - -He never once found her out. There was invariably a welcome for him. He -would take his seat by the fire in the quiet room and watch her sewing -till the darkness deepened and the lamp had to be brought out. It didn't -seem to matter much whether he talked or was silent; her contentment -seemed complete when he was there. She made no effort to entertain him, -which was the best proof of their friendship. She was perfectly willing -that he should ignore her, if that was his mood, by reading the paper or -playing with the children. - -Though she made no effort to entertain him, the entire household had -re-organised itself in readiness for his sharp _rat-a-tat_. Everyone, -without expressing the fact, recognised that it was nice to have a man -about the house. When one rose in the morning, there was something to -which to look forward now. A man dropping in, even occasionally, gave -this group of women a sense of protection and of contact with the -unwidowed world. - -To Robbie and Joan he stood for something midway between a big -brother and a pal. They had sharp rivalries as to who should light his -cigarette. It wasn't easy for him to grip the box between his knees -and strike the match with only one hand. They watched him and by -anticipating his wishes tried to constitute themselves his missing hand. - -When they were with him, the little lady withdrew into the background, -making herself so still and self-effacing that it scarcely seemed that -he had come to see her. It was as though she had three children; he -appeared to be their friend much more than hers. He would carry them -off to the Zoo, to matinees or to see the Christmas toys in the West End -shops. Sometimes she would accompany them; more often she would listen -to their adventures when they had returned. But she never was really -left out. While they were absent from her, she formed the main topic of -conversation. Of this she was well aware; if she had not been, she would -not have been so happy. - -In a way she derived more pleasure from staying at home and picturing -them laughing through the crowded streets, going into tea-shops, riding -in taxis and coming back through the dusk together. The children looked -so proud in their sole possession of a man, especially of a soldier who -had been wounded. Had their father come through the war, that was how -they would have looked in his company. She was glad that they should get -away from skirts. He could give them something which it was not in her -power to give, however much she loved them. She was only a woman. Her -reward followed when they returned a little conscience-stricken at -having left her, bringing with them a present as indisputable proof that -she had been remembered. - -One evening in talking with her after the children had been put to bed, -he asked her if she didn't think she ought to go out more often. - -"I know I ought." - -"Then why don't you?" - -She smiled gently, thinking how little he knew of the world. "When -you've not got your own man to take you, it's difficult. The world moves -in pairs. A woman can't go to many places unaccompanied." - -"But surely you don't need to. You must have quantities of friends who -would be glad..." - -She cut him short. "When a woman is left by herself, she learns a good -many things about men that she didn't suspect when she was married. The -men she would trust herself with have their wives or fiances--they have -no time to trouble over shipwrecked women like myself. And the other -kind of men... The world has no place for a widow. It doesn't mean to be -unkind, but it simply doesn't know what to do with her. Unmarried women -consider her an unfair rival; they think she's seeking a second chance -before they've had their first. In the old days India solved the problem -by burying us with our husbands. In England they do the same thing, only -less frankly. It's rather stupid to have to live and yet to be treated -as though you ought to be dead. One fights against it at first; then one -gradually becomes reconciled to be out of the running. If one's wise, -she puts all her living into her children." - -"But that's not fair," he spoke hotly. - -"It's the way it happens." - -He sat frowning into the fire. What she had told him had upset all his -preconceptions about her. Without looking at her, he re-started the -conversation. "I've thought of you as being so happy. I always thought -of you that way at the Front. I've pictured you as being perched high on -a ledge out of reach of waves and storms. From the first you've given me -the feeling that nothing could hurt or move you, and that nothing could -hurt or move me while I was near you. It's a queer thing for a man to -admit to a woman, but you make me feel absolutely safe." - -"That's not so very queer," she said, "because that's the way you make -me feel." - -"Do I? You're not laughing at me?" He swung round, leaning over the back -of the couch, his entire attitude one of amazement. - -She met his surprise with a quiet smile. "I'm perfectly serious. But -you know the reason why we feel so safe in each other's company? It's -because, in our different ways, we're both lonely people. We're not like -the rest of the world; we don't move in pairs. I'm lonely because I'm -a woman on my own, and you're lonely because you're in hospital in a -foreign country. We met just at the time when we could give each other -courage." - -"But you don't look lonely," he protested; "one always thinks of -lonely people as being sad and untidy. You always look so terrifically -well-groomed and expensive. You create the impression that you're either -going to or returning from a party. I never saw you when you weren't -self-assured and occupied. I used to wonder how you spared me so much -time from your engagements." - -"Clever of me, wasn't it?" - -Instead of answering her, he came over and stood above where she sat -stitching beneath the lamp. He was seeing her for the first time not -as wise, self-reliant and fashionable, but as beautiful, alone and -unprotected. He could almost feel the ache of the bruises she had -suffered. He felt self-reproached; what had he given her? Up to now -anything that he could have given had seemed too small to mention. He -had taken from her continually, supposing that she had a surplus of -everything. And all the while she had been sharing his own hunger for -the presents that money cannot buy. - -"It's great to be alive, when you'd expected to be dead." - -It was her turn to be surprised. She raised her head quickly, -recognising a new earnestness in his tone. - -[Illustration: 0119] - -"One doesn't talk much about what happened at the Front," he said; -"but one can't help feeling that his life was spared for some definite -purpose. I believe the purpose was to be happy and to make others happy. -I don't want to hog my own pleasure any more or to trifle in the old -slovenly ways. I want to crowd every second with gratefulness for the -mere fact of living. That's what's been bringing me here so often. -That's why I've been so glad to carry Joan and Robbie away. Kiddies mean -so tremendously much more to me than they did before I nearly died. And -then there's home and women. I took them for granted once, but now... -It's like saying one's prayers to be in a good woman's presence. I -don't know if you at all understand me. I'm trying to thank you for what -you've done...." - -And there his eloquence failed, leaving him gazing down at her and -wondering whether she thought him foolish. She patted his hand, but -she did not meet his eyes. "It's all right. Don't explain. I know what -you're meaning to say." - -"Do you?" He spoke doubtfully. "I think I was trying to ask you if we -couldn't be happy together. I'm not married and I'm not engaged; but I'm -not like the other men you mentioned." - -"My dear boy, I never thought you were. If I had, you wouldn't have been -here. You're honourable all the way through; I knew that the moment I -saw you. Does that make you feel better?" - -He laughed happily. "Much. Do you know what I believe I've been trying -to ask you through all this maze of words? If I get permission from the -doctor to stay out late tomorrow night, would you be gay and go with me -to a theatre?" - -Her eyes met his with gladness. "I should love it." - - - - -CHAPTER X - -[Illustration: 9125] - -HAT evening at the theatre was the first conscious step in their -experiment of being happy together. She received word from him at -lunch-time that the doctor's permission had been granted and that he -would call for her at seven. The news made her as excited as if she -had never been to a theatre before in her life. She spent the afternoon -before the mirror, brushing and re-brushing her hair, and in laying -out all the pretty clothes which she knew men liked. It was three years -since she had dressed with the deliberate intent that a man should -admire her. Once to do that had been two-thirds of her life. To find -herself doing it again seemed like waking from a long illness; she could -hardly bring herself to believe that the monotony of sorrow was ended -and that she was actually going to be happy again. She had been made to -feel so long that to be happy would be disloyalty to past affections. - -She locked her bedroom door, for fear any of the servants should guess -how she was occupied. She was filled with an exultant shame that she -should still be capable of valuing so highly a man's opinion of her -appearance. "But I will be happy," she kept telling herself; "I have -the right." And then, in a whisper, "Oh, little house, you have been so -kind. Wish me luck and say that he'll think me nice." - -[Illustration: 0127] - -Outside in the bare black cradle of the trees the November afternoon -faded. Sparrows twittered of how winter was almost come. Against the -cold melancholy of the London sky, like silhouettes crayoned on a wall -of ice, roofs and chimneys stood smudged. In flickering pin-points of -incandescence street-lamps wakened; night came drifting like a ship into -harbour under shrouded sails. - -She had been sitting listening for a long time, haunted by childish -fears that he would not come. At seven promptly a taxi panted into -the square and drew up wheezing and coughing before the little house. -Seizing her evening-wrap, she ran down the stairs and had her hand -on the door before his knock had sounded. "I didn't want to keep you -waiting," she explained. - -He handed her into the cab. With a groan and a thump the engine pulled -itself together and they made good their escape. As she settled back -into her corner, pulling on her gloves, she watched him. So he also had -regarded it as a gala-night! He was wearing a brand-new uniform and had -been at extra pains to make his boots and belt splendid and shiny. -She did her best not to be observed too closely, for her eyes were -overbright and her color was high. She felt annoyed at herself for being -so girlish. - -"It's tremendous fun. I haven't been to the theatre in the evening -since... for years and years," she whispered. "The war is really ended. -I'm believing it for the first time." - -They dined together at Prince's to the fierce discords of Jazz music. -It suited her mood; it was primitive and reckless. Diners kept rising -between courses and slipping out in pairs to where dancing was in -progress. The whole world went in pairs tonight. And she had her man; -no one could make her lonely for just this one night. It was exciting to -her to notice how much more they seemed to belong to each other now that -they were in public. He felt it also, for he showed his sense of pride -and ownership in a hundred little ways. It was good to be owned after -having been left so long discarded. As he faced her across the table, he -had the air of believing that everybody was admiring her and envying him -his luck. She was immensely grateful that he should think so. It was as -though he could hear them saying, "How on earth did a one-armed fellow -do it?" Had they asked him, he could only have told them, "The house was -empty, so I entered." Yes, and even he had not guessed how empty! But -what had changed her? Knowing nothing about the locked door and how her -afternoon had been spent, he was puzzled. All he knew was that the woman -whom he had thought perfect, had revealed herself as more perfect. She -had become radiantly beautiful in a way quite new and unexpected. - -Of the play to which they went she saw but little; all she realised was -that it was merry--a fairy-tale of life. One does not notice much when -the heart is swollen with gladness. People sang, and looked pretty, and -fell in love. Everyone was paired and married before the curtain was -rung down. Something, however, she did remember: two lilting lines which -had been sung: - - And, while the sun is shining, - - Make hay, little girl, make hay. - -They kept repeating themselves inside her head. Unconsciously in the -darkness as they were driving home, she started humming them. - -"What did you say?" he questioned. - -"I didn't say anything. It was just a snatch from a tune we heard." - -"Was it? Won't you hum it again?" - -So in the intermittent gloom of the passing lights she tried; but -for some reason, inexplicable to herself, it made her feel choky. She -couldn't reach the end. Gathering her wrap closer about her, she drew -the fur collar higher to hide the stupid tears which had forced their -way into her eyes. - -"I believe you're crying!" he exclaimed with concern. "Do tell me what's -the matter." - -"I'm too happy," she whispered brokenly. The taxi drew up against the -pavement with a jerk. There was no knowing what he might say next to -comfort her. She both yearned to learn and dreaded. Flight was the safer -choice. Before he could assist her, she had jumped out. "Come tomorrow -and I'll thank you properly. I can't now. And... I'm sorry for having -been a baby." Catching at her skirts, she fled up the steps and let -herself into the darkened house. - -Not until his wheels had moved reluctantly away, did she climb the -narrow stairs to the room from which she had departed so gaily. Her -solitariness had returned. She had had her own man for a handful of -hours. They were ended. - -As she threw off her finery, she could still hear that voice -persistently advising, - - And, while the sun is shining, - - Make hay, little girl, make hay. - -In the darkness she flung herself down on the bed, burying her face in -the pillow. "I want to; oh, I want to," she muttered. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -[Illustration: 9137] - -OR three weeks she followed the song's advice. No one knew how long -happiness would last. With her it had never lasted. He would leave her -presently; already he was anticipating an early return to America. - -"I shall feel terribly flat when you've gone," she told him. - -"But I'll write. I'll write you the longest letters." - -"Ah, but letters aren't the same as being together." - -He didn't seem to share her need of him, and it hurt. If he did share -it, it was unconsciously. He had yet to awaken to what the need meant. -She had allowed him to become too sure of her, perhaps; had she kept him -more uncertain, he might have awakened. In any case, it was too late to -alter attitudes now and to think up reasons. - -He liked her in the jolliest kind of way as the most splendid of -diversions; but she wasn't essential to him for all time--only for the -present. She treasured no illusions about the longest letters. She knew -men--the world was filled with women; out of sight would be out of mind. -So every evening when he visited her, her heart was in her throat till -she had made him confess that he had not yet received his embarkation -orders. Some day he would tell her that he was going and would expect -her to congratulate him. She would have to smile and pretend that -she was glad for his sake. After that he would vanish and the long -eventlessness would re-commence. He would write intimately and often at -first; little by little new interests would claim him. There would be -a blank and then, after a long silence, a printed announcement, curtly -stating that he had found his happiness elsewhere. - -She saw herself growing old. The children would spring up so quickly. -She would be left with her pride, to dress and make herself beautiful -for an anonymous someone whose coming was indefinitely postponed. Youth -would go from her. For interminable evenings, stretching into decades, -she would watch afternoons fade into evenings. Everything would grow -quiet. She would sit beneath the lamp at her sewing. The whispering -parrot would take pity on her and croak, "What shall we talk about?" -Even that game would end one day, for Robbie would become a man and -marry. When that had happened it wouldn't be truthful for the parrot to -tell her that Robbie loved her best. She would listen for the clock -to strike, the fire to rustle, the coals to drop in the grate. Towards -midnight taxis would enter the square. Lovers would alight. She would -hear the paying of the fare, the tapping of a woman's high-heeled shoes -on the pavement, the slipping of the key into the latch, the opening and -closing of the door, and then again the silence. She would fold up her -work, turn out the lights and stand alone in the darkness, invisible as -a ghost. - -Ah, but he had not sailed yet. "Make hay, little girl, make hay." His -going was still only a threat. There was time, still time. She set a -date to her respite. She would not gaze beyond it. If she could only -have him till Christmas! - -Meanwhile he kept loyally to his contract that they should be happy -together. He gave her lavishly of his time. If he guessed how much the -gift meant, he said nothing to show it. He was like a great, friendly -schoolboy in his cheerfulness; he filled every niche of her desire. Now, -in the afternoon, when he took the children on adventures, she found -herself included. On the return home, he shared with her the solemn rite -of seeing them safely in bed. Then forth they would sally on some fresh -excursion. Always and increasingly there was the gnawing knowledge that -the end was nearer in sight--that soon to each of the habits they were -forming they would have to say, "We have done it for the last time." - -We, the bricks and mortar of the little house, watched her. We grew -desperate, for we loved her. What we had observed and overheard by -day we discussed together by night. If we could prevent it, we were -determined that he should not go. - -"But, if he goes," creaked the staircase, "he may return. They used to -say in my young days that the heart grows fonder through absence." - -"Rubbish," banged the door on the first landing. "Rubbish, I say." - -"He'll go," ticked the grandfather clock pessimistically. "He'll go. -He'll go." - -"Not if I know it," shouted the door and banged again. - -We had come to a few nights before Christmas. Which night I do not -remember, but I recall that we had started our decorations. Mistletoe -was hanging in the hall. Holly had been arranged along the tops of the -picture-frames. The children had been full of whisperings and secrets. -Parcels had already begun to arrive. They were handed in with a -crackling of paper and smuggled upstairs to a big cupboard in which they -were hidden from prying eyes. The children were now in bed, sleeping -quietly for fear of offending Santa Claus. The little lady was in the -room where she worked, checking over her list of presents. She had got -something for everyone but Robbie; she had postponed buying Robbie's -present for a very special reason of which we were all aware. Perhaps -it was superstition; perhaps a desperate hope. He had told her what he -wanted; it didn't look as if she would be able to get it. "It's no -good waiting," she told herself; "I shall have to buy him something -tomorrow." Just then, as if in answer to her thoughts, an impatient -_rat-tat-tat_ re-sounded. It was his unmistakably, but he had never -come so late as this before. All day she had listened and been full of -foreboding; she had despaired of his ever coming. There was an interval -after the door had been opened, during which he removed his coat. She -could picture his awkwardness in doing it. Then the swift, leaping step -of him mounting the stairs. Why had he delayed so long, only to come to -her at the last moment in such a hurry? She rose from her chair to face -him, her hands clenched and her body tense, as if to resist a physical -blow. As he appeared in the doorway his lips were smiling. There was -evidently something which he was bursting to tell her. On catching sight -of her face he halted. His smile faded. - -"What's the matter? What's happened?" She unclenched her hands and -looked away from him. "Nothing." - -"There must be something. Something's troubling you. What have you been -doing with yourself this evening?" - -Her gaze came back to him. She smiled feebly. "Wondering whether you -were coming and worrying over Robbie's present." - -"Robbie's present! That's nothing to worry over. We'II go together and -choose one tomorrow. I'll have time." - -"Time!" She straightened up bravely, the way she had rehearsed the scene -so often in her imagination. "Then it's true. You won't be here for -Christmas? You're sailing?" - -Her knowledge of his doings was uncanny. He came a step nearer, but she -backed away. He realised her fear lest he should touch her. For a moment -he was offended. Then, "My orders came today. How did you know? It was -what I came to tell you." - -"How did I know!" She laughed unsteadily. "How does one know anything? -The heart tells one things sometimes. You'll be busy tomorrow--so many -other things to think about. Robbie's present doesn't matter. It's -growing late... Good-bye." He stood astonished at her abruptness. What -had he done that she should be so anxious to rid herself of him? When he -did not seem to see her proffered hand, but stared at her gloomily, -her nerves broke. "Go. Why don't you go?" she cried fiercely. "You know -you'll be happy." - -"You want me to go?" he asked quietly. Had she heard her own voice, she -would have given way to weeping. With her handkerchief pressed tightly -against her lips, she nodded. - -He turned slowly, looked back from the threshold for a sign of relenting -and dragged his way haltingly down the stairs. In the hall beneath the -mistletoe he paused to listen. He fancied he had heard the muttering -of sobbing. So long as he paused he heard nothing; it was only when he -began to move that again he thought he heard it. Having flung his coat -about his shoulders, he eased his arm into the sleeve. This wasn't what -he had come for--a very different ending! - -And now the chance of the little house had arrived. Windows, chairs, -tables, walls, we had all pledged ourselves to help her. He attempted to -let himself out; the frontdoor refused to budge. He pulled, tugged and -worked at the latch without avail. - -"Shan't go. Shan't go. Shan't go," ticked the grandfather's clock -excitedly. Then the usual thing happened, which always happened when the -grandfather's clock got excited. - -There was a horrible _whirr_ of the spring running down; the weights -dropped with a bang. - -In the silence that followed he listened. She thought he had gone. There -could be no mistake now; she was crying as if her heart would break. - -The stairs creaked to warn her as he ascended. She could not have heard -them, for when he stepped into the room she took no notice. She had sunk -to the floor and lay with her face hidden in the cushions of the chair, -with the gold light from the lamp spilling over her. For some moments he -watched her--the shuddering rise and fall of her shoulders. - -"You told me to go," he said. "The little house won't let me; it was -always kind to us." And then, when she made no answer, "It's true. I've -got my sailing orders. But it was you who told me to go." - -She was listening now. He knew that, for the half-moon shoulders had -ceased to shudder. The smell of Jacqueminot drew him to her. Bending -over her, he stole one hand from beneath the buried face. "Do I need to -go?" - -And still there was no answer. It was then that the old grey parrot -spoke. He had pretended to be sleeping. "What shall we talk about?" he -whispered hoarsely; and, when an interval had elapsed, "Robbie?" - -The little lady, who had needed to be loved, lifted up her tear-stained -face and the wounded officer who had wanted rest, bent lower. - -"I don't need to go," he whispered. "I came to bring you Robbie's -present. He told me what he wanted." - - -THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little House, by Coningsby Dawson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE HOUSE *** - -***** This file should be named 50274-8.txt or 50274-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/2/7/50274/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/50274-8.zip b/old/50274-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4efad29..0000000 --- a/old/50274-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50274-h.zip b/old/50274-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 966240b..0000000 --- a/old/50274-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50274-h/50274-h.htm b/old/50274-h/50274-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 2543336..0000000 --- a/old/50274-h/50274-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2697 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - The Little House, by Coningsby Dawson - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little House, by Coningsby Dawson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Little House - -Author: Coningsby Dawson - -Illustrator: Stella Langdale - -Release Date: October 21, 2015 [EBook #50274] -Last Updated: March 12, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE HOUSE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE LITTLE HOUSE - </h1> - <h2> - By Coningsby Dawson - </h2> - <h3> - With Illustrations By Stella Langdale - </h3> - <h4> - New York: John Lane Company - </h4> - <h3> - 1920 - </h3> - <p> - <br /> <br /> <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <h4> - TO - </h4> - <h3> - THE LITTLE LADY - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE LITTLE HOUSE</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE LITTLE HOUSE - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9017.jpg" alt="9017 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9017.