A Patriotic Schoolgirl Part 30

"I'm having the time of my life!" he a.s.sured his family. "I shan't want to go away. They certainly know how to take care of a fellow here. After the trenches it's just heaven!"

"It was hard luck to be wounded when you'd only been at the front three weeks!" sympathized Dona.

"Never mind! I got on the Roll of Honour before my nineteenth birthday!"

triumphed Larry. "And I'll go back and have another shot before I'm much older."

"I wish the military age were twenty-one!" sighed Mrs. Anderson.

"And I wished it were fifteen when the war started," laughed Larry.

"Never mind, little Muvviekins! Peter and Cyril are kids enough yet; you can tie them to your ap.r.o.n-strings for a while."

"I shall go home feeling quite happy at leaving you in such good hands,"

declared his mother. "I know you'll be well nursed here."

Events seemed to crowd upon one another, for hardly was Larry settled in the Red Cross Hospital than Leonard got leave, and, after first going home, came for a hurried visit to The Tamarisks in order to see his brother. Mrs. Anderson wrote to Mrs. Morrison asking special permission for the girls to be allowed an afternoon with their brother, whom they had not seen for a year, and again the Princ.i.p.al relaxed her rule in their favour. Marjorie, nearly wild with excitement, came flying into the sitting-room at St. Elgiva's to tell the news to her friends.

"Another exeat! You lucky thing!" exclaimed Betty enviously. "Why can't my brother come to Whitecliffe?"

"Can't you bring him to school and introduce him to us?" suggested Irene.

"Or take some of us out with you?" amended Sylvia.

"We're simply dying to meet him!" declared Patricia.

"He has only the one afternoon to spare," replied Marjorie, "and has promised to take just Dona and me out to tea at a cafe, though I don't mind betting Elaine goes too. I wish I could bring him to school and introduce him. The Empress is fearfully mean about asking brothers.

Brackenfield might be a convent."

Chrissie also seemed tremendously interested in Leonard's arrival. She walked round the quad with Marjorie.

"How glorious to have a brother home from the front!" she said wistfully. "If he were mine, I'd nearly wors.h.i.+p him. There'd be such heaps of things I'd want to ask him, too. I'd like to hear all about a tank."

"You've seen them on the cinema."

"But only the outside, of course. I want to know exactly how they work.

Don't laugh. Why shouldn't I? Surely every patriotic girl ought to be keen on everything in connection with the war. I wish you'd ask him."

"Why, I will if you like."

"You won't forget?"

"I'll try not."

"And there's a new sh.e.l.l we've just been making. I wonder how it answers. I heard we've some new guns too. Would your brother know?"

"Really, I shall never remember all this! Pity you can't come with us and ask him for yourself."

"I believe I could get an exeat----" began Chrissie eagerly.

"I'm sure you couldn't!" snapped Marjorie. "Dona and I are going just by ourselves."

The sisters spent a somewhat disturbed morning. It was difficult to concentrate their minds on lessons when such a delightful outing awaited them in the afternoon. Immediately after dinner they rushed to their dormitories to don their best dresses in honour of Leonard. They knew he would not care to take out two Cinderellas, so they made careful toilets. Marjorie, in front of her looking-gla.s.s, replaited her hair, and tied it with her broadest ribbon, chattering all the while to Chrissie, who sat on the bed in her own cubicle.

"Leonard's an old dandy. At least, he was a year ago--the war may have changed him. He used to be most fearfully particular, and notice what girls had on. I remember how savage he was with Nora once for going to church in her old hat, and it was such a wet day, too; she didn't want to spoil her new one. He always kept his trousers in stretchers, and his boots had to be polished ever so--Chrissie, you're not listening.

Actually opening letters! You mean to say you've not read them yet, and you got them this morning!"

"I hadn't time," said Chrissie, rather abstractedly. She was drawing pound notes out of the envelope.

"Sophonisba! What a lot of money!" exclaimed Marjorie. "It isn't your birthday?"

"No. This is to take me home, of course."

"It won't cost you all that, surely! Doesn't your mother send your railway fare to Mrs. Morrison? Mine always does."

"My mother wouldn't like me to be short of money on the journey,"

remarked Chrissie serenely, locking up the notes in her little jewel-box.

At precisely half-past two the melancholy Hodson arrived at the school, and escorted Marjorie and Dona to The Tamarisks. Here they found Leonard, and it was a very happy meeting between the brother and sisters.

"Leonard shall take you into the town," said Aunt Ellinor. "I know you'll like to have him to yourselves for an hour. No, Elaine can't go.

She's on extra duty at the Red Cross this afternoon."

"I have to be back in the ward by half-past three," smiled Elaine. "Yes, I'll give your love to Larry. I'm sorry you can't see him to-day, but the Commandant's a little strict about visiting."

"We'll concentrate on Leonard," declared the girls.

It was an immense satisfaction to them to trot off one on each side of their soldier brother. They felt very proud of him as they walked along the Promenade, and noticed people glance approvingly at the good-looking young officer. After going on the pier and doing the usual sights of Whitecliffe, Leonard took them to the Cliff Hotel and ordered tea on the terrace. Dona and Marjorie were all smiles. This was far superior to a cafe. The terrace was delightful, with geraniums and oleanders in large pots, and a beautiful view over the sea. They had a little table to themselves at the end, underneath a tree. It was something to have a brother home from the front.

"Tell us everything you do out in France," begged Dona.

"You wouldn't like to hear everything, Baby Bunting," returned Leonard gravely. "It's not fit for your ears. Be glad that you in England don't see anything of the war. There's one little incident I can tell you, though. We'd marched many miles through the night over appalling ground under scattered sh.e.l.l-fire, and were only in our place of attack half an hour before the advance started up the ridge. That night march is a story in itself, but that's not what I'm going to tell you now. We drew close to one of the blockhouses, and the sound of our cheering must have been heard by the Germans inside those concrete walls. The barrage had just pa.s.sed, and its line of fire, volcanic in its fury, went travelling ahead. Suddenly out of the blockhouse a dozen men or so came running, and we shortened our bayonets. From the centre of the group a voice shouted out in English: 'I'm a Warwicks.h.i.+re man, don't shoot! I'm an Englishman!' The man who called had his hands up in sign of surrender, like the German soldiers.

"'It's a spy!' said one of our men. 'Kill the blighter!'

"The voice again rang out: 'I'm Englis.h.!.+'

"And he was English, too. It was a man of a Warwicks.h.i.+re regiment, who had been captured on patrol some days before. The Germans had taken him into their blockhouse--and because of our gun-fire they could not get out of it--and kept him there. He was well treated, and his captors shared their food with him, but the awful moment came for him when the drum-fire pa.s.sed, and he knew that unless he held his hands high he would be killed by our own troops."

"How awful!" s.h.i.+vered Dona.

"Tell us some more tales about the war," begged Marjorie.

"I might have been killed one evening," said Leonard, "if it hadn't been for a friend. We were carrying dispatches, and fell into an ambush. I owe it to Winkles that I'm here to-day. He fought like a demon. I never saw such a fellow!"

"Who's Winkles?"

"Oh, an awfully good chap, and so humorous! I've never once seen him down. I've got his photo somewhere, I believe. I took a snapshot of him once."

"Oh, do show it to us!"