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE little house, tell this story. It was lived within my walls; not a line - is invented and it was I, by my interfering, who brought about the happy - ending. Who wants a story that does not end happily, especially a - Christmas story? To have been responsible for the happy ending is pretty - nearly as clever as to have made the story up out of one's own head or, as - we houses say, out of one's own walls. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps you never heard before of a house telling a story. If that be so, - it is because you don't listen or because you go to bed too early. Unlike - people, we houses sleep all day long; but after midnight we wake up and - talk. When the clock strikes twelve, our stairs begin to crack and our - windows to rattle and our floors to creak. If you ever hear these sounds, - don't be frightened; they simply mean that the kind old walls that shelter - you have begun to remember and to think. And we have so many things to - remember and to think about, especially we old houses who have been - standing for almost two hundred years. We have seen so much; we have been - the friends of so many generations. More little children have been born - beneath our roofs than we have stairs on which to count. We reckon things - on our stairs, just as people reckon things on their fingers. When our - stairs crack after midnight, it's usually because we're counting' the - births and love-makings and marriages we have watched. We very often get - them wrong because there are so many of them. Then the doors and windows - and floors will chip in to correct us. “Ha,” a window will rattle, “you've - forgotten the little girl who used to gaze through my panes in 1760 or - thereabouts.” One of the doors will swing slowly on its hinges and, if - anyone disputes with it, will bang, shouting angrily, “Wrong again—all - wrong.” Then the walls and the windows and the doors and the floors all - start whispering, trying to add up correctly the joys and sorrows they - have witnessed in the years beyond recall. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0019.jpg" alt="0019m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0019.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - When that happens, if you're awake and listening, you'll hear us start - adding afresh, from the lowest to the topmost stair. - </p> - <p> - I am a London house and a very little house, standing in a fashionable - square near Hyde Park. I have known my ups and downs. Once was the time - when I was almost in the country and the link-boys used to make a fuss at - having to escort my lady so far in her sedan-chair. It's a long way to the - country now, for the city has spread out miles beyond me. Within sight - through the trees at the end of the square red motor-buses pass, bumping - their way rowdily down to Hammersmith and Kew. In my young days these - places were villages, but I am told they are full of noises now. I have at - least escaped that, for our square is a backwater of quiet and leads to - nowhere, having an entrance only at one end. All the houses in the square - were built at the same time as I was, which makes things companionable. We - all look very much alike, with tiny areas, three stone steps leading up - from the pavement, one window blinking out from the ground-floor, two - blinking out from each of the other floors and a verandah running straight - across us. In summer-time the verandah is gay with flowers. Our only - difference is the colour we are painted, especially the colour of our - doors. Mine is white; but some of our neighbours' are blue, some green, - some red. We're very proud of the front-doors in our square. In the middle - stands a railed-in garden, to which none but our owners have access. Its - trees are as ancient as ourselves. Behind us, so hidden that it is almost - forgotten, stands the grey parish-church, surrounded by a graveyard in - which many of the people who have been merry in us rest. - </p> - <p> - For some years we were what is known as a “gone down neighborhood,” till a - gentleman who writes books bought us cheap, put us in repair and rented us - to his friends. This has made us very select; since then we have become - again fashionable. - </p> - <p> - Now you know all that is necessary to form a mental picture of us. Because - we are so small, we are sometimes spoken of as “Dolls' House Square.” All - the things that I shall tell you I do not pretend to have witnessed, for - houses have to spend their lives always in the one place—they cannot - ride in taxis and move about. We gain our knowledge of how the world is - changing by listening to the conversations of people who inhabit us; when - night has fallen we mutter among ourselves, passing on to one another - beneath the starlight down the lamp-lit streets the gossip we have - overheard. Whatever of importance we miss, the churchbells tell us. Big - Ben, with his sweet tenor voice, booming out the hours, is in this respect - particularly thoughtful. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0025.jpg" alt="0025m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0025.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - So now, having explained myself, I come to my story of the little lady who - needed to be loved, but did not know it, and the wounded officer who - wanted rest. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9029.jpg" alt="9029 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9029.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE little lady who needed to be loved, but did not know it, discovered me - quite by accident. This story is a series of accidents; if it had not been - for the <i>ifs</i> and the <i>perhaps's</i> and the <i>possibilities</i> - there wouldn't have been any story to tell. - </p> - <p> - I was empty when she found me, for my late tenants had grown frightened - and had moved into the country on account of airraids. They said that I - was too near the giant searchlights and anti-aircraft guns of Hyde Park - Corner to be healthy. If they weren't killed by bombs, sooner or later - they would be struck by our own expended shell-cases that came toppling - from two miles out of the clouds. So they had made their exit hurriedly in - November, taking all their furniture and leaving me to spend my - one-hundred-and-ninety-eighth Christmas in the company of a caretaker. - </p> - <p> - It was shortly before Christmas when I first saw her. Night had settled - peacefully down; it was about nine o'clock when the maroons and sirens - began to give warning that the enemy was approaching. In an instant, like - a lamp extinguished, the lights of London flickered and sank. Down the - forests of streets innumerable doors swiftly opened and people came - pattering out. Dragging half-clad children by the hand and carrying babies - snatched up from their warm beds, they commenced to run hither and - thither, seeking the faint red lights of shelters, where cellars and - overhead protection might be found. Policemen, mounted on bicycles, rode - up and down the thoroughfares, blowing whistles. Ambulances dashed by, - tooting horns and clanging bells. From far and near out of the swamp of - darkness rose a medley of panic and sound. Prodding the sky, like - detectives with lanterns, searchlights hunted and turned back the edges of - the clouds. Then ominously, with solemn anger, the guns opened up and in - fierce defiance the first bomb fell. The pattering of feet ceased - suddenly. Streets grew forlorn and empty. The commotion of living and the - terror of dying were transferred from the earth to the air. - </p> - <p> - I was standing deserted with my door wide open, for at the first signs of - clamour the old woman, who was supposed to take care of me, had hobbled up - from her basement and out on to the pavement in search of the nearest Tube - Station. In her fear for her safety, she had forgotten to close my door, - so there I stood with the damp air drifting into my hall, at the mercy of - any chance vagrant. - </p> - <p> - The guns had been booming for perhaps five minutes when I heard running - footsteps entering the square. Our square is so shut in and small that it - echoes like a church; every sound is startling and can be heard in every - part of it. I could not see to whom the footsteps belonged on account of - the trees and the darkness. They entered on the side farthest from me, - from the street where the red motor-buses pass. When they had reached the - top, from which there is no exit, they hesitated; then came hurrying back - along the side on which they would have to pass me. <i>Tip-a-tap, - tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap</i> and panting breath—the sound of a woman's - high-heeled shoes against the pavement. Accompanying the <i>tip-a-tap</i> - were funny, more frequent, shuffling noises, indistinct and confused. - Three shadows grew out of the gloom, a small one on either side and a - bigger one in the centre; as they drew near they resolved themselves into - a lady in an evening-wrap and two children. - </p> - <p> - I was more glad than I cared to own, for I'd been feeling lonely. Now that - peace has come and we've won the war, I don't mind acknowledging that I'd - been feeling frightened; at the time I wouldn't have confessed it for the - world lest the Huns should have got to know it. We London houses, trying - to live up to the example of our soldiers, always pretended that we liked - the excitement of airraids. We didn't really; we quaked in all our bricks - and mortar. One's foundations aren't what they were when one is a - hundred-and-ninety-eight years old. So I'm not ashamed to tell you that I - was delighted when the lady and her children came in my direction. I tried - to push my front-door wider that they might guess that they were welcome. - I was terribly nervous that they might pass in their haste without seeing - that I was anxious to give them shelter. It was shelter that they were - looking for. In coming into the square they had been seeking a shortcut - home. - </p> - <p> - They drew level without slackening their steps and had almost gone by me - when, less than a quarter of a mile away, a bomb crashed deafeningly. - Everything seemed to reel. Far and near you could hear the tinkling of - splintered glass. The world leapt up red for a handful of seconds as - though the door of a gigantic furnace had been flung open. Against the - glow you could see the crouching roofs of houses, the crooked chimney-pots - and the net-work of trees in the garden with their branches stripped and - bare. The lady clutched at my railings to steady herself. Her face was - white and her eyes were dark with terror. The last bomb had been so very - close that it seemed as though the next must fall in the square itself. - One of the searchlights had spotted the enemy and was following his plane - through the clouds, holding it in its glare. - </p> - <p> - “Mummy, it's all right. Don't be frightened. You've got me to take care of - you.” It was the little boy speaking. Then he saw my <i>To Let</i> sign - above and pointed, “We'll go in here till it's over. Look, the door's wide - open.” - </p> - <p> - He tugged on her hand. With her arm about the shoulder of the little girl - on the other side of her, she followed. The glow died down and faded. Soon - the square was as secret and shadowy as it had been before—a tank - full of darkness in which nothing stirred. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9037.jpg" alt="9037 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9037.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - EVER since I had been built had any visit quite as unceremonious as this - occurred. Who was the strange lady? What was she doing wandering the - streets at this hour unescorted? She was beautiful and richly gowned; her - face was young, but very sad. I was anxious to learn more, so I listened - intently. - </p> - <p> - At first on entering, they halted just across the threshold, huddled - together, the little lady with an arm flung about each of the children. - She seemed to think that someone might be hidden in the darkness watching—someone - to whom I belonged—for presently she addressed that supposed someone - tremblingly: “We hope you don't mind, but the car forgot to come for us. - Grandfather had been giving us a party. When we heard the warning, we - tried to run home before the raid started; but we got lost. The Tube - Stations were all so crowded that... And we found your door open, so we - hope you don't mind us entering.” - </p> - <p> - She paused nervously, waiting for someone to answer. A board creaked; - apart from that the silence was unbroken. - </p> - <p> - Speaking to herself more than to the children, “It's quite empty,” she - said at last. - </p> - <p> - “Shall I close the door, Mumsie?” the little boy questioned. - </p> - <p> - “No, Robbie darling,” she whispered; “they might be angry, when they come - back. I mean the people who live here.” - </p> - <p> - “But it's dreadfully cold.” - </p> - <p> - “Then let's go farther in and find somewhere to sit down till the raid is - over.” They stumbled their way in the darkness through the hall and up the - narrow staircase, where only one can walk abreast. Robbie went first on - this voyage of discovery; he felt that if anything were hiding from them, - his body would form a protection. His mother didn't want to lose sight of - the street by climbing higher, but he coaxed her on from stair to stair. - As pioneer of the expedition, he reached the tiny landing with the single - door, which gives entrance to the drawing-room which occupies the whole of - the second storey. Turning the handle he peeped in warily. Then, “Cheer - up, Mummy,” he cried, “there's been a fire and there's a wee bit of it - still burning.” - </p> - <p> - The room was carpetless and bare of furniture, save for an old sofa with - sagging springs that had been pulled up across the hearth. Perched on the - bars of the grate sat a tin kettle, gasping feebly, with nearly all its - water boiled away. Under the kettle a few coals glowed faintly and a weak - flame jumped and sank, like a ghost trying to make up its mind to vanish. - Through the tall French windows that opened on to the verandah one could - see the sky lit up with the tumultuous display of monstrous fireworks. - From high overhead, above the clatter of destruction and the banging of - guns, came the long-drawn, contented humming of the planes. - </p> - <p> - “They're right over us,” the little boy whispered. - </p> - <p> - As if afraid that any movement on their part would draw the enemy's - attention, they stood silent, clinging together, and listened. Oblongs of - light, falling through the windows, danced and shifted. Once the beam of a - searchlight groping through the shadows, gazed straight in and dwelt on - them astounded, as if to say, “Well, I never! Who'd have thought to find - you here?” - </p> - <p> - They tiptoed over to the couch and sat down, making as little noise as - possible, for they still weren't sure that they were welcome. They didn't - speak or move for some time; with the excitement and running and losing - their way they were very tired. Presently the little boy got up, and went - and stood by the window looking out, with his legs astraddle and his hands - behind his back like a man. He wore a sailor-suit and had bare, sturdy - knees. He was very small to try to be so manly. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0041.jpg" alt="0041m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0041.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “I'm not frightened, Mummy,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “If father were here, he wouldn't be frightened.” - </p> - <p> - She shifted her position so that she could glance proudly back at him. - “Father was never frightened.” - </p> - <p> - For the first time the little girl spoke. “If father were here, they - wouldn't dare to come to London. I expect they knew...” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Joan,” her mother interrupted quickly, “I expect they knew.” - </p> - <p> - “And when I'm a man they won't dare to come to London, either,” said - Robbie. “How many of them did father...?” - </p> - <p> - But at that moment, before he could finish his question, his mother - pressed her finger against his lips warningly. Above the roar of what was - going on in the clouds, she had heard another and more alarming sound; the - front-door closed quietly, a match struck and then the slow deliberate - tread of someone groping up the stairs. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9047.jpg" alt="9047 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9047.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE tread reached the landing and proceeded to mount higher. Then it - hesitated. Another match was struck and it commenced to descend. On - arriving at the landing again, it halted uncertain. The handle of the door - was tried. The door swung open and a man peered across the threshold. No - one spoke. The little lady on the couch drew Joan closer to her side and - held her breath, hoping that the man might not observe them and that, when - he had gone, they might escape. But the man did not go, he stood there on - the alert, listening and searching the darkness. - </p> - <p> - It was Robbie who spoke first. He had thrust his hands deep into his - knickerbockers' pockets to gain courage. “What do you want? We think you - might speak,” he said. - </p> - <p> - The man laughed pleasantly. “I'm sorry if I've frightened you. I didn't - know that anyone was here. I thought this was an empty house. Perhaps you - weren't aware of it, but you'd left your front-door open.” Then, because - no one replied, he added, “It's all right now; it's closed.” - </p> - <p> - He wasn't looking at Robbie any longer. He was trying to probe the shadows - by the fireplace, where he had caught the rustle of a woman's dress. He - had caught something else—the faint sweet fragrance of Jacqueminot. - </p> - <p> - “I've alarmed you,” he said. “I'm a stranger in London and I couldn't find - any way out of your square. I strayed into your house for shelter. I'm - sorry I intruded. Good-night to you all, however many there are of you.” - </p> - <p> - He was actually going. It was impossible to see what he looked like, but - he was evidently well-mannered and a gentleman. Suddenly to the lady in - the lonely house, from being a creature of dread, he became a heaven-sent - protector. Who could tell how many less desirable visitors might not call - before the raid was ended? The care-taker might return. Were that to - happen, it would be much more comfortable to have this male trespasser - present to help make the explanations. Just as he was withdrawing, the - lady rose from the shabby couch and called him back. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, please, we'd much rather you didn't go.” - </p> - <p> - “But who are we?” - </p> - <p> - “I and Robbie and Joan. We did the same thing as you. The house doesn't - belong to us. We got caught, just as you did. We were terribly scared - and... and it's creepy being in an empty, strange house where you haven't - any right to be.” - </p> - <p> - Though she could only see the blur of him, she could feel the smile that - was in his eyes when she had finished her appeal. And it was an appeal, - eager and nervous and tremulous. The tears in her voice said much more - than the words. As he turned on his heel, she heard the jingle of his - spurs and guessed that he was a man in khaki. - </p> - <p> - “I'm on my way to France,” he said, speaking slowly; “I only landed - yesterday. I was lonely too; I didn't know a soul. A queer way to make a - friend!” - </p> - <p> - As he stepped into the room, the light from the windows fell on him; he - was dressed in the uniform of an American officer. - </p> - <p> - “Which are you?” he asked. “I've heard only your voice as yet. I'll do - anything I can to help.” - </p> - <p> - The little lady held out her hand, but her face was still in shadow. It - was a very tiny hand. “It's good of you to be willing to stay with us,” - she said gratefully. - </p> - <p> - At that point their conversation languished. The circumstances were so - unprecedented that they were at a loss what to say or how to act. It was - he who broke the awkward silence: “We ought to be able to rouse this fire - with a little effort.” He bent over it, trying to pull it together. “We - need more coal. If you'll excuse me and won't be frightened while I'm - gone, I'll run down and see what I can forage.” - </p> - <p> - It seemed a long time that he was gone—so long that she had begun to - be afraid that he'd taken his chance to slip out. She wouldn't have blamed - him. In the last two years, since she'd been by herself, she'd become used - to men doing things like that. She had ceased to bank overmuch on - masculine chivalry. Few men had leisure to expend on a woman, however - charming and beautiful, whose children had always to be included in the - friendship. - </p> - <p> - When she had made quite sure that he was no more chivalrous than other - men, she heard him laboriously returning. He came in carrying a scuttle in - one hand and some bundles of wood in the other. “And now we'll pull down - the blinds,” he said, “and make a blaze and get her going.” - </p> - <p> - On his knees before the hearth he started to work, ramming paper between - the bars, piling sticks criss-cross and using his cheeks as bellows. In - the intervals between his exertions he chatted, “I'm no great shakes at - house-work. You mustn't watch me too closely or laugh at me. I'll do - better than this when I've been at the Front, I guess. Are these your - kiddies?... I suppose your husband's over there, where I'm going?” - </p> - <p> - “He was.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, so you've got him back! You're lucky. Is he wounded or has he got a - staff job in England?” - </p> - <p> - “He'll never come back.” - </p> - <p> - He paused in what he was doing and sat gazing into the flames which were - licking at the wood. He hung his head. He ought to have thought of that; - in the last few years so many Englishmen were dead. And then there came - another reflection—the picture of what it must have cost her husband - to say good-bye to his wife and children, and go marching away to - anonymous glory. He wasn't married himself, but if he had been... It took - enough bolstering up of one's courage to go when one was single; but to go - when one was married... And yet selfishly, ever since he had put on khaki - his paramount regret had been that, were he to peg out, he would leave no - one to carry on in his stead. This air-raid was his first remote taste of - warfare; within the next few weeks he was to know it in its full fury. - What had impressed him most was the difference between war as imagined and - witnessed. As imagined it had seemed the most immense of sports; as - witnessed it was merely murder. Just before he had sought shelter he had - seen where a bomb had fallen. People had been killed—people not so - different from the mother and children hiding in this house. The - suddenness of extinction had made him feel that in the game of life he had - somehow “missed out.” There would be no woman to think of him as “her man” - were he to go west. And here was the woman's price for such caring, “He'll - never come back.” - </p> - <p> - He turned his head slowly; by the light of the crackling wood for the - first time he saw her. The little boy was lying wearied out, with his head - bowed in her lap. The little girl sat drowsing against her shoulder. - </p> - <p> - She herself was leaning forward, gazing at and beyond him with a curious - air of resigned intensity. She seemed to him to be listening for someone, - whom she knew in her heart was never coming. He noticed the white - half-moon of her shoulders faintly showing beneath her chinchilla wrap. He - noticed her string of perfect pearls, the single ring on her hand and the - expensive simplicity of her velvet gown. He was sufficiently a man of the - world to make a guess at her social station. But it wasn't her beauty or - elegance that struck him, though they were strangely in contrast to the - empty room in which she sat; it was her gentleness and expression of - patient courage. He knew, as surely as if she had told him, that this - empty room, in which he had found her, was the symbol of her days. It was - with her as it was with himself; there was no man to whom she was “his - woman.” - </p> - <p> - “I've hurt you by the impertinence of my questions.” - </p> - <p> - She smiled and shook her head. “You've not hurt me. Don't think that. I - shouldn't like you to think that you'd hurt me or anything that would make - you sad. Are you going to France soon?” - </p> - <p> - “Tomorrow.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you won't be here for Christmas. I wonder where you'll spend it. - Perhaps next Christmas the war will be ended and you'll...” She caught the - instant change in his expression. She had seen that look too often in - soldiers' eyes when the future was mentioned not to know what it meant. - She laid her hand on his arm impulsively. “But everyone who goes doesn't - stay there. You'll be one of the lucky ones. You'll come back. I have that - feeling about you. I know what's in your mind; you're a long way from - home, you're going to face a great danger and you believe that everything - is ended. You can only think of war now, but there are so many better - things to do with life than fighting. All the better things will be here - to welcome you, when you return.” - </p> - <p> - He found himself talking to her in a way in which he had never spoken to - any woman. Afterwards, when he recalled their conversation, he wondered - why. Was it because she had filled him with so complete a sense of rest? - One didn't have to explain things to her; she understood. He asked her how - it was that she understood and she replied, “You don't have to go to war - to learn how to endure. You can stay at home and yet beat off attacks in - the front-line trench. We women defeat despair by keeping on smiling when - there's nothing left to smile about, and by wearing pretty dresses when - there's no one to take a pride in what we wear.” - </p> - <p> - He retorted unguardedly, as he felt. “But there must be heaps of people - who take a pride in you.” - </p> - <p> - “You think so? You're unspoilt and generous. Life's a wonderful dream that - lies all before you. You haven't known sorrow. Do you know what you seemed - to be saying when you spoke to me through the shadows? 'Everybody has - always loved and trusted me, so you love and trust me, too.' If it hadn't - been for that, that I saw that you'd always been loved and were lonely for - the moment, I shouldn't have sat here talking with you for the last hour. - You'll get everything you want from life, if you'll only wait for it. - You'll come back.” - </p> - <p> - While he sat at her feet in the firelight, she had the knack of making him - feel like a little boy who was being comforted. She kept aloof from him, - but she mothered him with words. He found himself glancing up at her - furtively to make sure that she wasn't as old as she pretended. She wasn't - old at all—not a single day older than himself. He turned over in - his mind what she had said about having no one to be proud of her. He - would have given a lot for the chance to be proud of her himself. But he - was going to France tomorrow—there was no time left for that. With - so much fighting and dying to be done, it seemed as though there would - never again be time for anything that was personal. - </p> - <p> - The clamour in the skies had died down. - </p> - <p> - The crash of guns had been growing infrequent; now it had subsided. The - drone of planes could be no more heard. The invader had been driven back; - hard on his heels our aerial cavalry were following across the Channel, - awaiting their moment to exact revenge when he tried to land. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0059.jpg" alt="0059m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0059.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - The restored normality seemed to rouse her reserve. Lifting the sleeping - head from her lap, she whispered, “Wake up, Robbie; we can go home now. - It's all over.” - </p> - <p> - The officer had risen and stood leaning against the mantel, “So it's - good-bye?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm afraid so.” - </p> - <p> - “You've made me happy when I least expected to be happy. Shall we meet - again, I wonder?” - </p> - <p> - She smiled at his seriousness. “Perhaps. One never knows what the good God - will allow. We didn't expect to meet tonight.” - </p> - <p> - He was sensitive to her evasion and laughed, pretending to make light of - it. “We don't want them to think they've had burglars. We had better leave - something for the coals we've burned.” He placed a pound note on the - mantel. - </p> - <p> - Taking Joan in his arms and going first, he led the way down the stairs. - When they were out of the hall and the front-door had closed behind them, - he left the little group on the steps and went in search of a taxi. After - a lengthy expedition he found one and, by promising an excessive fare, - induced the driver to accompany him back. He knew neither the name of the - square nor the number of the house, so he had to keep his head out of the - window and shout directions. On entering the square he searched the - pavement ahead, but could catch no sign of his recent companions. He - halted the cab against the curb at the point where he thought he had left - them; he was made certain that it was the point when he saw the notice TO - LET. Perhaps the caretaker had come back and invited them to enter till he - returned. He rang the bell and knocked vigorously. The driver was eyeing - him with suspicion. When his repeated knockings were unanswered, he got - into the taxi and ordered him to move slowly round the square. - </p> - <p> - She had completely vanished. Either she had picked up a conveyance for - herself, while he had been engaged in his search, or else she had lost - faith in him and had taken it for granted that he had deserted her. He did - not know her name. She had given him no address. Tomorrow night he would - be in France. He had neither the time nor the necessary information to - hunt for her. - </p> - <p> - In reply to the driver's request for further instructions, he growled the - name of his hotel. Then he spread himself out on the cushions and gave way - to disconsolate reflections. The night was full of smoke and heavy with - the smell of a bonfire burnt out. Things had become again uninteresting. - He told himself that the most wonderful hour of his life was ended. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9065.jpg" alt="9065 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9065.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HRISTMAS came and went unmerrily. The old woman who took care of me had - known better days; she stayed in bed in an effort to forget. Next door, - but one, a son had returned unexpectedly from the trenches. There were - laughing, dancing and piano playing. I tried to share their happiness; but - happiness isn't the same when it is borrowed second-hand. My rooms were - cheerless and empty of all sound. - </p> - <p> - I kept thinking of my air-raid visitors, wondering where they were and - hoping that the American officer had re-found the little lady. If he had, - I felt sure he would be good to her. I told myself a foolish fairy-story, - as old houses will, of how, when the war was ended, they would drive up to - my door together, as if by accident, and exclaim, “Why, it's the little - house where we first met!” Then the TO LET sign would be taken down and, - having fetched Joan and Robbie, we would all live together forever. With - luck and love we might have smaller feet to toddle up and down my stairs. - </p> - <p> - January, February, March commenced and ended, and the TO LET sign was - still there. It seemed that nobody would ever want me. It was April now; - to their nests in the railed-in garden of the square the last year's birds - were coming back. Trees had become a mist of greenness. Tulips and - daffodils were shining above the ground. In the window-boxes of other - houses geraniums were making a scarlet flare. Without warning the dream, - which had been no more than a dream, began to become a fact. - </p> - <p> - I had been drowsing in the sun, taking no notice of what was happening, - when I was suddenly awakened by a sharp rat-a-tat-tat. I came to myself - with a start to find that the little lady, unaccompanied, was standing on - my steps. - </p> - <p> - She knocked again and then a third time. There could be no doubt about her - determination to enter. At last the old woman heard her and dragged - herself complainingly up from the basement. When the door had been - narrowly opened, the little lady pushed it wider and stepped smartly into - the hall with an exceedingly business-like air. “I have an order from the - agents to view the house.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm 'ard of 'earing. Wot did yer say? Speak louder.” - </p> - <p> - “I have an order from the agents to look over the house.” - </p> - <p> - “Let's see your order?” - </p> - <p> - While the caretaker fumbled for her spectacles, she went on talking. “You - won't like it. There's no real sense in your seeing it. It ain't much of a - 'ouse—not modern, too little and all stairs.” - </p> - <p> - It made me furious to hear her running me down and to have no chance to - defend myself. - </p> - <p> - “Nevertheless, I rather like it and I think I'll see it,” the little lady - said. - </p> - <p> - She went from room to room, making notes of the accommodations and - thinking aloud as she set them down. “Four floors beside the basement. On - the top floor two bedrooms; they'll do for Robbie and Joan and nurse. On - the next floor one bedroom and a bathroom; I'll have that for myself. On - the second floor one big room, running from front to back; that's where - we'II have the parrot and the piano, and where I'll do my sewing. On the - ground-floor a dining-room in front and a bedroom at the back; the bedroom - at the back will do for cook. I won't have anyone sleeping below-stairs. - It's a very wee house, but tremendously cosy. And what pretty views—the - garden in the square in front, and the old grey church with its graveyard - at the back! It's all so green and quiet, like being in the country.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0069.jpg" alt="0069m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0069.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - She had far out-distanced the caretaker, hurrying over the first two - floors that she might get to the top by herself. Now, as she descended, - she inspected each room more leisurely. As yet she had said no word that - would indicate that she had recognised me. I wondered what her motive had - been in coming; whether she had deliberately sought me or stumbled on me - simply by accident. I would have known her anywhere, though I had been - blind and deaf, by the fragrance of Jacqueminot that clung about her. - </p> - <p> - She had come to the tiny landing on the second floor, when something - familiar in her surroundings struck her. She stood there holding the - handle of the door and wrinkling her forehead. “It's odd,” she whispered; - “I can't understand it.” She turned the handle and entered. The room smelt - stuffy; its windows had not been opened since she was last there. The - sunlight, pouring in, revealed motes of dust which rose up dancing every - time she stirred. In the grate were the accumulated ashes of many fires. - Drawn across the hearth was the shabby couch. Nothing had been altered - since she had left it. She passed her hand across her eyes, “It can't be; - it would be too strange to find it like that.” Then she started to - reconstruct the scene as she remembered it. “Robbie was there against the - window, asking how many Huns his daddy had brought down, and I was sitting - here in the shadow, when quite suddenly we heard his tread on the stairs. - The door opened; he said something about being sorry that he'd frightened - us, and then.... Why yes, I'm positive.” She stepped out onto the verandah - and stood looking down into the square. When she turned to re-enter her - eyes were moist and shining. “You <i>are</i> the little house. Oh, little - house, I've dreamt of you so often. Does he dream of you too, where he is - out there? Was I right to run away and to doubt him? If you had a tongue - you could tell me; did he say hard things about me when he found me gone - on coming back?” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9075.jpg" alt="9075 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9075.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - WO weeks later they took possession of me. They did it with so much - friendliness that at the end of a month it was as though we had always - lived together. Even the furniture fitted into all my odd nooks and angles - as if it had been made especially for me. And, indeed, it might have been, - for most of it was created in the reign of Queen Anne, at which period my - walls were, as one might say, feeling their legs. It was very pleasant - when night had settled down and everyone was sleeping, to listen to the - conversations which were carried on between the new-comers and my own - floors and stairs. One grandfather's clock was particularly interesting in - his reminiscences. He had told the time to Dr. Johnson and had ticked away - the great lexicographer's last hours. On this account he was inclined to - be amusingly self-important; it was a permanent source of grievance with - him that, so far as the present generation was concerned, his pedigree was - unknown. There were times when he would work himself into such passions - that his weights would drop with a bang. He was always sorry for it next - morning and ashamed to face the little lady. As she came down to - breakfast, she would catch sight of his hands and say, “So the poor old - clock has stopped again! The old fellow's worn out. We shall have to send - him to the mender's.” - </p> - <p> - Perhaps it is hardly fair to repeat this gossip about one piece of the - furniture, for everything, myself included, was old; whether we were - tables, chairs or stair-cases, we all had our crochets and oddities. But, - however much we differed among ourselves, we were united in adoring the - youth of the little lady and her children. More than any of us the - whispering parrot adored her. - </p> - <p> - The whispering parrot was a traveller. He had come from Australia fifty - years ago. - </p> - <p> - He played so indispensable a part in producing the happy ending that he - deserves an introduction. - </p> - <p> - He had been the gift of the children's grandfather, a retired General. His - plumage was Quaker grey, all except his breast and crest which were a - wonderful rose-pink. He had black beady eyes which took in everything; - what they saw, he invariably remembered. He had a confidential, hoarse way - of speaking, that never rose above a whisper. When you heard him for the - first time you supposed that he had a bad sore throat. He had a favorite - question which he asked whenever he thought he was not being paid - sufficient attention, “What shall we talk about?” He would ask it with his - head cocked on one side, while he rubbed his feathers up and down the - bars. “What shall we talk about?” he would ask the little lady as she sat - sewing beneath the lamp of an evening. She was always by herself when the - children had been put to bed. She had no callers and never went anywhere. - </p> - <p> - “Talk about Polly!” she would say. “I don't know, you good grey bird. Did - you think I was lonely? Well, let's see! Who loves Mummy best? Can you - answer me that?” - </p> - <p> - Then he would cock his head still farther on one side and pretend to think - furiously. She would have to ask him several times before he would attempt - an answer. Usually, when he got ready, he would clear his throat and - whisper, “The dustman.” After which he would laugh as though his sides - were aching: “What a naughty Polly! What a naughty Polly!” - </p> - <p> - She would maintain a dignified silence till she had emptied her needle. - Then she would glance at him reproachfully, “Think again, Mr. Impudence—not - the dustman.” - </p> - <p> - So he would think again, and having clambered all over his cage and hung - upside down to amuse her, would hazard, “Polly?” - </p> - <p> - “Not Polly.” - </p> - <p> - Then he would make any number of suggestions, though he knew quite well - the answer she required. After each wrong guess he would go off into gales - of ghostly merriment. At last he would say very solemnly, “Robbie.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Robbie,” she would reply and scratch his head; after which the game - was ended. Soon she would fold away her work, put out the lights and climb - the narrow stairs to her quiet bed. - </p> - <p> - It seemed very sad that, when she was so young, she should have to spend - so many hours in talking to a rascally old bird. One can be young for so - short a time. How short, those who are old know best. - </p> - <p> - There were evenings, however, when, after the parrot had answered - “Robbie,” she would whisper, “I wonder!” and clasp her hands in her lap, - gazing straight before her. On these evenings she would sit very late and - would look down at her feet from time to time, as though expecting to see - someone crouching there. Taxis would chug their way into the square and - draw up at one or other of the dolls' houses. The taxi door would open and - after a few seconds close with a bang. There would be the rustle of a - woman's dress and the tripping of her slippered feet across the pavement; - the bass muttering of her husband paying the driver; laughter; the - rattling of a key in the latch; and silence. The little lady would sit - quite motionless, listening to the secret homecomings of lovers. Then at - last she would nod her head, “You're right, Polly, I expect. There's no - one else. No doubt it's Robbie who loves me best.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9083.jpg" alt="9083 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9083.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - UT it wasn't Robbie. The diningroom window was the first to make the - discovery. Being on the ground-floor, it gazes across the pavement under - the trees and sees many things after nightfall which are missed by the - upper storeys. The first and second time that something unusual happened I - was not told; not until the third time was I taken into the secret. The - dining-room window does most of the watching for the entire house; it sees - so much that it has learnt to be discreet. - </p> - <p> - It was Armistice night when the unusual happening first occurred. London - had gone mad with relief from suspense. Wherever a barrel-organ could be - found people were dancing. Where more suitable music was not available, - tin-cans were being beaten with a dervish, rhythmic monotony. Dance the - people must. Their joy had gone into their feet; they could not convince - themselves that peace had come till they had danced themselves to a - standstill. They invented impromptu steps, dancing twenty abreast in the - open spaces, humming any tune that caught their fancy, with their arms - linked in those of strangers. But there were no strangers that night; - everyone was a friend. Top-hats, evening-dress, corduroys and privates' - uniforms hobnobbed together. A mighty roar of laughter and singing went up - from thousands of miles of streets, dim-lit and dusk-drenched to ward off - the ancient peril from the air. How suddenly unmodern peril had become! - All London laughed; all England; all the world. The sound reached the - Arctic; polar bears lumbered farther northward, stampeded by the strum of - our guffaws. If there were inhabitants on Mars, they must have heard. The - war was won. The news was so incredible that we had to make a noise to - silence our doubts. - </p> - <p> - Everything that could rejoice was out under the stars making merry. We had - hidden so long, walked so stealthily, wept so quietly, hated so violently - that our right to be happy was almost too terrible to bear. We expressed - our joy foolishly, hysterically, inadequately by shouting, embracing, - climbing lamp-posts, riding on the roofs of taxis. What did it matter so - long as we expressed it and brought the amazing truth home to ourselves? - The last cannon had roared. The final man had died in battle. The wicked - waste of white human bodies was ended. There would be no more rushing for - the morning papers and searching the casualty lists with dread; no more - rumours of invasions; no more musterings for new offensives. The men whom - we loved were safe; they had been reprieved at the eleventh hour. We - should have them home presently, seated by their firesides. It seemed like - the fulfilment of a prophet's ecstasy; as though sorrow and crying had - passed away and forever there would be no death. - </p> - <p> - There were two people who did not dance, climb lamp-posts, beat tin-cans - and ride on the roofs of taxis that night. Perhaps they were the only two - in London; they were both in Dolls' House Square. The little lady was one. - She had tucked Joan and Robbie safely in their beds. She had kissed them - “Good-night” and turned the gas on the landing to a jet. She had gone part - way down the narrow stairs and then... and then she had come back. She had - picked up Joan and carried her into Robbie's room. When the two heads were - lying close together on the pillow, she had seated herself in the darkness - beside them. - </p> - <p> - The little boy stretched up his arms to pull her down; she resisted. His - hands wandered over her face and reached her eyes. They were wet. His - heart missed a beat. He knew what that meant. So often in the dark, dark - night he had wakened with the sure sense that she was crying and had - tiptoed down the creaking stairs to creep in beside her and place his - small arms tightly about her. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind; you have me, Mummy.” That was what he always said. He - whispered it now. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I have my wee man.” - </p> - <p> - “And me, Mummy,” Joan murmured sleepily. - </p> - <p> - “Mummy knows. She has you both. Don't worry about her. She's feeling silly - tonight.” - </p> - <p> - “Because you're happy?” Joan questioned. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, happy for so many little boys and girls whose soldier daddies will - be coming back to them soon. Don't talk any more. Go sleepy-bye.” - </p> - <p> - But Robbie knew that it wasn't happiness that made her cry; he knew that - she was crying because she had no soldier to come back. What could he say - to comfort her? His eyes grew drowsy while he thought about it. He waited - till Joan was in Sleepy-bye Land, then with an effort he opened his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Mummy, do you know what I'd like best for Christmas?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you were sleeping. Don't tell me now. There's heaps of time. - It's six weeks till Christmas.” - </p> - <p> - “But Joan and I have talked about it,” he persisted. “We don't want him, - if you don't want him.” - </p> - <p> - “What is he, dear? If he doesn't cost too much, you shall have him.” - </p> - <p> - Robbie procrastinated now that he had brought his mother to the point of - listening. It was a delicate proposal that he was about to make. “I don't - know whether you can get one,” he hesitated. “A boy at my school got one - without asking, and it wasn't even Christmas.” - </p> - <p> - He was sitting up in bed now, very intense and serious, and very much - awake. - </p> - <p> - “But you've not told me yet what it is you want. If you don't tell me, I - can't say whether I can afford it.” - </p> - <p> - She slipped her arm about the square little body and feeling how it - trembled, held it close against her breast. He hid his face in the hollow - of her neck. “Robbie's place,” she whispered. “If it's difficult to say, - whisper it to mother there.” - </p> - <p> - His lips moved several times before a sound came and then, “If it isn't - too much trouble, we should like to have a Daddy.” - </p> - <p> - Against his will she held him back from her, trying to see his eyes. “But - why?” - </p> - <p> - It was he who was crying now. “Oh Mummy, I didn't mean to hurt you.... To - be like all the other little boys and girls.” When at last he was truly - asleep and she had come down to the lamp-lit room in which she sewed, she - did not take up her work. The parrot tried to draw her into conversation - with his eternal question, “What shall we talk about?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing tonight, Polly,” she said. Presently she crossed the room and, - pulling back the curtains, stood staring out into the blackness. So her - children had felt it, too—the weight of loneliness! She had tried so - hard to prevent them from sharing it; had striven in so many ways to be - their companion. Try as she would, she could never make up for a father's - absence. She could never give them the sense of security that a man could - have given without effort, even though he had loved them less. It was a - bitter realisation—one which vaguely she had always dreaded must - come to her. It was doubly bitter coming to her now, on a night when all - the world was glad. She might be many things to her children; she could - never be a man.... What did Robbie think? That you bought a father from an - agency or engaged him through an advertisement? She smiled sadly, “Not so - easy as that.” - </p> - <p> - “What shall we talk about?” asked the parrot. - </p> - <p> - She drew the curtains together, extinguished the lights and groped her way - up to bed. - </p> - <p> - But her eyes had not peered far enough into the blackness. There was - another person in London who had not danced or climbed lamp-posts or - ridden on the roofs of taxis that night. For three hours he had watched - the little house from the shadow of the trees across the road. From the - pavement, had you been passing, you would hardly have distinguished him as - he leant against the garden-railings. The only time he gave a sign of his - presence was when the red flare of his cigarette betrayed him. He did not - seem to be planning harm to anyone; he could not have done much harm in - any case, for the left sleeve of his coat hung empty. He was simply - waiting for something that he hoped might happen. At last his patience was - rewarded when she drew aside the curtain and stood with the lighted room - behind her, staring out into the blackness. Only when she had again hidden - herself and all the house was in darkness, did he turn to go. He was there - the next night and the next. It was after his third night of watching that - the dining-room window told me. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9095.jpg" alt="9095 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9095.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE fourth night he was there again. By this time everything in the house, - from the kettle in the kitchen to the carpet on the topmost landing, was - aware that a one-armed man was hidden beneath the trees across the road, - watching. The whole house was on the alert, listening and waiting—everybody, - that is to say, except the people most concerned, who inhabited us. It - seemed strange that they alone should be in ignorance. The grandfather - clock did his best to tell them. “Beware; take care. Beware; take care,” - he ticked as his pendulum swung to and fro. They stared him in the face - and read the time by his hands, but they had no idea what he was saying. - </p> - <p> - What could it be that the watching man wanted? Whatever it was, he wanted - it badly, for it was by no means pleasant to stand motionless for several - hours when the November chill was in the air. Nor did he seem to find it - pleasant, for every now and then he coughed and shook himself like a dog - inside his coat, and sunk his chin deeper into his collar. - </p> - <p> - He had been there since six o'clock. He had seen the cook and the - housemaid come up the area-steps and meet their respective sweethearts - under the arc-light at the end of the square. There was only one other - grown person in the house beside the little lady—Nurse; and Nurse - had been in bed since the afternoon with a sick headache. He could not - have known that. It was at precisely eight that he consulted his luminous - wrist-watch, crossed the road, hesitated and raised the knocker very - determinedly, as if he had only just arrived and had not much time to - spare. <i>Rat-tat-tat!</i> The sound echoed alarmingly through the - silence. The little lady dropped her sewing in her lap and listened. The - sound was repeated. <i>Rat-tat-tat!</i> It seemed to say, “Come along. - Don't keep me waiting. You've got to let me in sooner or later. You know - that.” - </p> - <p> - “It can't be the postman at this hour,” she murmured, “and yet it sounds - like his knock.” - </p> - <p> - Laying her work on the table beneath the lamp, she rose from her chair and - descended. She opened the door only a little way at first, just wide - enough for her to peer out, so that she could close it again if she saw - anything disturbing. - </p> - <p> - “So you do live here!” The man outside spoke gladly. “I guessed it could - be no one else the moment I saw that the house was no longer empty.” - </p> - <p> - She opened the door a few more inches. His tone puzzled her by its - familiarity. His face had not yet come into the ray of light which slanted - from the hall across the steps. - </p> - <p> - “You don't recognise me?” he questioned. “I called to let you know that I - did fetch that taxi. It's been on my mind that you thought I deserted you. - Taxi-cabs were hard to find in an air-raid.” - </p> - <p> - She flung the door wide. “Why it's——” - </p> - <p> - She didn't know how to call him—how to put what he was into words. - He had been simply “the American officer”—that was how she had named - him in talking with the children. He had been often remembered, especially - during the fireside hour when in imaginary adventures he had been the hero - of many stories. How brave she had made him and how often she had feared - that he was dead! There were other stories which she had told only to - herself, when the children were asleep and the house was silent. And there - he stood on the threshold, with the same gallant bearing and the same - eager smile playing about his mouth. “I've always been loved and trusted; - you love and trust me, too”—that was what his smile was saying to - her. - </p> - <p> - Her heart was beating wildly; but nothing of what she felt expressed - itself in what she said. “I'm by myself. I've let the maids go out. I'm - terribly apologetic for having treated you so suspiciously.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed and stepped into the hall. “I seem fated to find you by - yourself; you were alone last time. I'm in hospital and have to be back by - ten. Won't you let me sit with you for half an hour?” - </p> - <p> - He had begun to remove his top-coat awkwardly. His awkwardness attracted - her attention. - </p> - <p> - “Please let me do that for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm learning to manage. It's all right.... Well, if you must. - Thanks.” She didn't dare trust herself. There was a pricking sensation - behind her eyes. She motioned to him to go first. As she followed him up - the stairs, she gazed fixedly at his flattened left side, where the sleeve - was tucked limply into the tunic-pocket. She knew that when she was again - face to face with him she must pretend not to have noticed. - </p> - <p> - He entered the room and stood staring round. “The same old room! But it - didn't belong to you then. How did you manage it?” - </p> - <p> - “Easily, but not on purpose.” - </p> - <p> - “Truly, not on purpose?” His tone was disappointed. - </p> - <p> - “No, not on purpose. I didn't know the name of the square or the number of - the house that night. I stumbled on it months later by accident. It was - still to let.” - </p> - <p> - “So you took it? Why did you take it?” - </p> - <p> - “Because I'd liked it from the first and it suited me,” she smiled. “Why - else?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought perhaps...” - </p> - <p> - “Well, say it. You're just like Robbie. When Robbie wants to tell me - something that's difficult, he has a special place against which he hides - his face; it's easier to tell me there. You men are all such little boys. - If it's difficult to tell, you do the same and say it without looking at - me.” - </p> - <p> - She reseated herself beneath the lamp and took up her sewing. “Now tell - me, why did you want me to say that I took it on purpose?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't quite know. Perhaps it was because, had I been you, I should have - taken it on purpose. One likes to live in places where he has been happy, - even though the happiness lasted only for an hour.” - </p> - <p> - He wandered over to the couch before the fire and sat down where he could - watch her profile and the slope of her throat beneath the lamp. The only - sound was the prick of the needle and the quiet pulling through of the - thread. It had all happened just as he would have planned it. He was glad - that she was alone. He was glad that it was in this same room that they - had met. He was glad in a curious unreasoning way for the faint fragrance - of Jacqueminot that surrounded her. It had been just like this at the - Front that he had thought of her—thought of her so intensely that he - had almost caught the scent and the rustle of her dress, moving towards - him through the squalor of the trench. Through all the horror the brief - memory of her gentleness had remained with him. And what hopes he had - built on that memory! He had told himself that, if he survived, by hook or - by crook he would search her out. In hospital, when he had returned to - England, all his impatience to get well had been to get to her. In his - heart he had never expected success. The task had seemed too stupendous. - And now here he was, sitting with her alone, the house all quiet, the fire - shining, the lamp making a pool of gold among the shadows, and she, most - quiet of all, taking him comfortably for granted and carrying on with her - woman's work. At last he was at rest; not in love with her, he told - himself, but at rest. - </p> - <p> - It was she who broke the silence. “How did you know? What made you come so - directly to this house?” - </p> - <p> - He met her eyes and smiled. “Where else was there to come? It was the one - place we both knew. I took a chance at it.” And then, after a pause, “No, - that's not quite true. I was sent up to London for special treatment. The - first evening I was allowed out of hospital, I hurried here and, finding - that our empty house was occupied, stayed outside to watch it.” - </p> - <p> - “But why to watch it?” - </p> - <p> - “Because it was a million to one that you weren't the tenant. Before I - rang the bell I wanted to make certain. You see I don't know your name; I - couldn't ask to see the lady of the house. If she hadn't been you, how - could I have explained my intrusion?” - </p> - <p> - “And then you made certain?” - </p> - <p> - He nodded. “You came to the window on Armistice night and stood for a few - minutes looking out.” - </p> - <p> - “I remember.” She shivered as if a cold breath had struck her. “I was - feeling stupid and lonely; all the world out there in the darkness seemed - so glad. I wish you had rung my bell. That was three nights ago.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean why did I let three nights go by. I guess because I was a - coward. I got what we call in America 'cold feet.' I thought...” - </p> - <p> - He waited for her to prompt him. She sat leaning forward, her hands lying - idle in her lap. He noticed, as he had noticed nearly a year ago, the - half-moon that her shoulders made in the dimness. She was extraordinarily - motionless; her motionlessness gave her an atmosphere of strength. When - she moved her gestures said as much as words. Nothing that she did was - hurried. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me what you thought.” she said quietly. She spoke to him as she - would have spoken to Robbie, making him feel very young and little. When - she spoke like that there was not much that he would not have told her. - </p> - <p> - “I thought that you might not remember me or want to see me. We met so - oddly; after the lapse of a year you might easily have regarded my call as - an impertinence.” - </p> - <p> - “An impertinence!” There were tears in her eyes when she raised her head. - “You lost your arm that I and my children might be safe, and you talk - about impertinence.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that!” He glanced down at his empty sleeve. “That's nothing. It's the - luck of the game and might have happened to anybody.” - </p> - <p> - “But you lost it for me,” she re-asserted, “that I might be safe. You must - have suffered terribly.” - </p> - <p> - Seeing her distress, he laughed gaily. “Losing an arm wasn't the worst - that might have happened. I'm one of the fortunate ones; I'm still above - ground. The thing wasn't very painful—nothing is when you've simply - got to face it. It's the thinking about pain that hurts.... Hulloa, look - at the time; I can just get back to the hospital by ten. If we're late, - they punish us by keeping us in next night.” - </p> - <p> - At the top of the stairs as she was seeing him out, he halted and looked - back into the room. “It's quiet and cosy in there. I don't want to leave; - I feel like a boy being packed off to school. You can't understand how - wonderful it is after all the marching and rough times and being cut about - to be allowed to sit by a fire with a woman. I loved to watch you at your - sewing.” - </p> - <p> - “It's because you're tired,” she said, “more tired than you know. You must - come very often and rest.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9109.jpg" alt="9109 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9109.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - N the weeks that followed the little house came to know him well. - Everybody in the little house treated him as though his injury were a - decoration, which had been won especially in their defence. They were - prouder to see him come walking up their steps with his blue hospital band - on his remaining arm, than if Sir Douglas Haig himself had called upon - them. Nobody took any count of the frequency of his visits—nobody - except himself. Nobody seemed to think it strange that the moment the - doctors had finished his dressings, he should wander off to Dolls' House - Square. Nobody seemed to guess just how fond he was of the little lady. He - hardly guessed himself. There were times when he wondered exactly how fond - he was. He did not believe he was in love with her; the feeling that he - had was too gentle. He had always understood that love was exciting, - passionate and tumultuous with dreads, whereas in her presence he knew - neither fears nor hesitancies. He wasn't the least in terror that he would - lose her. He felt simply safe, the way a ship might feel when the winds - had ceased to buffet and it lay still in a sheltered harbour on a level - keel. This feeling of safety struck him as an extraordinary sensation to - be produced in a soldier by a woman; he was a trifle ashamed of it, as - though it were not quite manly. - </p> - <p> - While he spoke with her, he found himself believing with a child-like - faith that all women were mothers and that the world was good. He knew - that for the present he could not do without her, but he was at a loss to - imagine what he would do with her for always. She was like religion—she - went beyond him, was bigger and better. He only dimly understood her, but - was comfortable in believing that everything hidden was as kind as the - part he knew. In a strangely intimate way he worshipped her, as a child - adores his mother, thinking her the most perfect and beautiful being in - the world. He discovered in her a wisdom of which nothing in her - conversation gave the least indication; her unhurried attitude towards - life created the impression. If this were love, then all the hearsay - information he had gathered on the subject was mistaken. - </p> - <p> - There were days when, after his wound had been dressed and he had left the - hospital, he made a pretence that he was not going to visit her. He told - himself that he was making her a habit, and that to make a habit of anyone - was foolish. Instead of going to Dolls' House Square, he would invent some - urgent business and take himself off citywards. But expeditions in which - she had no share soon grew flat. He would find himself thinking about her, - wondering whether she was waiting for him. He would end up, as he always - ended up, by jumping in a taxi and knocking on her door in Dolls' House - Square. - </p> - <p> - He never once found her out. There was invariably a welcome for him. He - would take his seat by the fire in the quiet room and watch her sewing - till the darkness deepened and the lamp had to be brought out. It didn't - seem to matter much whether he talked or was silent; her contentment - seemed complete when he was there. She made no effort to entertain him, - which was the best proof of their friendship. She was perfectly willing - that he should ignore her, if that was his mood, by reading the paper or - playing with the children. - </p> - <p> - Though she made no effort to entertain him, the entire household had - re-organised itself in readiness for his sharp <i>rat-a-tat</i>. Everyone, - without expressing the fact, recognised that it was nice to have a man - about the house. When one rose in the morning, there was something to - which to look forward now. A man dropping in, even occasionally, gave this - group of women a sense of protection and of contact with the unwidowed - world. - </p> - <p> - To Robbie and Joan he stood for something midway between a big brother and - a pal. They had sharp rivalries as to who should light his cigarette. It - wasn't easy for him to grip the box between his knees and strike the match - with only one hand. They watched him and by anticipating his wishes tried - to constitute themselves his missing hand. - </p> - <p> - When they were with him, the little lady withdrew into the background, - making herself so still and self-effacing that it scarcely seemed that he - had come to see her. It was as though she had three children; he appeared - to be their friend much more than hers. He would carry them off to the - Zoo, to matinees or to see the Christmas toys in the West End shops. - Sometimes she would accompany them; more often she would listen to their - adventures when they had returned. But she never was really left out. - While they were absent from her, she formed the main topic of - conversation. Of this she was well aware; if she had not been, she would - not have been so happy. - </p> - <p> - In a way she derived more pleasure from staying at home and picturing them - laughing through the crowded streets, going into tea-shops, riding in - taxis and coming back through the dusk together. The children looked so - proud in their sole possession of a man, especially of a soldier who had - been wounded. Had their father come through the war, that was how they - would have looked in his company. She was glad that they should get away - from skirts. He could give them something which it was not in her power to - give, however much she loved them. She was only a woman. Her reward - followed when they returned a little conscience-stricken at having left - her, bringing with them a present as indisputable proof that she had been - remembered. - </p> - <p> - One evening in talking with her after the children had been put to bed, he - asked her if she didn't think she ought to go out more often. - </p> - <p> - “I know I ought.” - </p> - <p> - “Then why don't you?” - </p> - <p> - She smiled gently, thinking how little he knew of the world. “When you've - not got your own man to take you, it's difficult. The world moves in - pairs. A woman can't go to many places unaccompanied.” - </p> - <p> - “But surely you don't need to. You must have quantities of friends who - would be glad...” - </p> - <p> - She cut him short. “When a woman is left by herself, she learns a good - many things about men that she didn't suspect when she was married. The - men she would trust herself with have their wives or fiancées—they - have no time to trouble over shipwrecked women like myself. And the other - kind of men... The world has no place for a widow. It doesn't mean to be - unkind, but it simply doesn't know what to do with her. Unmarried women - consider her an unfair rival; they think she's seeking a second chance - before they've had their first. In the old days India solved the problem - by burying us with our husbands. In England they do the same thing, only - less frankly. It's rather stupid to have to live and yet to be treated as - though you ought to be dead. One fights against it at first; then one - gradually becomes reconciled to be out of the running. If one's wise, she - puts all her living into her children.” - </p> - <p> - “But that's not fair,” he spoke hotly. - </p> - <p> - “It's the way it happens.” - </p> - <p> - He sat frowning into the fire. What she had told him had upset all his - preconceptions about her. Without looking at her, he re-started the - conversation. “I've thought of you as being so happy. I always thought of - you that way at the Front. I've pictured you as being perched high on a - ledge out of reach of waves and storms. From the first you've given me the - feeling that nothing could hurt or move you, and that nothing could hurt - or move me while I was near you. It's a queer thing for a man to admit to - a woman, but you make me feel absolutely safe.” - </p> - <p> - “That's not so very queer,” she said, “because that's the way you make me - feel.” - </p> - <p> - “Do I? You're not laughing at me?” He swung round, leaning over the back - of the couch, his entire attitude one of amazement. - </p> - <p> - She met his surprise with a quiet smile. “I'm perfectly serious. But you - know the reason why we feel so safe in each other's company? It's because, - in our different ways, we're both lonely people. We're not like the rest - of the world; we don't move in pairs. I'm lonely because I'm a woman on my - own, and you're lonely because you're in hospital in a foreign country. We - met just at the time when we could give each other courage.” - </p> - <p> - “But you don't look lonely,” he protested; “one always thinks of lonely - people as being sad and untidy. You always look so terrifically - well-groomed and expensive. You create the impression that you're either - going to or returning from a party. I never saw you when you weren't - self-assured and occupied. I used to wonder how you spared me so much time - from your engagements.” - </p> - <p> - “Clever of me, wasn't it?” - </p> - <p> - Instead of answering her, he came over and stood above where she sat - stitching beneath the lamp. He was seeing her for the first time not as - wise, self-reliant and fashionable, but as beautiful, alone and - unprotected. He could almost feel the ache of the bruises she had - suffered. He felt self-reproached; what had he given her? Up to now - anything that he could have given had seemed too small to mention. He had - taken from her continually, supposing that she had a surplus of - everything. And all the while she had been sharing his own hunger for the - presents that money cannot buy. - </p> - <p> - “It's great to be alive, when you'd expected to be dead.” - </p> - <p> - It was her turn to be surprised. She raised her head quickly, recognising - a new earnestness in his tone. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0119.jpg" alt="0119m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0119.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “One doesn't talk much about what happened at the Front,” he said; “but - one can't help feeling that his life was spared for some definite purpose. - I believe the purpose was to be happy and to make others happy. I don't - want to hog my own pleasure any more or to trifle in the old slovenly - ways. I want to crowd every second with gratefulness for the mere fact of - living. That's what's been bringing me here so often. That's why I've been - so glad to carry Joan and Robbie away. Kiddies mean so tremendously much - more to me than they did before I nearly died. And then there's home and - women. I took them for granted once, but now... It's like saying one's - prayers to be in a good woman's presence. I don't know if you at all - understand me. I'm trying to thank you for what you've done....” - </p> - <p> - And there his eloquence failed, leaving him gazing down at her and - wondering whether she thought him foolish. She patted his hand, but she - did not meet his eyes. “It's all right. Don't explain. I know what you're - meaning to say.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you?” He spoke doubtfully. “I think I was trying to ask you if we - couldn't be happy together. I'm not married and I'm not engaged; but I'm - not like the other men you mentioned.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear boy, I never thought you were. If I had, you wouldn't have been - here. You're honourable all the way through; I knew that the moment I saw - you. Does that make you feel better?” - </p> - <p> - He laughed happily. “Much. Do you know what I believe I've been trying to - ask you through all this maze of words? If I get permission from the - doctor to stay out late tomorrow night, would you be gay and go with me to - a theatre?” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes met his with gladness. “I should love it.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9125.jpg" alt="9125 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9125.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HAT evening at the theatre was the first conscious step in their - experiment of being happy together. She received word from him at - lunch-time that the doctor's permission had been granted and that he would - call for her at seven. The news made her as excited as if she had never - been to a theatre before in her life. She spent the afternoon before the - mirror, brushing and re-brushing her hair, and in laying out all the - pretty clothes which she knew men liked. It was three years since she had - dressed with the deliberate intent that a man should admire her. Once to - do that had been two-thirds of her life. To find herself doing it again - seemed like waking from a long illness; she could hardly bring herself to - believe that the monotony of sorrow was ended and that she was actually - going to be happy again. She had been made to feel so long that to be - happy would be disloyalty to past affections. - </p> - <p> - She locked her bedroom door, for fear any of the servants should guess how - she was occupied. She was filled with an exultant shame that she should - still be capable of valuing so highly a man's opinion of her appearance. - “But I will be happy,” she kept telling herself; “I have the right.” And - then, in a whisper, “Oh, little house, you have been so kind. Wish me luck - and say that he'll think me nice.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0020" id="linkimage-0020"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0127.jpg" alt="0127m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0127.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - Outside in the bare black cradle of the trees the November afternoon - faded. Sparrows twittered of how winter was almost come. Against the cold - melancholy of the London sky, like silhouettes crayoned on a wall of ice, - roofs and chimneys stood smudged. In flickering pin-points of - incandescence street-lamps wakened; night came drifting like a ship into - harbour under shrouded sails. - </p> - <p> - She had been sitting listening for a long time, haunted by childish fears - that he would not come. At seven promptly a taxi panted into the square - and drew up wheezing and coughing before the little house. Seizing her - evening-wrap, she ran down the stairs and had her hand on the door before - his knock had sounded. “I didn't want to keep you waiting,” she explained. - </p> - <p> - He handed her into the cab. With a groan and a thump the engine pulled - itself together and they made good their escape. As she settled back into - her corner, pulling on her gloves, she watched him. So he also had - regarded it as a gala-night! He was wearing a brand-new uniform and had - been at extra pains to make his boots and belt splendid and shiny. She did - her best not to be observed too closely, for her eyes were overbright and - her color was high. She felt annoyed at herself for being so girlish. - </p> - <p> - “It's tremendous fun. I haven't been to the theatre in the evening - since... for years and years,” she whispered. “The war is really ended. - I'm believing it for the first time.” - </p> - <p> - They dined together at Prince's to the fierce discords of Jazz music. It - suited her mood; it was primitive and reckless. Diners kept rising between - courses and slipping out in pairs to where dancing was in progress. The - whole world went in pairs tonight. And she had her man; no one could make - her lonely for just this one night. It was exciting to her to notice how - much more they seemed to belong to each other now that they were in - public. He felt it also, for he showed his sense of pride and ownership in - a hundred little ways. It was good to be owned after having been left so - long discarded. As he faced her across the table, he had the air of - believing that everybody was admiring her and envying him his luck. She - was immensely grateful that he should think so. It was as though he could - hear them saying, “How on earth did a one-armed fellow do it?” Had they - asked him, he could only have told them, “The house was empty, so I - entered.” Yes, and even he had not guessed how empty! But what had changed - her? Knowing nothing about the locked door and how her afternoon had been - spent, he was puzzled. All he knew was that the woman whom he had thought - perfect, had revealed herself as more perfect. She had become radiantly - beautiful in a way quite new and unexpected. - </p> - <p> - Of the play to which they went she saw but little; all she realised was - that it was merry—a fairy-tale of life. One does not notice much - when the heart is swollen with gladness. People sang, and looked pretty, - and fell in love. Everyone was paired and married before the curtain was - rung down. Something, however, she did remember: two lilting lines which - had been sung: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And, while the sun is shining, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Make hay, little girl, make hay. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - They kept repeating themselves inside her head. Unconsciously in the - darkness as they were driving home, she started humming them. - </p> - <p> - “What did you say?” he questioned. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't say anything. It was just a snatch from a tune we heard.” - </p> - <p> - “Was it? Won't you hum it again?” - </p> - <p> - So in the intermittent gloom of the passing lights she tried; but for some - reason, inexplicable to herself, it made her feel choky. She couldn't - reach the end. Gathering her wrap closer about her, she drew the fur - collar higher to hide the stupid tears which had forced their way into her - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I believe you're crying!” he exclaimed with concern. “Do tell me what's - the matter.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm too happy,” she whispered brokenly. The taxi drew up against the - pavement with a jerk. There was no knowing what he might say next to - comfort her. She both yearned to learn and dreaded. Flight was the safer - choice. Before he could assist her, she had jumped out. “Come tomorrow and - I'll thank you properly. I can't now. And... I'm sorry for having been a - baby.” Catching at her skirts, she fled up the steps and let herself into - the darkened house. - </p> - <p> - Not until his wheels had moved reluctantly away, did she climb the narrow - stairs to the room from which she had departed so gaily. Her solitariness - had returned. She had had her own man for a handful of hours. They were - ended. - </p> - <p> - As she threw off her finery, she could still hear that voice persistently - advising, - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And, while the sun is shining, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Make hay, little girl, make hay. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - In the darkness she flung herself down on the bed, burying her face in the - pillow. “I want to; oh, I want to,” she muttered. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0021" id="linkimage-0021"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;"> - <img src="images/9137.jpg" alt="9137 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9137.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - OR three weeks she followed the song's advice. No one knew how long - happiness would last. With her it had never lasted. He would leave her - presently; already he was anticipating an early return to America. - </p> - <p> - “I shall feel terribly flat when you've gone,” she told him. - </p> - <p> - “But I'll write. I'll write you the longest letters.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, but letters aren't the same as being together.” - </p> - <p> - He didn't seem to share her need of him, and it hurt. If he did share it, - it was unconsciously. He had yet to awaken to what the need meant. She had - allowed him to become too sure of her, perhaps; had she kept him more - uncertain, he might have awakened. In any case, it was too late to alter - attitudes now and to think up reasons. - </p> - <p> - He liked her in the jolliest kind of way as the most splendid of - diversions; but she wasn't essential to him for all time—only for - the present. She treasured no illusions about the longest letters. She - knew men—the world was filled with women; out of sight would be out - of mind. So every evening when he visited her, her heart was in her throat - till she had made him confess that he had not yet received his embarkation - orders. Some day he would tell her that he was going and would expect her - to congratulate him. She would have to smile and pretend that she was glad - for his sake. After that he would vanish and the long eventlessness would - re-commence. He would write intimately and often at first; little by - little new interests would claim him. There would be a blank and then, - after a long silence, a printed announcement, curtly stating that he had - found his happiness elsewhere. - </p> - <p> - She saw herself growing old. The children would spring up so quickly. She - would be left with her pride, to dress and make herself beautiful for an - anonymous someone whose coming was indefinitely postponed. Youth would go - from her. For interminable evenings, stretching into decades, she would - watch afternoons fade into evenings. Everything would grow quiet. She - would sit beneath the lamp at her sewing. The whispering parrot would take - pity on her and croak, “What shall we talk about?” Even that game would - end one day, for Robbie would become a man and marry. When that had - happened it wouldn't be truthful for the parrot to tell her that Robbie - loved her best. She would listen for the clock to strike, the fire to - rustle, the coals to drop in the grate. Towards midnight taxis would enter - the square. Lovers would alight. She would hear the paying of the fare, - the tapping of a woman's high-heeled shoes on the pavement, the slipping - of the key into the latch, the opening and closing of the door, and then - again the silence. She would fold up her work, turn out the lights and - stand alone in the darkness, invisible as a ghost. - </p> - <p> - Ah, but he had not sailed yet. “Make hay, little girl, make hay.” His - going was still only a threat. There was time, still time. She set a date - to her respite. She would not gaze beyond it. If she could only have him - till Christmas! - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile he kept loyally to his contract that they should be happy - together. He gave her lavishly of his time. If he guessed how much the - gift meant, he said nothing to show it. He was like a great, friendly - schoolboy in his cheerfulness; he filled every niche of her desire. Now, - in the afternoon, when he took the children on adventures, she found - herself included. On the return home, he shared with her the solemn rite - of seeing them safely in bed. Then forth they would sally on some fresh - excursion. Always and increasingly there was the gnawing knowledge that - the end was nearer in sight—that soon to each of the habits they - were forming they would have to say, “We have done it for the last time.” - </p> - <p> - We, the bricks and mortar of the little house, watched her. We grew - desperate, for we loved her. What we had observed and overheard by day we - discussed together by night. If we could prevent it, we were determined - that he should not go. - </p> - <p> - “But, if he goes,” creaked the staircase, “he may return. They used to say - in my young days that the heart grows fonder through absence.” - </p> - <p> - “Rubbish,” banged the door on the first landing. “Rubbish, I say.” - </p> - <p> - “He'll go,” ticked the grandfather clock pessimistically. “He'll go. He'll - go.” - </p> - <p> - “Not if I know it,” shouted the door and banged again. - </p> - <p> - We had come to a few nights before Christmas. Which night I do not - remember, but I recall that we had started our decorations. Mistletoe was - hanging in the hall. Holly had been arranged along the tops of the - picture-frames. The children had been full of whisperings and secrets. - Parcels had already begun to arrive. They were handed in with a crackling - of paper and smuggled upstairs to a big cupboard in which they were hidden - from prying eyes. The children were now in bed, sleeping quietly for fear - of offending Santa Claus. The little lady was in the room where she - worked, checking over her list of presents. She had got something for - everyone but Robbie; she had postponed buying Robbie's present for a very - special reason of which we were all aware. Perhaps it was superstition; - perhaps a desperate hope. He had told her what he wanted; it didn't look - as if she would be able to get it. “It's no good waiting,” she told - herself; “I shall have to buy him something tomorrow.” Just then, as if in - answer to her thoughts, an impatient <i>rat-tat-tat</i> re-sounded. It was - his unmistakably, but he had never come so late as this before. All day - she had listened and been full of foreboding; she had despaired of his - ever coming. There was an interval after the door had been opened, during - which he removed his coat. She could picture his awkwardness in doing it. - Then the swift, leaping step of him mounting the stairs. Why had he - delayed so long, only to come to her at the last moment in such a hurry? - She rose from her chair to face him, her hands clenched and her body - tense, as if to resist a physical blow. As he appeared in the doorway his - lips were smiling. There was evidently something which he was bursting to - tell her. On catching sight of her face he halted. His smile faded. - </p> - <p> - “What's the matter? What's happened?” She unclenched her hands and looked - away from him. “Nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “There must be something. Something's troubling you. What have you been - doing with yourself this evening?” - </p> - <p> - Her gaze came back to him. She smiled feebly. “Wondering whether you were - coming and worrying over Robbie's present.” - </p> - <p> - “Robbie's present! That's nothing to worry over. We'II go together and - choose one tomorrow. I'll have time.” - </p> - <p> - “Time!” She straightened up bravely, the way she had rehearsed the scene - so often in her imagination. “Then it's true. You won't be here for - Christmas? You're sailing?” - </p> - <p> - Her knowledge of his doings was uncanny. He came a step nearer, but she - backed away. He realised her fear lest he should touch her. For a moment - he was offended. Then, “My orders came today. How did you know? It was - what I came to tell you.” - </p> - <p> - “How did I know!” She laughed unsteadily. “How does one know anything? The - heart tells one things sometimes. You'll be busy tomorrow—so many - other things to think about. Robbie's present doesn't matter. It's growing - late... Good-bye.” He stood astonished at her abruptness. What had he done - that she should be so anxious to rid herself of him? When he did not seem - to see her proffered hand, but stared at her gloomily, her nerves broke. - “Go. Why don't you go?” she cried fiercely. “You know you'll be happy.” - </p> - <p> - “You want me to go?” he asked quietly. Had she heard her own voice, she - would have given way to weeping. With her handkerchief pressed tightly - against her lips, she nodded. - </p> - <p> - He turned slowly, looked back from the threshold for a sign of relenting - and dragged his way haltingly down the stairs. In the hall beneath the - mistletoe he paused to listen. He fancied he had heard the muttering of - sobbing. So long as he paused he heard nothing; it was only when he began - to move that again he thought he heard it. Having flung his coat about his - shoulders, he eased his arm into the sleeve. This wasn't what he had come - for—a very different ending! - </p> - <p> - And now the chance of the little house had arrived. Windows, chairs, - tables, walls, we had all pledged ourselves to help her. He attempted to - let himself out; the frontdoor refused to budge. He pulled, tugged and - worked at the latch without avail. - </p> - <p> - “Shan't go. Shan't go. Shan't go,” ticked the grandfather's clock - excitedly. Then the usual thing happened, which always happened when the - grandfather's clock got excited. - </p> - <p> - There was a horrible <i>whirr</i> of the spring running down; the weights - dropped with a bang. - </p> - <p> - In the silence that followed he listened. She thought he had gone. There - could be no mistake now; she was crying as if her heart would break. - </p> - <p> - The stairs creaked to warn her as he ascended. She could not have heard - them, for when he stepped into the room she took no notice. She had sunk - to the floor and lay with her face hidden in the cushions of the chair, - with the gold light from the lamp spilling over her. For some moments he - watched her—the shuddering rise and fall of her shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “You told me to go,” he said. “The little house won't let me; it was - always kind to us.” And then, when she made no answer, “It's true. I've - got my sailing orders. But it was you who told me to go.” - </p> - <p> - She was listening now. He knew that, for the half-moon shoulders had - ceased to shudder. The smell of Jacqueminot drew him to her. Bending over - her, he stole one hand from beneath the buried face. “Do I need to go?” - </p> - <p> - And still there was no answer. It was then that the old grey parrot spoke. - He had pretended to be sleeping. “What shall we talk about?” he whispered - hoarsely; and, when an interval had elapsed, “Robbie?” - </p> - <p> - The little lady, who had needed to be loved, lifted up her tear-stained - face and the wounded officer who had wanted rest, bent lower. - </p> - <p> - “I don't need to go,” he whispered. “I came to bring you Robbie's present. - He told me what he wanted.” - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little House, by Coningsby Dawson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE HOUSE *** - -***** This file should be named 50274-h.htm or 50274-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/2/7/50274/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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- The Little House, by Coningsby Dawson
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-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little House, by Coningsby Dawson
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: The Little House
-
-Author: Coningsby Dawson
-
-Illustrator: Stella Langdale
-
-Release Date: October 21, 2015 [EBook #50274]
-Last Updated: March 12, 2018
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE HOUSE ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- THE LITTLE HOUSE
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Coningsby Dawson
- </h2>
- <h3>
- With Illustrations By Stella Langdale
- </h3>
- <h4>
- New York: John Lane Company
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1920
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /> <br /> <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <h4>
- TO
- </h4>
- <h3>
- THE LITTLE LADY
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE LITTLE HOUSE</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br /> <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- THE LITTLE HOUSE
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9017.jpg" alt="9017 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9017.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE little house, tell this story. It was lived within my walls; not a line
- is invented and it was I, by my interfering, who brought about the happy
- ending. Who wants a story that does not end happily, especially a
- Christmas story? To have been responsible for the happy ending is pretty
- nearly as clever as to have made the story up out of one's own head or, as
- we houses say, out of one's own walls.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps you never heard before of a house telling a story. If that be so,
- it is because you don't listen or because you go to bed too early. Unlike
- people, we houses sleep all day long; but after midnight we wake up and
- talk. When the clock strikes twelve, our stairs begin to crack and our
- windows to rattle and our floors to creak. If you ever hear these sounds,
- don't be frightened; they simply mean that the kind old walls that shelter
- you have begun to remember and to think. And we have so many things to
- remember and to think about, especially we old houses who have been
- standing for almost two hundred years. We have seen so much; we have been
- the friends of so many generations. More little children have been born
- beneath our roofs than we have stairs on which to count. We reckon things
- on our stairs, just as people reckon things on their fingers. When our
- stairs crack after midnight, it's usually because we're counting' the
- births and love-makings and marriages we have watched. We very often get
- them wrong because there are so many of them. Then the doors and windows
- and floors will chip in to correct us. “Ha,” a window will rattle, “you've
- forgotten the little girl who used to gaze through my panes in 1760 or
- thereabouts.” One of the doors will swing slowly on its hinges and, if
- anyone disputes with it, will bang, shouting angrily, “Wrong again—all
- wrong.” Then the walls and the windows and the doors and the floors all
- start whispering, trying to add up correctly the joys and sorrows they
- have witnessed in the years beyond recall.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0019.jpg" alt="0019m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0019.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- When that happens, if you're awake and listening, you'll hear us start
- adding afresh, from the lowest to the topmost stair.
- </p>
- <p>
- I am a London house and a very little house, standing in a fashionable
- square near Hyde Park. I have known my ups and downs. Once was the time
- when I was almost in the country and the link-boys used to make a fuss at
- having to escort my lady so far in her sedan-chair. It's a long way to the
- country now, for the city has spread out miles beyond me. Within sight
- through the trees at the end of the square red motor-buses pass, bumping
- their way rowdily down to Hammersmith and Kew. In my young days these
- places were villages, but I am told they are full of noises now. I have at
- least escaped that, for our square is a backwater of quiet and leads to
- nowhere, having an entrance only at one end. All the houses in the square
- were built at the same time as I was, which makes things companionable. We
- all look very much alike, with tiny areas, three stone steps leading up
- from the pavement, one window blinking out from the ground-floor, two
- blinking out from each of the other floors and a verandah running straight
- across us. In summer-time the verandah is gay with flowers. Our only
- difference is the colour we are painted, especially the colour of our
- doors. Mine is white; but some of our neighbours' are blue, some green,
- some red. We're very proud of the front-doors in our square. In the middle
- stands a railed-in garden, to which none but our owners have access. Its
- trees are as ancient as ourselves. Behind us, so hidden that it is almost
- forgotten, stands the grey parish-church, surrounded by a graveyard in
- which many of the people who have been merry in us rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- For some years we were what is known as a “gone down neighborhood,” till a
- gentleman who writes books bought us cheap, put us in repair and rented us
- to his friends. This has made us very select; since then we have become
- again fashionable.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now you know all that is necessary to form a mental picture of us. Because
- we are so small, we are sometimes spoken of as “Dolls' House Square.” All
- the things that I shall tell you I do not pretend to have witnessed, for
- houses have to spend their lives always in the one place—they cannot
- ride in taxis and move about. We gain our knowledge of how the world is
- changing by listening to the conversations of people who inhabit us; when
- night has fallen we mutter among ourselves, passing on to one another
- beneath the starlight down the lamp-lit streets the gossip we have
- overheard. Whatever of importance we miss, the churchbells tell us. Big
- Ben, with his sweet tenor voice, booming out the hours, is in this respect
- particularly thoughtful.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0025.jpg" alt="0025m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0025.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- So now, having explained myself, I come to my story of the little lady who
- needed to be loved, but did not know it, and the wounded officer who
- wanted rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9029.jpg" alt="9029 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9029.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE little lady who needed to be loved, but did not know it, discovered me
- quite by accident. This story is a series of accidents; if it had not been
- for the <i>ifs</i> and the <i>perhaps's</i> and the <i>possibilities</i>
- there wouldn't have been any story to tell.
- </p>
- <p>
- I was empty when she found me, for my late tenants had grown frightened
- and had moved into the country on account of airraids. They said that I
- was too near the giant searchlights and anti-aircraft guns of Hyde Park
- Corner to be healthy. If they weren't killed by bombs, sooner or later
- they would be struck by our own expended shell-cases that came toppling
- from two miles out of the clouds. So they had made their exit hurriedly in
- November, taking all their furniture and leaving me to spend my
- one-hundred-and-ninety-eighth Christmas in the company of a caretaker.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was shortly before Christmas when I first saw her. Night had settled
- peacefully down; it was about nine o'clock when the maroons and sirens
- began to give warning that the enemy was approaching. In an instant, like
- a lamp extinguished, the lights of London flickered and sank. Down the
- forests of streets innumerable doors swiftly opened and people came
- pattering out. Dragging half-clad children by the hand and carrying babies
- snatched up from their warm beds, they commenced to run hither and
- thither, seeking the faint red lights of shelters, where cellars and
- overhead protection might be found. Policemen, mounted on bicycles, rode
- up and down the thoroughfares, blowing whistles. Ambulances dashed by,
- tooting horns and clanging bells. From far and near out of the swamp of
- darkness rose a medley of panic and sound. Prodding the sky, like
- detectives with lanterns, searchlights hunted and turned back the edges of
- the clouds. Then ominously, with solemn anger, the guns opened up and in
- fierce defiance the first bomb fell. The pattering of feet ceased
- suddenly. Streets grew forlorn and empty. The commotion of living and the
- terror of dying were transferred from the earth to the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- I was standing deserted with my door wide open, for at the first signs of
- clamour the old woman, who was supposed to take care of me, had hobbled up
- from her basement and out on to the pavement in search of the nearest Tube
- Station. In her fear for her safety, she had forgotten to close my door,
- so there I stood with the damp air drifting into my hall, at the mercy of
- any chance vagrant.
- </p>
- <p>
- The guns had been booming for perhaps five minutes when I heard running
- footsteps entering the square. Our square is so shut in and small that it
- echoes like a church; every sound is startling and can be heard in every
- part of it. I could not see to whom the footsteps belonged on account of
- the trees and the darkness. They entered on the side farthest from me,
- from the street where the red motor-buses pass. When they had reached the
- top, from which there is no exit, they hesitated; then came hurrying back
- along the side on which they would have to pass me. <i>Tip-a-tap,
- tip-a-tap, tip-a-tap</i> and panting breath—the sound of a woman's
- high-heeled shoes against the pavement. Accompanying the <i>tip-a-tap</i>
- were funny, more frequent, shuffling noises, indistinct and confused.
- Three shadows grew out of the gloom, a small one on either side and a
- bigger one in the centre; as they drew near they resolved themselves into
- a lady in an evening-wrap and two children.
- </p>
- <p>
- I was more glad than I cared to own, for I'd been feeling lonely. Now that
- peace has come and we've won the war, I don't mind acknowledging that I'd
- been feeling frightened; at the time I wouldn't have confessed it for the
- world lest the Huns should have got to know it. We London houses, trying
- to live up to the example of our soldiers, always pretended that we liked
- the excitement of airraids. We didn't really; we quaked in all our bricks
- and mortar. One's foundations aren't what they were when one is a
- hundred-and-ninety-eight years old. So I'm not ashamed to tell you that I
- was delighted when the lady and her children came in my direction. I tried
- to push my front-door wider that they might guess that they were welcome.
- I was terribly nervous that they might pass in their haste without seeing
- that I was anxious to give them shelter. It was shelter that they were
- looking for. In coming into the square they had been seeking a shortcut
- home.
- </p>
- <p>
- They drew level without slackening their steps and had almost gone by me
- when, less than a quarter of a mile away, a bomb crashed deafeningly.
- Everything seemed to reel. Far and near you could hear the tinkling of
- splintered glass. The world leapt up red for a handful of seconds as
- though the door of a gigantic furnace had been flung open. Against the
- glow you could see the crouching roofs of houses, the crooked chimney-pots
- and the net-work of trees in the garden with their branches stripped and
- bare. The lady clutched at my railings to steady herself. Her face was
- white and her eyes were dark with terror. The last bomb had been so very
- close that it seemed as though the next must fall in the square itself.
- One of the searchlights had spotted the enemy and was following his plane
- through the clouds, holding it in its glare.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mummy, it's all right. Don't be frightened. You've got me to take care of
- you.” It was the little boy speaking. Then he saw my <i>To Let</i> sign
- above and pointed, “We'll go in here till it's over. Look, the door's wide
- open.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tugged on her hand. With her arm about the shoulder of the little girl
- on the other side of her, she followed. The glow died down and faded. Soon
- the square was as secret and shadowy as it had been before—a tank
- full of darkness in which nothing stirred.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9037.jpg" alt="9037 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9037.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- EVER since I had been built had any visit quite as unceremonious as this
- occurred. Who was the strange lady? What was she doing wandering the
- streets at this hour unescorted? She was beautiful and richly gowned; her
- face was young, but very sad. I was anxious to learn more, so I listened
- intently.
- </p>
- <p>
- At first on entering, they halted just across the threshold, huddled
- together, the little lady with an arm flung about each of the children.
- She seemed to think that someone might be hidden in the darkness watching—someone
- to whom I belonged—for presently she addressed that supposed someone
- tremblingly: “We hope you don't mind, but the car forgot to come for us.
- Grandfather had been giving us a party. When we heard the warning, we
- tried to run home before the raid started; but we got lost. The Tube
- Stations were all so crowded that... And we found your door open, so we
- hope you don't mind us entering.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She paused nervously, waiting for someone to answer. A board creaked;
- apart from that the silence was unbroken.
- </p>
- <p>
- Speaking to herself more than to the children, “It's quite empty,” she
- said at last.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I close the door, Mumsie?” the little boy questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, Robbie darling,” she whispered; “they might be angry, when they come
- back. I mean the people who live here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it's dreadfully cold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then let's go farther in and find somewhere to sit down till the raid is
- over.” They stumbled their way in the darkness through the hall and up the
- narrow staircase, where only one can walk abreast. Robbie went first on
- this voyage of discovery; he felt that if anything were hiding from them,
- his body would form a protection. His mother didn't want to lose sight of
- the street by climbing higher, but he coaxed her on from stair to stair.
- As pioneer of the expedition, he reached the tiny landing with the single
- door, which gives entrance to the drawing-room which occupies the whole of
- the second storey. Turning the handle he peeped in warily. Then, “Cheer
- up, Mummy,” he cried, “there's been a fire and there's a wee bit of it
- still burning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The room was carpetless and bare of furniture, save for an old sofa with
- sagging springs that had been pulled up across the hearth. Perched on the
- bars of the grate sat a tin kettle, gasping feebly, with nearly all its
- water boiled away. Under the kettle a few coals glowed faintly and a weak
- flame jumped and sank, like a ghost trying to make up its mind to vanish.
- Through the tall French windows that opened on to the verandah one could
- see the sky lit up with the tumultuous display of monstrous fireworks.
- From high overhead, above the clatter of destruction and the banging of
- guns, came the long-drawn, contented humming of the planes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They're right over us,” the little boy whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- As if afraid that any movement on their part would draw the enemy's
- attention, they stood silent, clinging together, and listened. Oblongs of
- light, falling through the windows, danced and shifted. Once the beam of a
- searchlight groping through the shadows, gazed straight in and dwelt on
- them astounded, as if to say, “Well, I never! Who'd have thought to find
- you here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- They tiptoed over to the couch and sat down, making as little noise as
- possible, for they still weren't sure that they were welcome. They didn't
- speak or move for some time; with the excitement and running and losing
- their way they were very tired. Presently the little boy got up, and went
- and stood by the window looking out, with his legs astraddle and his hands
- behind his back like a man. He wore a sailor-suit and had bare, sturdy
- knees. He was very small to try to be so manly.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0041.jpg" alt="0041m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0041.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “I'm not frightened, Mummy,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If father were here, he wouldn't be frightened.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shifted her position so that she could glance proudly back at him.
- “Father was never frightened.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For the first time the little girl spoke. “If father were here, they
- wouldn't dare to come to London. I expect they knew...”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Joan,” her mother interrupted quickly, “I expect they knew.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And when I'm a man they won't dare to come to London, either,” said
- Robbie. “How many of them did father...?”
- </p>
- <p>
- But at that moment, before he could finish his question, his mother
- pressed her finger against his lips warningly. Above the roar of what was
- going on in the clouds, she had heard another and more alarming sound; the
- front-door closed quietly, a match struck and then the slow deliberate
- tread of someone groping up the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9047.jpg" alt="9047 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9047.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE tread reached the landing and proceeded to mount higher. Then it
- hesitated. Another match was struck and it commenced to descend. On
- arriving at the landing again, it halted uncertain. The handle of the door
- was tried. The door swung open and a man peered across the threshold. No
- one spoke. The little lady on the couch drew Joan closer to her side and
- held her breath, hoping that the man might not observe them and that, when
- he had gone, they might escape. But the man did not go, he stood there on
- the alert, listening and searching the darkness.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Robbie who spoke first. He had thrust his hands deep into his
- knickerbockers' pockets to gain courage. “What do you want? We think you
- might speak,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man laughed pleasantly. “I'm sorry if I've frightened you. I didn't
- know that anyone was here. I thought this was an empty house. Perhaps you
- weren't aware of it, but you'd left your front-door open.” Then, because
- no one replied, he added, “It's all right now; it's closed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wasn't looking at Robbie any longer. He was trying to probe the shadows
- by the fireplace, where he had caught the rustle of a woman's dress. He
- had caught something else—the faint sweet fragrance of Jacqueminot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've alarmed you,” he said. “I'm a stranger in London and I couldn't find
- any way out of your square. I strayed into your house for shelter. I'm
- sorry I intruded. Good-night to you all, however many there are of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was actually going. It was impossible to see what he looked like, but
- he was evidently well-mannered and a gentleman. Suddenly to the lady in
- the lonely house, from being a creature of dread, he became a heaven-sent
- protector. Who could tell how many less desirable visitors might not call
- before the raid was ended? The care-taker might return. Were that to
- happen, it would be much more comfortable to have this male trespasser
- present to help make the explanations. Just as he was withdrawing, the
- lady rose from the shabby couch and called him back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, please, we'd much rather you didn't go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But who are we?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I and Robbie and Joan. We did the same thing as you. The house doesn't
- belong to us. We got caught, just as you did. We were terribly scared
- and... and it's creepy being in an empty, strange house where you haven't
- any right to be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Though she could only see the blur of him, she could feel the smile that
- was in his eyes when she had finished her appeal. And it was an appeal,
- eager and nervous and tremulous. The tears in her voice said much more
- than the words. As he turned on his heel, she heard the jingle of his
- spurs and guessed that he was a man in khaki.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm on my way to France,” he said, speaking slowly; “I only landed
- yesterday. I was lonely too; I didn't know a soul. A queer way to make a
- friend!”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he stepped into the room, the light from the windows fell on him; he
- was dressed in the uniform of an American officer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Which are you?” he asked. “I've heard only your voice as yet. I'll do
- anything I can to help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The little lady held out her hand, but her face was still in shadow. It
- was a very tiny hand. “It's good of you to be willing to stay with us,”
- she said gratefully.
- </p>
- <p>
- At that point their conversation languished. The circumstances were so
- unprecedented that they were at a loss what to say or how to act. It was
- he who broke the awkward silence: “We ought to be able to rouse this fire
- with a little effort.” He bent over it, trying to pull it together. “We
- need more coal. If you'll excuse me and won't be frightened while I'm
- gone, I'll run down and see what I can forage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed a long time that he was gone—so long that she had begun to
- be afraid that he'd taken his chance to slip out. She wouldn't have blamed
- him. In the last two years, since she'd been by herself, she'd become used
- to men doing things like that. She had ceased to bank overmuch on
- masculine chivalry. Few men had leisure to expend on a woman, however
- charming and beautiful, whose children had always to be included in the
- friendship.
- </p>
- <p>
- When she had made quite sure that he was no more chivalrous than other
- men, she heard him laboriously returning. He came in carrying a scuttle in
- one hand and some bundles of wood in the other. “And now we'll pull down
- the blinds,” he said, “and make a blaze and get her going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On his knees before the hearth he started to work, ramming paper between
- the bars, piling sticks criss-cross and using his cheeks as bellows. In
- the intervals between his exertions he chatted, “I'm no great shakes at
- house-work. You mustn't watch me too closely or laugh at me. I'll do
- better than this when I've been at the Front, I guess. Are these your
- kiddies?... I suppose your husband's over there, where I'm going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, so you've got him back! You're lucky. Is he wounded or has he got a
- staff job in England?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He'll never come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused in what he was doing and sat gazing into the flames which were
- licking at the wood. He hung his head. He ought to have thought of that;
- in the last few years so many Englishmen were dead. And then there came
- another reflection—the picture of what it must have cost her husband
- to say good-bye to his wife and children, and go marching away to
- anonymous glory. He wasn't married himself, but if he had been... It took
- enough bolstering up of one's courage to go when one was single; but to go
- when one was married... And yet selfishly, ever since he had put on khaki
- his paramount regret had been that, were he to peg out, he would leave no
- one to carry on in his stead. This air-raid was his first remote taste of
- warfare; within the next few weeks he was to know it in its full fury.
- What had impressed him most was the difference between war as imagined and
- witnessed. As imagined it had seemed the most immense of sports; as
- witnessed it was merely murder. Just before he had sought shelter he had
- seen where a bomb had fallen. People had been killed—people not so
- different from the mother and children hiding in this house. The
- suddenness of extinction had made him feel that in the game of life he had
- somehow “missed out.” There would be no woman to think of him as “her man”
- were he to go west. And here was the woman's price for such caring, “He'll
- never come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned his head slowly; by the light of the crackling wood for the
- first time he saw her. The little boy was lying wearied out, with his head
- bowed in her lap. The little girl sat drowsing against her shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- She herself was leaning forward, gazing at and beyond him with a curious
- air of resigned intensity. She seemed to him to be listening for someone,
- whom she knew in her heart was never coming. He noticed the white
- half-moon of her shoulders faintly showing beneath her chinchilla wrap. He
- noticed her string of perfect pearls, the single ring on her hand and the
- expensive simplicity of her velvet gown. He was sufficiently a man of the
- world to make a guess at her social station. But it wasn't her beauty or
- elegance that struck him, though they were strangely in contrast to the
- empty room in which she sat; it was her gentleness and expression of
- patient courage. He knew, as surely as if she had told him, that this
- empty room, in which he had found her, was the symbol of her days. It was
- with her as it was with himself; there was no man to whom she was “his
- woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've hurt you by the impertinence of my questions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled and shook her head. “You've not hurt me. Don't think that. I
- shouldn't like you to think that you'd hurt me or anything that would make
- you sad. Are you going to France soon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tomorrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you won't be here for Christmas. I wonder where you'll spend it.
- Perhaps next Christmas the war will be ended and you'll...” She caught the
- instant change in his expression. She had seen that look too often in
- soldiers' eyes when the future was mentioned not to know what it meant.
- She laid her hand on his arm impulsively. “But everyone who goes doesn't
- stay there. You'll be one of the lucky ones. You'll come back. I have that
- feeling about you. I know what's in your mind; you're a long way from
- home, you're going to face a great danger and you believe that everything
- is ended. You can only think of war now, but there are so many better
- things to do with life than fighting. All the better things will be here
- to welcome you, when you return.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He found himself talking to her in a way in which he had never spoken to
- any woman. Afterwards, when he recalled their conversation, he wondered
- why. Was it because she had filled him with so complete a sense of rest?
- One didn't have to explain things to her; she understood. He asked her how
- it was that she understood and she replied, “You don't have to go to war
- to learn how to endure. You can stay at home and yet beat off attacks in
- the front-line trench. We women defeat despair by keeping on smiling when
- there's nothing left to smile about, and by wearing pretty dresses when
- there's no one to take a pride in what we wear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He retorted unguardedly, as he felt. “But there must be heaps of people
- who take a pride in you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think so? You're unspoilt and generous. Life's a wonderful dream that
- lies all before you. You haven't known sorrow. Do you know what you seemed
- to be saying when you spoke to me through the shadows? 'Everybody has
- always loved and trusted me, so you love and trust me, too.' If it hadn't
- been for that, that I saw that you'd always been loved and were lonely for
- the moment, I shouldn't have sat here talking with you for the last hour.
- You'll get everything you want from life, if you'll only wait for it.
- You'll come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- While he sat at her feet in the firelight, she had the knack of making him
- feel like a little boy who was being comforted. She kept aloof from him,
- but she mothered him with words. He found himself glancing up at her
- furtively to make sure that she wasn't as old as she pretended. She wasn't
- old at all—not a single day older than himself. He turned over in
- his mind what she had said about having no one to be proud of her. He
- would have given a lot for the chance to be proud of her himself. But he
- was going to France tomorrow—there was no time left for that. With
- so much fighting and dying to be done, it seemed as though there would
- never again be time for anything that was personal.
- </p>
- <p>
- The clamour in the skies had died down.
- </p>
- <p>
- The crash of guns had been growing infrequent; now it had subsided. The
- drone of planes could be no more heard. The invader had been driven back;
- hard on his heels our aerial cavalry were following across the Channel,
- awaiting their moment to exact revenge when he tried to land.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0059.jpg" alt="0059m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0059.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- The restored normality seemed to rouse her reserve. Lifting the sleeping
- head from her lap, she whispered, “Wake up, Robbie; we can go home now.
- It's all over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The officer had risen and stood leaning against the mantel, “So it's
- good-bye?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm afraid so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've made me happy when I least expected to be happy. Shall we meet
- again, I wonder?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled at his seriousness. “Perhaps. One never knows what the good God
- will allow. We didn't expect to meet tonight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was sensitive to her evasion and laughed, pretending to make light of
- it. “We don't want them to think they've had burglars. We had better leave
- something for the coals we've burned.” He placed a pound note on the
- mantel.
- </p>
- <p>
- Taking Joan in his arms and going first, he led the way down the stairs.
- When they were out of the hall and the front-door had closed behind them,
- he left the little group on the steps and went in search of a taxi. After
- a lengthy expedition he found one and, by promising an excessive fare,
- induced the driver to accompany him back. He knew neither the name of the
- square nor the number of the house, so he had to keep his head out of the
- window and shout directions. On entering the square he searched the
- pavement ahead, but could catch no sign of his recent companions. He
- halted the cab against the curb at the point where he thought he had left
- them; he was made certain that it was the point when he saw the notice TO
- LET. Perhaps the caretaker had come back and invited them to enter till he
- returned. He rang the bell and knocked vigorously. The driver was eyeing
- him with suspicion. When his repeated knockings were unanswered, he got
- into the taxi and ordered him to move slowly round the square.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had completely vanished. Either she had picked up a conveyance for
- herself, while he had been engaged in his search, or else she had lost
- faith in him and had taken it for granted that he had deserted her. He did
- not know her name. She had given him no address. Tomorrow night he would
- be in France. He had neither the time nor the necessary information to
- hunt for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- In reply to the driver's request for further instructions, he growled the
- name of his hotel. Then he spread himself out on the cushions and gave way
- to disconsolate reflections. The night was full of smoke and heavy with
- the smell of a bonfire burnt out. Things had become again uninteresting.
- He told himself that the most wonderful hour of his life was ended.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9065.jpg" alt="9065 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9065.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HRISTMAS came and went unmerrily. The old woman who took care of me had
- known better days; she stayed in bed in an effort to forget. Next door,
- but one, a son had returned unexpectedly from the trenches. There were
- laughing, dancing and piano playing. I tried to share their happiness; but
- happiness isn't the same when it is borrowed second-hand. My rooms were
- cheerless and empty of all sound.
- </p>
- <p>
- I kept thinking of my air-raid visitors, wondering where they were and
- hoping that the American officer had re-found the little lady. If he had,
- I felt sure he would be good to her. I told myself a foolish fairy-story,
- as old houses will, of how, when the war was ended, they would drive up to
- my door together, as if by accident, and exclaim, “Why, it's the little
- house where we first met!” Then the TO LET sign would be taken down and,
- having fetched Joan and Robbie, we would all live together forever. With
- luck and love we might have smaller feet to toddle up and down my stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- January, February, March commenced and ended, and the TO LET sign was
- still there. It seemed that nobody would ever want me. It was April now;
- to their nests in the railed-in garden of the square the last year's birds
- were coming back. Trees had become a mist of greenness. Tulips and
- daffodils were shining above the ground. In the window-boxes of other
- houses geraniums were making a scarlet flare. Without warning the dream,
- which had been no more than a dream, began to become a fact.
- </p>
- <p>
- I had been drowsing in the sun, taking no notice of what was happening,
- when I was suddenly awakened by a sharp rat-a-tat-tat. I came to myself
- with a start to find that the little lady, unaccompanied, was standing on
- my steps.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knocked again and then a third time. There could be no doubt about her
- determination to enter. At last the old woman heard her and dragged
- herself complainingly up from the basement. When the door had been
- narrowly opened, the little lady pushed it wider and stepped smartly into
- the hall with an exceedingly business-like air. “I have an order from the
- agents to view the house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm 'ard of 'earing. Wot did yer say? Speak louder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have an order from the agents to look over the house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let's see your order?”
- </p>
- <p>
- While the caretaker fumbled for her spectacles, she went on talking. “You
- won't like it. There's no real sense in your seeing it. It ain't much of a
- 'ouse—not modern, too little and all stairs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It made me furious to hear her running me down and to have no chance to
- defend myself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nevertheless, I rather like it and I think I'll see it,” the little lady
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went from room to room, making notes of the accommodations and
- thinking aloud as she set them down. “Four floors beside the basement. On
- the top floor two bedrooms; they'll do for Robbie and Joan and nurse. On
- the next floor one bedroom and a bathroom; I'll have that for myself. On
- the second floor one big room, running from front to back; that's where
- we'II have the parrot and the piano, and where I'll do my sewing. On the
- ground-floor a dining-room in front and a bedroom at the back; the bedroom
- at the back will do for cook. I won't have anyone sleeping below-stairs.
- It's a very wee house, but tremendously cosy. And what pretty views—the
- garden in the square in front, and the old grey church with its graveyard
- at the back! It's all so green and quiet, like being in the country.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0069.jpg" alt="0069m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0069.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- She had far out-distanced the caretaker, hurrying over the first two
- floors that she might get to the top by herself. Now, as she descended,
- she inspected each room more leisurely. As yet she had said no word that
- would indicate that she had recognised me. I wondered what her motive had
- been in coming; whether she had deliberately sought me or stumbled on me
- simply by accident. I would have known her anywhere, though I had been
- blind and deaf, by the fragrance of Jacqueminot that clung about her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had come to the tiny landing on the second floor, when something
- familiar in her surroundings struck her. She stood there holding the
- handle of the door and wrinkling her forehead. “It's odd,” she whispered;
- “I can't understand it.” She turned the handle and entered. The room smelt
- stuffy; its windows had not been opened since she was last there. The
- sunlight, pouring in, revealed motes of dust which rose up dancing every
- time she stirred. In the grate were the accumulated ashes of many fires.
- Drawn across the hearth was the shabby couch. Nothing had been altered
- since she had left it. She passed her hand across her eyes, “It can't be;
- it would be too strange to find it like that.” Then she started to
- reconstruct the scene as she remembered it. “Robbie was there against the
- window, asking how many Huns his daddy had brought down, and I was sitting
- here in the shadow, when quite suddenly we heard his tread on the stairs.
- The door opened; he said something about being sorry that he'd frightened
- us, and then.... Why yes, I'm positive.” She stepped out onto the verandah
- and stood looking down into the square. When she turned to re-enter her
- eyes were moist and shining. “You <i>are</i> the little house. Oh, little
- house, I've dreamt of you so often. Does he dream of you too, where he is
- out there? Was I right to run away and to doubt him? If you had a tongue
- you could tell me; did he say hard things about me when he found me gone
- on coming back?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9075.jpg" alt="9075 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9075.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- WO weeks later they took possession of me. They did it with so much
- friendliness that at the end of a month it was as though we had always
- lived together. Even the furniture fitted into all my odd nooks and angles
- as if it had been made especially for me. And, indeed, it might have been,
- for most of it was created in the reign of Queen Anne, at which period my
- walls were, as one might say, feeling their legs. It was very pleasant
- when night had settled down and everyone was sleeping, to listen to the
- conversations which were carried on between the new-comers and my own
- floors and stairs. One grandfather's clock was particularly interesting in
- his reminiscences. He had told the time to Dr. Johnson and had ticked away
- the great lexicographer's last hours. On this account he was inclined to
- be amusingly self-important; it was a permanent source of grievance with
- him that, so far as the present generation was concerned, his pedigree was
- unknown. There were times when he would work himself into such passions
- that his weights would drop with a bang. He was always sorry for it next
- morning and ashamed to face the little lady. As she came down to
- breakfast, she would catch sight of his hands and say, “So the poor old
- clock has stopped again! The old fellow's worn out. We shall have to send
- him to the mender's.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps it is hardly fair to repeat this gossip about one piece of the
- furniture, for everything, myself included, was old; whether we were
- tables, chairs or stair-cases, we all had our crochets and oddities. But,
- however much we differed among ourselves, we were united in adoring the
- youth of the little lady and her children. More than any of us the
- whispering parrot adored her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The whispering parrot was a traveller. He had come from Australia fifty
- years ago.
- </p>
- <p>
- He played so indispensable a part in producing the happy ending that he
- deserves an introduction.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been the gift of the children's grandfather, a retired General. His
- plumage was Quaker grey, all except his breast and crest which were a
- wonderful rose-pink. He had black beady eyes which took in everything;
- what they saw, he invariably remembered. He had a confidential, hoarse way
- of speaking, that never rose above a whisper. When you heard him for the
- first time you supposed that he had a bad sore throat. He had a favorite
- question which he asked whenever he thought he was not being paid
- sufficient attention, “What shall we talk about?” He would ask it with his
- head cocked on one side, while he rubbed his feathers up and down the
- bars. “What shall we talk about?” he would ask the little lady as she sat
- sewing beneath the lamp of an evening. She was always by herself when the
- children had been put to bed. She had no callers and never went anywhere.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Talk about Polly!” she would say. “I don't know, you good grey bird. Did
- you think I was lonely? Well, let's see! Who loves Mummy best? Can you
- answer me that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he would cock his head still farther on one side and pretend to think
- furiously. She would have to ask him several times before he would attempt
- an answer. Usually, when he got ready, he would clear his throat and
- whisper, “The dustman.” After which he would laugh as though his sides
- were aching: “What a naughty Polly! What a naughty Polly!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She would maintain a dignified silence till she had emptied her needle.
- Then she would glance at him reproachfully, “Think again, Mr. Impudence—not
- the dustman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So he would think again, and having clambered all over his cage and hung
- upside down to amuse her, would hazard, “Polly?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not Polly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he would make any number of suggestions, though he knew quite well
- the answer she required. After each wrong guess he would go off into gales
- of ghostly merriment. At last he would say very solemnly, “Robbie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Robbie,” she would reply and scratch his head; after which the game
- was ended. Soon she would fold away her work, put out the lights and climb
- the narrow stairs to her quiet bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed very sad that, when she was so young, she should have to spend
- so many hours in talking to a rascally old bird. One can be young for so
- short a time. How short, those who are old know best.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were evenings, however, when, after the parrot had answered
- “Robbie,” she would whisper, “I wonder!” and clasp her hands in her lap,
- gazing straight before her. On these evenings she would sit very late and
- would look down at her feet from time to time, as though expecting to see
- someone crouching there. Taxis would chug their way into the square and
- draw up at one or other of the dolls' houses. The taxi door would open and
- after a few seconds close with a bang. There would be the rustle of a
- woman's dress and the tripping of her slippered feet across the pavement;
- the bass muttering of her husband paying the driver; laughter; the
- rattling of a key in the latch; and silence. The little lady would sit
- quite motionless, listening to the secret homecomings of lovers. Then at
- last she would nod her head, “You're right, Polly, I expect. There's no
- one else. No doubt it's Robbie who loves me best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9083.jpg" alt="9083 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9083.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- UT it wasn't Robbie. The diningroom window was the first to make the
- discovery. Being on the ground-floor, it gazes across the pavement under
- the trees and sees many things after nightfall which are missed by the
- upper storeys. The first and second time that something unusual happened I
- was not told; not until the third time was I taken into the secret. The
- dining-room window does most of the watching for the entire house; it sees
- so much that it has learnt to be discreet.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Armistice night when the unusual happening first occurred. London
- had gone mad with relief from suspense. Wherever a barrel-organ could be
- found people were dancing. Where more suitable music was not available,
- tin-cans were being beaten with a dervish, rhythmic monotony. Dance the
- people must. Their joy had gone into their feet; they could not convince
- themselves that peace had come till they had danced themselves to a
- standstill. They invented impromptu steps, dancing twenty abreast in the
- open spaces, humming any tune that caught their fancy, with their arms
- linked in those of strangers. But there were no strangers that night;
- everyone was a friend. Top-hats, evening-dress, corduroys and privates'
- uniforms hobnobbed together. A mighty roar of laughter and singing went up
- from thousands of miles of streets, dim-lit and dusk-drenched to ward off
- the ancient peril from the air. How suddenly unmodern peril had become!
- All London laughed; all England; all the world. The sound reached the
- Arctic; polar bears lumbered farther northward, stampeded by the strum of
- our guffaws. If there were inhabitants on Mars, they must have heard. The
- war was won. The news was so incredible that we had to make a noise to
- silence our doubts.
- </p>
- <p>
- Everything that could rejoice was out under the stars making merry. We had
- hidden so long, walked so stealthily, wept so quietly, hated so violently
- that our right to be happy was almost too terrible to bear. We expressed
- our joy foolishly, hysterically, inadequately by shouting, embracing,
- climbing lamp-posts, riding on the roofs of taxis. What did it matter so
- long as we expressed it and brought the amazing truth home to ourselves?
- The last cannon had roared. The final man had died in battle. The wicked
- waste of white human bodies was ended. There would be no more rushing for
- the morning papers and searching the casualty lists with dread; no more
- rumours of invasions; no more musterings for new offensives. The men whom
- we loved were safe; they had been reprieved at the eleventh hour. We
- should have them home presently, seated by their firesides. It seemed like
- the fulfilment of a prophet's ecstasy; as though sorrow and crying had
- passed away and forever there would be no death.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were two people who did not dance, climb lamp-posts, beat tin-cans
- and ride on the roofs of taxis that night. Perhaps they were the only two
- in London; they were both in Dolls' House Square. The little lady was one.
- She had tucked Joan and Robbie safely in their beds. She had kissed them
- “Good-night” and turned the gas on the landing to a jet. She had gone part
- way down the narrow stairs and then... and then she had come back. She had
- picked up Joan and carried her into Robbie's room. When the two heads were
- lying close together on the pillow, she had seated herself in the darkness
- beside them.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little boy stretched up his arms to pull her down; she resisted. His
- hands wandered over her face and reached her eyes. They were wet. His
- heart missed a beat. He knew what that meant. So often in the dark, dark
- night he had wakened with the sure sense that she was crying and had
- tiptoed down the creaking stairs to creep in beside her and place his
- small arms tightly about her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never mind; you have me, Mummy.” That was what he always said. He
- whispered it now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I have my wee man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And me, Mummy,” Joan murmured sleepily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mummy knows. She has you both. Don't worry about her. She's feeling silly
- tonight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because you're happy?” Joan questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, happy for so many little boys and girls whose soldier daddies will
- be coming back to them soon. Don't talk any more. Go sleepy-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Robbie knew that it wasn't happiness that made her cry; he knew that
- she was crying because she had no soldier to come back. What could he say
- to comfort her? His eyes grew drowsy while he thought about it. He waited
- till Joan was in Sleepy-bye Land, then with an effort he opened his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mummy, do you know what I'd like best for Christmas?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you were sleeping. Don't tell me now. There's heaps of time.
- It's six weeks till Christmas.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Joan and I have talked about it,” he persisted. “We don't want him,
- if you don't want him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is he, dear? If he doesn't cost too much, you shall have him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Robbie procrastinated now that he had brought his mother to the point of
- listening. It was a delicate proposal that he was about to make. “I don't
- know whether you can get one,” he hesitated. “A boy at my school got one
- without asking, and it wasn't even Christmas.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was sitting up in bed now, very intense and serious, and very much
- awake.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you've not told me yet what it is you want. If you don't tell me, I
- can't say whether I can afford it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She slipped her arm about the square little body and feeling how it
- trembled, held it close against her breast. He hid his face in the hollow
- of her neck. “Robbie's place,” she whispered. “If it's difficult to say,
- whisper it to mother there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His lips moved several times before a sound came and then, “If it isn't
- too much trouble, we should like to have a Daddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Against his will she held him back from her, trying to see his eyes. “But
- why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was he who was crying now. “Oh Mummy, I didn't mean to hurt you.... To
- be like all the other little boys and girls.” When at last he was truly
- asleep and she had come down to the lamp-lit room in which she sewed, she
- did not take up her work. The parrot tried to draw her into conversation
- with his eternal question, “What shall we talk about?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing tonight, Polly,” she said. Presently she crossed the room and,
- pulling back the curtains, stood staring out into the blackness. So her
- children had felt it, too—the weight of loneliness! She had tried so
- hard to prevent them from sharing it; had striven in so many ways to be
- their companion. Try as she would, she could never make up for a father's
- absence. She could never give them the sense of security that a man could
- have given without effort, even though he had loved them less. It was a
- bitter realisation—one which vaguely she had always dreaded must
- come to her. It was doubly bitter coming to her now, on a night when all
- the world was glad. She might be many things to her children; she could
- never be a man.... What did Robbie think? That you bought a father from an
- agency or engaged him through an advertisement? She smiled sadly, “Not so
- easy as that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What shall we talk about?” asked the parrot.
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew the curtains together, extinguished the lights and groped her way
- up to bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- But her eyes had not peered far enough into the blackness. There was
- another person in London who had not danced or climbed lamp-posts or
- ridden on the roofs of taxis that night. For three hours he had watched
- the little house from the shadow of the trees across the road. From the
- pavement, had you been passing, you would hardly have distinguished him as
- he leant against the garden-railings. The only time he gave a sign of his
- presence was when the red flare of his cigarette betrayed him. He did not
- seem to be planning harm to anyone; he could not have done much harm in
- any case, for the left sleeve of his coat hung empty. He was simply
- waiting for something that he hoped might happen. At last his patience was
- rewarded when she drew aside the curtain and stood with the lighted room
- behind her, staring out into the blackness. Only when she had again hidden
- herself and all the house was in darkness, did he turn to go. He was there
- the next night and the next. It was after his third night of watching that
- the dining-room window told me.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9095.jpg" alt="9095 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9095.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE fourth night he was there again. By this time everything in the house,
- from the kettle in the kitchen to the carpet on the topmost landing, was
- aware that a one-armed man was hidden beneath the trees across the road,
- watching. The whole house was on the alert, listening and waiting—everybody,
- that is to say, except the people most concerned, who inhabited us. It
- seemed strange that they alone should be in ignorance. The grandfather
- clock did his best to tell them. “Beware; take care. Beware; take care,”
- he ticked as his pendulum swung to and fro. They stared him in the face
- and read the time by his hands, but they had no idea what he was saying.
- </p>
- <p>
- What could it be that the watching man wanted? Whatever it was, he wanted
- it badly, for it was by no means pleasant to stand motionless for several
- hours when the November chill was in the air. Nor did he seem to find it
- pleasant, for every now and then he coughed and shook himself like a dog
- inside his coat, and sunk his chin deeper into his collar.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been there since six o'clock. He had seen the cook and the
- housemaid come up the area-steps and meet their respective sweethearts
- under the arc-light at the end of the square. There was only one other
- grown person in the house beside the little lady—Nurse; and Nurse
- had been in bed since the afternoon with a sick headache. He could not
- have known that. It was at precisely eight that he consulted his luminous
- wrist-watch, crossed the road, hesitated and raised the knocker very
- determinedly, as if he had only just arrived and had not much time to
- spare. <i>Rat-tat-tat!</i> The sound echoed alarmingly through the
- silence. The little lady dropped her sewing in her lap and listened. The
- sound was repeated. <i>Rat-tat-tat!</i> It seemed to say, “Come along.
- Don't keep me waiting. You've got to let me in sooner or later. You know
- that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It can't be the postman at this hour,” she murmured, “and yet it sounds
- like his knock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Laying her work on the table beneath the lamp, she rose from her chair and
- descended. She opened the door only a little way at first, just wide
- enough for her to peer out, so that she could close it again if she saw
- anything disturbing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you do live here!” The man outside spoke gladly. “I guessed it could
- be no one else the moment I saw that the house was no longer empty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She opened the door a few more inches. His tone puzzled her by its
- familiarity. His face had not yet come into the ray of light which slanted
- from the hall across the steps.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't recognise me?” he questioned. “I called to let you know that I
- did fetch that taxi. It's been on my mind that you thought I deserted you.
- Taxi-cabs were hard to find in an air-raid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She flung the door wide. “Why it's——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She didn't know how to call him—how to put what he was into words.
- He had been simply “the American officer”—that was how she had named
- him in talking with the children. He had been often remembered, especially
- during the fireside hour when in imaginary adventures he had been the hero
- of many stories. How brave she had made him and how often she had feared
- that he was dead! There were other stories which she had told only to
- herself, when the children were asleep and the house was silent. And there
- he stood on the threshold, with the same gallant bearing and the same
- eager smile playing about his mouth. “I've always been loved and trusted;
- you love and trust me, too”—that was what his smile was saying to
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her heart was beating wildly; but nothing of what she felt expressed
- itself in what she said. “I'm by myself. I've let the maids go out. I'm
- terribly apologetic for having treated you so suspiciously.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed and stepped into the hall. “I seem fated to find you by
- yourself; you were alone last time. I'm in hospital and have to be back by
- ten. Won't you let me sit with you for half an hour?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had begun to remove his top-coat awkwardly. His awkwardness attracted
- her attention.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please let me do that for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I'm learning to manage. It's all right.... Well, if you must.
- Thanks.” She didn't dare trust herself. There was a pricking sensation
- behind her eyes. She motioned to him to go first. As she followed him up
- the stairs, she gazed fixedly at his flattened left side, where the sleeve
- was tucked limply into the tunic-pocket. She knew that when she was again
- face to face with him she must pretend not to have noticed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He entered the room and stood staring round. “The same old room! But it
- didn't belong to you then. How did you manage it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Easily, but not on purpose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Truly, not on purpose?” His tone was disappointed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not on purpose. I didn't know the name of the square or the number of
- the house that night. I stumbled on it months later by accident. It was
- still to let.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you took it? Why did you take it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because I'd liked it from the first and it suited me,” she smiled. “Why
- else?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought perhaps...”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, say it. You're just like Robbie. When Robbie wants to tell me
- something that's difficult, he has a special place against which he hides
- his face; it's easier to tell me there. You men are all such little boys.
- If it's difficult to tell, you do the same and say it without looking at
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She reseated herself beneath the lamp and took up her sewing. “Now tell
- me, why did you want me to say that I took it on purpose?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't quite know. Perhaps it was because, had I been you, I should have
- taken it on purpose. One likes to live in places where he has been happy,
- even though the happiness lasted only for an hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wandered over to the couch before the fire and sat down where he could
- watch her profile and the slope of her throat beneath the lamp. The only
- sound was the prick of the needle and the quiet pulling through of the
- thread. It had all happened just as he would have planned it. He was glad
- that she was alone. He was glad that it was in this same room that they
- had met. He was glad in a curious unreasoning way for the faint fragrance
- of Jacqueminot that surrounded her. It had been just like this at the
- Front that he had thought of her—thought of her so intensely that he
- had almost caught the scent and the rustle of her dress, moving towards
- him through the squalor of the trench. Through all the horror the brief
- memory of her gentleness had remained with him. And what hopes he had
- built on that memory! He had told himself that, if he survived, by hook or
- by crook he would search her out. In hospital, when he had returned to
- England, all his impatience to get well had been to get to her. In his
- heart he had never expected success. The task had seemed too stupendous.
- And now here he was, sitting with her alone, the house all quiet, the fire
- shining, the lamp making a pool of gold among the shadows, and she, most
- quiet of all, taking him comfortably for granted and carrying on with her
- woman's work. At last he was at rest; not in love with her, he told
- himself, but at rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was she who broke the silence. “How did you know? What made you come so
- directly to this house?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He met her eyes and smiled. “Where else was there to come? It was the one
- place we both knew. I took a chance at it.” And then, after a pause, “No,
- that's not quite true. I was sent up to London for special treatment. The
- first evening I was allowed out of hospital, I hurried here and, finding
- that our empty house was occupied, stayed outside to watch it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why to watch it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because it was a million to one that you weren't the tenant. Before I
- rang the bell I wanted to make certain. You see I don't know your name; I
- couldn't ask to see the lady of the house. If she hadn't been you, how
- could I have explained my intrusion?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And then you made certain?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded. “You came to the window on Armistice night and stood for a few
- minutes looking out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember.” She shivered as if a cold breath had struck her. “I was
- feeling stupid and lonely; all the world out there in the darkness seemed
- so glad. I wish you had rung my bell. That was three nights ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean why did I let three nights go by. I guess because I was a
- coward. I got what we call in America 'cold feet.' I thought...”
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited for her to prompt him. She sat leaning forward, her hands lying
- idle in her lap. He noticed, as he had noticed nearly a year ago, the
- half-moon that her shoulders made in the dimness. She was extraordinarily
- motionless; her motionlessness gave her an atmosphere of strength. When
- she moved her gestures said as much as words. Nothing that she did was
- hurried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me what you thought.” she said quietly. She spoke to him as she
- would have spoken to Robbie, making him feel very young and little. When
- she spoke like that there was not much that he would not have told her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought that you might not remember me or want to see me. We met so
- oddly; after the lapse of a year you might easily have regarded my call as
- an impertinence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “An impertinence!” There were tears in her eyes when she raised her head.
- “You lost your arm that I and my children might be safe, and you talk
- about impertinence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that!” He glanced down at his empty sleeve. “That's nothing. It's the
- luck of the game and might have happened to anybody.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you lost it for me,” she re-asserted, “that I might be safe. You must
- have suffered terribly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Seeing her distress, he laughed gaily. “Losing an arm wasn't the worst
- that might have happened. I'm one of the fortunate ones; I'm still above
- ground. The thing wasn't very painful—nothing is when you've simply
- got to face it. It's the thinking about pain that hurts.... Hulloa, look
- at the time; I can just get back to the hospital by ten. If we're late,
- they punish us by keeping us in next night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At the top of the stairs as she was seeing him out, he halted and looked
- back into the room. “It's quiet and cosy in there. I don't want to leave;
- I feel like a boy being packed off to school. You can't understand how
- wonderful it is after all the marching and rough times and being cut about
- to be allowed to sit by a fire with a woman. I loved to watch you at your
- sewing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's because you're tired,” she said, “more tired than you know. You must
- come very often and rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9109.jpg" alt="9109 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9109.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- N the weeks that followed the little house came to know him well.
- Everybody in the little house treated him as though his injury were a
- decoration, which had been won especially in their defence. They were
- prouder to see him come walking up their steps with his blue hospital band
- on his remaining arm, than if Sir Douglas Haig himself had called upon
- them. Nobody took any count of the frequency of his visits—nobody
- except himself. Nobody seemed to think it strange that the moment the
- doctors had finished his dressings, he should wander off to Dolls' House
- Square. Nobody seemed to guess just how fond he was of the little lady. He
- hardly guessed himself. There were times when he wondered exactly how fond
- he was. He did not believe he was in love with her; the feeling that he
- had was too gentle. He had always understood that love was exciting,
- passionate and tumultuous with dreads, whereas in her presence he knew
- neither fears nor hesitancies. He wasn't the least in terror that he would
- lose her. He felt simply safe, the way a ship might feel when the winds
- had ceased to buffet and it lay still in a sheltered harbour on a level
- keel. This feeling of safety struck him as an extraordinary sensation to
- be produced in a soldier by a woman; he was a trifle ashamed of it, as
- though it were not quite manly.
- </p>
- <p>
- While he spoke with her, he found himself believing with a child-like
- faith that all women were mothers and that the world was good. He knew
- that for the present he could not do without her, but he was at a loss to
- imagine what he would do with her for always. She was like religion—she
- went beyond him, was bigger and better. He only dimly understood her, but
- was comfortable in believing that everything hidden was as kind as the
- part he knew. In a strangely intimate way he worshipped her, as a child
- adores his mother, thinking her the most perfect and beautiful being in
- the world. He discovered in her a wisdom of which nothing in her
- conversation gave the least indication; her unhurried attitude towards
- life created the impression. If this were love, then all the hearsay
- information he had gathered on the subject was mistaken.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were days when, after his wound had been dressed and he had left the
- hospital, he made a pretence that he was not going to visit her. He told
- himself that he was making her a habit, and that to make a habit of anyone
- was foolish. Instead of going to Dolls' House Square, he would invent some
- urgent business and take himself off citywards. But expeditions in which
- she had no share soon grew flat. He would find himself thinking about her,
- wondering whether she was waiting for him. He would end up, as he always
- ended up, by jumping in a taxi and knocking on her door in Dolls' House
- Square.
- </p>
- <p>
- He never once found her out. There was invariably a welcome for him. He
- would take his seat by the fire in the quiet room and watch her sewing
- till the darkness deepened and the lamp had to be brought out. It didn't
- seem to matter much whether he talked or was silent; her contentment
- seemed complete when he was there. She made no effort to entertain him,
- which was the best proof of their friendship. She was perfectly willing
- that he should ignore her, if that was his mood, by reading the paper or
- playing with the children.
- </p>
- <p>
- Though she made no effort to entertain him, the entire household had
- re-organised itself in readiness for his sharp <i>rat-a-tat</i>. Everyone,
- without expressing the fact, recognised that it was nice to have a man
- about the house. When one rose in the morning, there was something to
- which to look forward now. A man dropping in, even occasionally, gave this
- group of women a sense of protection and of contact with the unwidowed
- world.
- </p>
- <p>
- To Robbie and Joan he stood for something midway between a big brother and
- a pal. They had sharp rivalries as to who should light his cigarette. It
- wasn't easy for him to grip the box between his knees and strike the match
- with only one hand. They watched him and by anticipating his wishes tried
- to constitute themselves his missing hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they were with him, the little lady withdrew into the background,
- making herself so still and self-effacing that it scarcely seemed that he
- had come to see her. It was as though she had three children; he appeared
- to be their friend much more than hers. He would carry them off to the
- Zoo, to matinees or to see the Christmas toys in the West End shops.
- Sometimes she would accompany them; more often she would listen to their
- adventures when they had returned. But she never was really left out.
- While they were absent from her, she formed the main topic of
- conversation. Of this she was well aware; if she had not been, she would
- not have been so happy.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a way she derived more pleasure from staying at home and picturing them
- laughing through the crowded streets, going into tea-shops, riding in
- taxis and coming back through the dusk together. The children looked so
- proud in their sole possession of a man, especially of a soldier who had
- been wounded. Had their father come through the war, that was how they
- would have looked in his company. She was glad that they should get away
- from skirts. He could give them something which it was not in her power to
- give, however much she loved them. She was only a woman. Her reward
- followed when they returned a little conscience-stricken at having left
- her, bringing with them a present as indisputable proof that she had been
- remembered.
- </p>
- <p>
- One evening in talking with her after the children had been put to bed, he
- asked her if she didn't think she ought to go out more often.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know I ought.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then why don't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled gently, thinking how little he knew of the world. “When you've
- not got your own man to take you, it's difficult. The world moves in
- pairs. A woman can't go to many places unaccompanied.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But surely you don't need to. You must have quantities of friends who
- would be glad...”
- </p>
- <p>
- She cut him short. “When a woman is left by herself, she learns a good
- many things about men that she didn't suspect when she was married. The
- men she would trust herself with have their wives or fiancées—they
- have no time to trouble over shipwrecked women like myself. And the other
- kind of men... The world has no place for a widow. It doesn't mean to be
- unkind, but it simply doesn't know what to do with her. Unmarried women
- consider her an unfair rival; they think she's seeking a second chance
- before they've had their first. In the old days India solved the problem
- by burying us with our husbands. In England they do the same thing, only
- less frankly. It's rather stupid to have to live and yet to be treated as
- though you ought to be dead. One fights against it at first; then one
- gradually becomes reconciled to be out of the running. If one's wise, she
- puts all her living into her children.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But that's not fair,” he spoke hotly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's the way it happens.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat frowning into the fire. What she had told him had upset all his
- preconceptions about her. Without looking at her, he re-started the
- conversation. “I've thought of you as being so happy. I always thought of
- you that way at the Front. I've pictured you as being perched high on a
- ledge out of reach of waves and storms. From the first you've given me the
- feeling that nothing could hurt or move you, and that nothing could hurt
- or move me while I was near you. It's a queer thing for a man to admit to
- a woman, but you make me feel absolutely safe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's not so very queer,” she said, “because that's the way you make me
- feel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do I? You're not laughing at me?” He swung round, leaning over the back
- of the couch, his entire attitude one of amazement.
- </p>
- <p>
- She met his surprise with a quiet smile. “I'm perfectly serious. But you
- know the reason why we feel so safe in each other's company? It's because,
- in our different ways, we're both lonely people. We're not like the rest
- of the world; we don't move in pairs. I'm lonely because I'm a woman on my
- own, and you're lonely because you're in hospital in a foreign country. We
- met just at the time when we could give each other courage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you don't look lonely,” he protested; “one always thinks of lonely
- people as being sad and untidy. You always look so terrifically
- well-groomed and expensive. You create the impression that you're either
- going to or returning from a party. I never saw you when you weren't
- self-assured and occupied. I used to wonder how you spared me so much time
- from your engagements.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Clever of me, wasn't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Instead of answering her, he came over and stood above where she sat
- stitching beneath the lamp. He was seeing her for the first time not as
- wise, self-reliant and fashionable, but as beautiful, alone and
- unprotected. He could almost feel the ache of the bruises she had
- suffered. He felt self-reproached; what had he given her? Up to now
- anything that he could have given had seemed too small to mention. He had
- taken from her continually, supposing that she had a surplus of
- everything. And all the while she had been sharing his own hunger for the
- presents that money cannot buy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's great to be alive, when you'd expected to be dead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was her turn to be surprised. She raised her head quickly, recognising
- a new earnestness in his tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0119.jpg" alt="0119m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0119.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “One doesn't talk much about what happened at the Front,” he said; “but
- one can't help feeling that his life was spared for some definite purpose.
- I believe the purpose was to be happy and to make others happy. I don't
- want to hog my own pleasure any more or to trifle in the old slovenly
- ways. I want to crowd every second with gratefulness for the mere fact of
- living. That's what's been bringing me here so often. That's why I've been
- so glad to carry Joan and Robbie away. Kiddies mean so tremendously much
- more to me than they did before I nearly died. And then there's home and
- women. I took them for granted once, but now... It's like saying one's
- prayers to be in a good woman's presence. I don't know if you at all
- understand me. I'm trying to thank you for what you've done....”
- </p>
- <p>
- And there his eloquence failed, leaving him gazing down at her and
- wondering whether she thought him foolish. She patted his hand, but she
- did not meet his eyes. “It's all right. Don't explain. I know what you're
- meaning to say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you?” He spoke doubtfully. “I think I was trying to ask you if we
- couldn't be happy together. I'm not married and I'm not engaged; but I'm
- not like the other men you mentioned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear boy, I never thought you were. If I had, you wouldn't have been
- here. You're honourable all the way through; I knew that the moment I saw
- you. Does that make you feel better?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed happily. “Much. Do you know what I believe I've been trying to
- ask you through all this maze of words? If I get permission from the
- doctor to stay out late tomorrow night, would you be gay and go with me to
- a theatre?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes met his with gladness. “I should love it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9125.jpg" alt="9125 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9125.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HAT evening at the theatre was the first conscious step in their
- experiment of being happy together. She received word from him at
- lunch-time that the doctor's permission had been granted and that he would
- call for her at seven. The news made her as excited as if she had never
- been to a theatre before in her life. She spent the afternoon before the
- mirror, brushing and re-brushing her hair, and in laying out all the
- pretty clothes which she knew men liked. It was three years since she had
- dressed with the deliberate intent that a man should admire her. Once to
- do that had been two-thirds of her life. To find herself doing it again
- seemed like waking from a long illness; she could hardly bring herself to
- believe that the monotony of sorrow was ended and that she was actually
- going to be happy again. She had been made to feel so long that to be
- happy would be disloyalty to past affections.
- </p>
- <p>
- She locked her bedroom door, for fear any of the servants should guess how
- she was occupied. She was filled with an exultant shame that she should
- still be capable of valuing so highly a man's opinion of her appearance.
- “But I will be happy,” she kept telling herself; “I have the right.” And
- then, in a whisper, “Oh, little house, you have been so kind. Wish me luck
- and say that he'll think me nice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0020" id="linkimage-0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0127.jpg" alt="0127m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0127.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- Outside in the bare black cradle of the trees the November afternoon
- faded. Sparrows twittered of how winter was almost come. Against the cold
- melancholy of the London sky, like silhouettes crayoned on a wall of ice,
- roofs and chimneys stood smudged. In flickering pin-points of
- incandescence street-lamps wakened; night came drifting like a ship into
- harbour under shrouded sails.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had been sitting listening for a long time, haunted by childish fears
- that he would not come. At seven promptly a taxi panted into the square
- and drew up wheezing and coughing before the little house. Seizing her
- evening-wrap, she ran down the stairs and had her hand on the door before
- his knock had sounded. “I didn't want to keep you waiting,” she explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- He handed her into the cab. With a groan and a thump the engine pulled
- itself together and they made good their escape. As she settled back into
- her corner, pulling on her gloves, she watched him. So he also had
- regarded it as a gala-night! He was wearing a brand-new uniform and had
- been at extra pains to make his boots and belt splendid and shiny. She did
- her best not to be observed too closely, for her eyes were overbright and
- her color was high. She felt annoyed at herself for being so girlish.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's tremendous fun. I haven't been to the theatre in the evening
- since... for years and years,” she whispered. “The war is really ended.
- I'm believing it for the first time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They dined together at Prince's to the fierce discords of Jazz music. It
- suited her mood; it was primitive and reckless. Diners kept rising between
- courses and slipping out in pairs to where dancing was in progress. The
- whole world went in pairs tonight. And she had her man; no one could make
- her lonely for just this one night. It was exciting to her to notice how
- much more they seemed to belong to each other now that they were in
- public. He felt it also, for he showed his sense of pride and ownership in
- a hundred little ways. It was good to be owned after having been left so
- long discarded. As he faced her across the table, he had the air of
- believing that everybody was admiring her and envying him his luck. She
- was immensely grateful that he should think so. It was as though he could
- hear them saying, “How on earth did a one-armed fellow do it?” Had they
- asked him, he could only have told them, “The house was empty, so I
- entered.” Yes, and even he had not guessed how empty! But what had changed
- her? Knowing nothing about the locked door and how her afternoon had been
- spent, he was puzzled. All he knew was that the woman whom he had thought
- perfect, had revealed herself as more perfect. She had become radiantly
- beautiful in a way quite new and unexpected.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of the play to which they went she saw but little; all she realised was
- that it was merry—a fairy-tale of life. One does not notice much
- when the heart is swollen with gladness. People sang, and looked pretty,
- and fell in love. Everyone was paired and married before the curtain was
- rung down. Something, however, she did remember: two lilting lines which
- had been sung:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And, while the sun is shining,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Make hay, little girl, make hay.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- They kept repeating themselves inside her head. Unconsciously in the
- darkness as they were driving home, she started humming them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did you say?” he questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't say anything. It was just a snatch from a tune we heard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it? Won't you hum it again?”
- </p>
- <p>
- So in the intermittent gloom of the passing lights she tried; but for some
- reason, inexplicable to herself, it made her feel choky. She couldn't
- reach the end. Gathering her wrap closer about her, she drew the fur
- collar higher to hide the stupid tears which had forced their way into her
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe you're crying!” he exclaimed with concern. “Do tell me what's
- the matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm too happy,” she whispered brokenly. The taxi drew up against the
- pavement with a jerk. There was no knowing what he might say next to
- comfort her. She both yearned to learn and dreaded. Flight was the safer
- choice. Before he could assist her, she had jumped out. “Come tomorrow and
- I'll thank you properly. I can't now. And... I'm sorry for having been a
- baby.” Catching at her skirts, she fled up the steps and let herself into
- the darkened house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not until his wheels had moved reluctantly away, did she climb the narrow
- stairs to the room from which she had departed so gaily. Her solitariness
- had returned. She had had her own man for a handful of hours. They were
- ended.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she threw off her finery, she could still hear that voice persistently
- advising,
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And, while the sun is shining,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Make hay, little girl, make hay.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- In the darkness she flung herself down on the bed, burying her face in the
- pillow. “I want to; oh, I want to,” she muttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0021" id="linkimage-0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
- <img src="images/9137.jpg" alt="9137 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9137.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- OR three weeks she followed the song's advice. No one knew how long
- happiness would last. With her it had never lasted. He would leave her
- presently; already he was anticipating an early return to America.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall feel terribly flat when you've gone,” she told him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I'll write. I'll write you the longest letters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, but letters aren't the same as being together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He didn't seem to share her need of him, and it hurt. If he did share it,
- it was unconsciously. He had yet to awaken to what the need meant. She had
- allowed him to become too sure of her, perhaps; had she kept him more
- uncertain, he might have awakened. In any case, it was too late to alter
- attitudes now and to think up reasons.
- </p>
- <p>
- He liked her in the jolliest kind of way as the most splendid of
- diversions; but she wasn't essential to him for all time—only for
- the present. She treasured no illusions about the longest letters. She
- knew men—the world was filled with women; out of sight would be out
- of mind. So every evening when he visited her, her heart was in her throat
- till she had made him confess that he had not yet received his embarkation
- orders. Some day he would tell her that he was going and would expect her
- to congratulate him. She would have to smile and pretend that she was glad
- for his sake. After that he would vanish and the long eventlessness would
- re-commence. He would write intimately and often at first; little by
- little new interests would claim him. There would be a blank and then,
- after a long silence, a printed announcement, curtly stating that he had
- found his happiness elsewhere.
- </p>
- <p>
- She saw herself growing old. The children would spring up so quickly. She
- would be left with her pride, to dress and make herself beautiful for an
- anonymous someone whose coming was indefinitely postponed. Youth would go
- from her. For interminable evenings, stretching into decades, she would
- watch afternoons fade into evenings. Everything would grow quiet. She
- would sit beneath the lamp at her sewing. The whispering parrot would take
- pity on her and croak, “What shall we talk about?” Even that game would
- end one day, for Robbie would become a man and marry. When that had
- happened it wouldn't be truthful for the parrot to tell her that Robbie
- loved her best. She would listen for the clock to strike, the fire to
- rustle, the coals to drop in the grate. Towards midnight taxis would enter
- the square. Lovers would alight. She would hear the paying of the fare,
- the tapping of a woman's high-heeled shoes on the pavement, the slipping
- of the key into the latch, the opening and closing of the door, and then
- again the silence. She would fold up her work, turn out the lights and
- stand alone in the darkness, invisible as a ghost.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ah, but he had not sailed yet. “Make hay, little girl, make hay.” His
- going was still only a threat. There was time, still time. She set a date
- to her respite. She would not gaze beyond it. If she could only have him
- till Christmas!
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile he kept loyally to his contract that they should be happy
- together. He gave her lavishly of his time. If he guessed how much the
- gift meant, he said nothing to show it. He was like a great, friendly
- schoolboy in his cheerfulness; he filled every niche of her desire. Now,
- in the afternoon, when he took the children on adventures, she found
- herself included. On the return home, he shared with her the solemn rite
- of seeing them safely in bed. Then forth they would sally on some fresh
- excursion. Always and increasingly there was the gnawing knowledge that
- the end was nearer in sight—that soon to each of the habits they
- were forming they would have to say, “We have done it for the last time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- We, the bricks and mortar of the little house, watched her. We grew
- desperate, for we loved her. What we had observed and overheard by day we
- discussed together by night. If we could prevent it, we were determined
- that he should not go.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, if he goes,” creaked the staircase, “he may return. They used to say
- in my young days that the heart grows fonder through absence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rubbish,” banged the door on the first landing. “Rubbish, I say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He'll go,” ticked the grandfather clock pessimistically. “He'll go. He'll
- go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not if I know it,” shouted the door and banged again.
- </p>
- <p>
- We had come to a few nights before Christmas. Which night I do not
- remember, but I recall that we had started our decorations. Mistletoe was
- hanging in the hall. Holly had been arranged along the tops of the
- picture-frames. The children had been full of whisperings and secrets.
- Parcels had already begun to arrive. They were handed in with a crackling
- of paper and smuggled upstairs to a big cupboard in which they were hidden
- from prying eyes. The children were now in bed, sleeping quietly for fear
- of offending Santa Claus. The little lady was in the room where she
- worked, checking over her list of presents. She had got something for
- everyone but Robbie; she had postponed buying Robbie's present for a very
- special reason of which we were all aware. Perhaps it was superstition;
- perhaps a desperate hope. He had told her what he wanted; it didn't look
- as if she would be able to get it. “It's no good waiting,” she told
- herself; “I shall have to buy him something tomorrow.” Just then, as if in
- answer to her thoughts, an impatient <i>rat-tat-tat</i> re-sounded. It was
- his unmistakably, but he had never come so late as this before. All day
- she had listened and been full of foreboding; she had despaired of his
- ever coming. There was an interval after the door had been opened, during
- which he removed his coat. She could picture his awkwardness in doing it.
- Then the swift, leaping step of him mounting the stairs. Why had he
- delayed so long, only to come to her at the last moment in such a hurry?
- She rose from her chair to face him, her hands clenched and her body
- tense, as if to resist a physical blow. As he appeared in the doorway his
- lips were smiling. There was evidently something which he was bursting to
- tell her. On catching sight of her face he halted. His smile faded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's the matter? What's happened?” She unclenched her hands and looked
- away from him. “Nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There must be something. Something's troubling you. What have you been
- doing with yourself this evening?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her gaze came back to him. She smiled feebly. “Wondering whether you were
- coming and worrying over Robbie's present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Robbie's present! That's nothing to worry over. We'II go together and
- choose one tomorrow. I'll have time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Time!” She straightened up bravely, the way she had rehearsed the scene
- so often in her imagination. “Then it's true. You won't be here for
- Christmas? You're sailing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her knowledge of his doings was uncanny. He came a step nearer, but she
- backed away. He realised her fear lest he should touch her. For a moment
- he was offended. Then, “My orders came today. How did you know? It was
- what I came to tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did I know!” She laughed unsteadily. “How does one know anything? The
- heart tells one things sometimes. You'll be busy tomorrow—so many
- other things to think about. Robbie's present doesn't matter. It's growing
- late... Good-bye.” He stood astonished at her abruptness. What had he done
- that she should be so anxious to rid herself of him? When he did not seem
- to see her proffered hand, but stared at her gloomily, her nerves broke.
- “Go. Why don't you go?” she cried fiercely. “You know you'll be happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You want me to go?” he asked quietly. Had she heard her own voice, she
- would have given way to weeping. With her handkerchief pressed tightly
- against her lips, she nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned slowly, looked back from the threshold for a sign of relenting
- and dragged his way haltingly down the stairs. In the hall beneath the
- mistletoe he paused to listen. He fancied he had heard the muttering of
- sobbing. So long as he paused he heard nothing; it was only when he began
- to move that again he thought he heard it. Having flung his coat about his
- shoulders, he eased his arm into the sleeve. This wasn't what he had come
- for—a very different ending!
- </p>
- <p>
- And now the chance of the little house had arrived. Windows, chairs,
- tables, walls, we had all pledged ourselves to help her. He attempted to
- let himself out; the frontdoor refused to budge. He pulled, tugged and
- worked at the latch without avail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shan't go. Shan't go. Shan't go,” ticked the grandfather's clock
- excitedly. Then the usual thing happened, which always happened when the
- grandfather's clock got excited.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a horrible <i>whirr</i> of the spring running down; the weights
- dropped with a bang.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the silence that followed he listened. She thought he had gone. There
- could be no mistake now; she was crying as if her heart would break.
- </p>
- <p>
- The stairs creaked to warn her as he ascended. She could not have heard
- them, for when he stepped into the room she took no notice. She had sunk
- to the floor and lay with her face hidden in the cushions of the chair,
- with the gold light from the lamp spilling over her. For some moments he
- watched her—the shuddering rise and fall of her shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You told me to go,” he said. “The little house won't let me; it was
- always kind to us.” And then, when she made no answer, “It's true. I've
- got my sailing orders. But it was you who told me to go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was listening now. He knew that, for the half-moon shoulders had
- ceased to shudder. The smell of Jacqueminot drew him to her. Bending over
- her, he stole one hand from beneath the buried face. “Do I need to go?”
- </p>
- <p>
- And still there was no answer. It was then that the old grey parrot spoke.
- He had pretended to be sleeping. “What shall we talk about?” he whispered
- hoarsely; and, when an interval had elapsed, “Robbie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The little lady, who had needed to be loved, lifted up her tear-stained
- face and the wounded officer who had wanted rest, bent lower.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't need to go,” he whispered. “I came to bring you Robbie's present.
- He told me what he wanted.”
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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