He walked down the lane, Violet Elizabeth trotting beside him.
"Let"th play at being Robinthon Cruthoe and Friday," she suggested brightly.
William did not deign to answer.
"Well, let"th pretend we"re ecthplorerth, then," she said. "It"th tho dull jutht being Commandoth."
"You wait," said William. "You wait till I get going."
"All right. What do we do firtht?"
"Well er I"ll climb a tree and have a good look round for sentries, then I"ll creep up behind "em and kill "em."
"But I like thentrieth," objected Violet Elizabeth. "They"re nithe."
"Well, I don"t want you, anyway, an" I wish you"d go away . . . I"m goin" to go into this field an" climb this tree."
"Can I climb it, too?"
"No."
"All right. I don"t mind. I alwayth get thtuck in treeth."
William went across the field to a large oak tree that grew by the farther hedge. He had often climbed it before and took only a few seconds to reach a good vantage point about half-way up. Violet Elizabeth waited patiently till he rejoined her.
"I got a jolly good view," he said excitedly. "I could see two men in khaki, guardin" things. One was guardin" the telephone box by the road an" the other was guardin" the bridge over the river. I could jump down on both of "em an" overpower them, but I can"t tell from here which is ours an" which is the enemy. I say! You go round an" find out which is which. See which of "em"s a reg"lar soldier an" which is a Home Guard. P"raps," hopefully, "they"re both reg"lar soldiers an" I can overpower both of "em. Anyway, it"s no good lettin" them see me before I start overpowerin" them or it"ll put "em on their guard. You go first an" find out which is which an" come back an" tell me an" then I"ll go an" overpower whichever"s the enemy."
"All right," agreed Violet Elizabeth and trotted off obediently.
William meantime searched for suitable weapons in the neighbouring hedge. He found a short stout stick with which, he thought, he could stun his opponent, and his pocket already contained a length of string with which he hoped to secure his victim when stunned.
Violet Elizabeth soon came trotting back "The one by the bridge ith a Home Guard, William," she said, "an" the one by the telephone booth ith a reg"lar tholdier."
"All right," said William. "I"ll overpower the one by the telephone box."
"Can I come, too?" asked Violet Elizabeth.
"No," said William firmly. "I"m goin" into deadly danger an" it"s no place for women. Besides, you always mess things up."
"All right, William," said Violet Elizabeth with unexpected docility. "I"ll wait for you here."
William crept across the field to the point in the road where the telephone box was. Carefully, silently, with the help of some railings at the side of the road, he climbed up to the top of the telephone box, then peeped cautiously over the top. All he could see was a netted tin hat, a khaki battle dress and an enormous pair of boots. The best way to overpower the enemy was, he had decided, to fling himself down upon him from above and, while the enemy was still bewildered, stun and bind him . . .
He waited breathlessly for a few seconds. Evidently the enemy, leaning against the telephone box in an att.i.tude of extreme boredom, had not heard his approach. William set his teeth and drew a deep breath . . . One, two, three . . .
For a few seconds William and the khaki-clad figure rolled about the road in indistinguishable confusion. Unfortunately the figure in khaki recovered first from his confusion, dragged William to his feet and boxed his ears.
"You little devil, you!"
"Listen!" said William, rubbing his head, which had felt the full impact, first of the warrior"s tin hat and then of his large and h.o.r.n.y hand. "Listen! You don"t understand. I"m a Commando an" I"ve captured you. At least, I dropped my stick when I fell off, but, if I"d got my stick, I"d"ve captured you, so-" he broke off, staring in amazement at the warrior"s sleeve. "Gosh! You"re a Home Guard!"
WILLIAM LOOKED CAUTIOUSLY OVER THE TOP OF THE TELEPHONE BOX.
""Course I"m a Home Guard," snapped the warrior. "And, let me tell you, you can get into serious trouble for interfering with a Home Guard in the pursuit of his duties. You may not know that this is an invasion practice, and that I"m guarding vital communications. I don"t suppose you even know there"s a war on. I suppose you think of nothing but your inane monkey tricks. Boys like you are a menace to the community . . ."
"Listen," pleaded William again. "I was tryin" to help. I-" But the Home Guard advanced upon him threateningly.
"Go home," he said. "Go home and wash your face."
William, in no condition to venture upon further hostilities, took ignominiously to flight.
He found Violet Elizabeth sitting under the tree where he had left her, sucking a piece of chocolate.
"Look here!" William accused her indignantly. "You made me attack the wrong side. He wasn"t a reg"lar soldier."
"I know he wathn"t," agreed Violet Elizabeth, mildly apologetic, "but I wath playing a different game a game of my own. I wath pretending I wath an ecthplorer, theeing which were the friendly tribeth and the one by the bridge wath a very friendly one. He gave me a thlab of chocolate and I didn"t want you to kill him, cauthe he wath tho nithe and kind, but the one by the telephone booth wath very dithagreeable and wouldn"t even thpeak to me, tho I wanted you to kill him, cauthe he wath tho croth. That"th why I told you he wath a reg"lar tholdier, cauthe I wanted you to kill him. He detherved to be killed for being tho nathty and croth."
William was beyond even remonstrance. He dug his hands into his pockets and trailed dejectedly homewards.
He was tempted not to attend the meeting at General Moult"s house the next morning. He had nothing to offer but a record of failure and disgrace that would expose him to the triumphant jeering of his enemies for months to come. He hadn"t even contributed a single map, and his encounter with the Home Guard was still a painful memory. It seemed, however, cowardly to shirk it, so, sore in both mind and body, he set out for the meeting.
Hubert Lane and his friends were already there, grinning complacently. They had all sent maps, and one of them, Hubert probably, would be sure to get the prize. William took his seat at the end of the row, his freckled face set and scowling. The ostrich egg still stood on the top of the book-case. It seemed to regard him with mingled derision and contempt.
"How many maps did you send the General, William?" said Hubert, and his friends sn.i.g.g.e.red in appreciation of the taunt.
General Moult entered and took his seat at his writing-desk.
"Now I"ll ask you children, one by one, what you did yesterday to help the defending forces," he said. "I"ll ask Hubert Lane first."
Hubert smirked triumphantly.
"I sent you ten maps," he said, "an" I bet no one else sent as many as that. My dad"s always buying new maps. He buys jolly expensive ones, too."
General Moult pa.s.sed on to the next without comment.
"I sent you three maps."
"I sent you four maps."
"I only sent one, but it was a jolly good one."
Hubert sat with his eyes fixed gloatingly on the ostrich egg. He would put it in the hall where everyone would see it as they came into the house, and he would tell everyone how he"d won it. If he wasn"t in, his mother would tell them. No one had sent more than ten maps. He was sure of the prize. He"d scored over ole William Brown at last, and he wouldn"t let him forget it in a hurry.
"And what about you, William Brown?" the General was saying.
William tried not to see Hubert"s jeering face. He gulped and swallowed miserably.
"I tried to knock out one of the invaders," he said, "but but I got a Home Guard by mistake."
The General waved this aside.
"No real harm done," he said, "or I"d have heard of it." He cleared his throat and addressed his audience. "All you children, except one, have fallen into a trap. The man who came round asking for maps and purporting to have come from me was a fifth columnist. His aim was to procure maps for the invaders and deplete the supply of maps available for the defenders. Only one of you tumbled to the fact that it might be a trick. That boy realising, of course, that to refuse outright would be dangerous very cunningly gave the man an empty box labelled "Maps" then, just in case the message was a genuine one, brought the maps round to me at Headquarters." William gasped. The maps must have fallen out of his pocket when he tumbled over the packing-case in the old barn. "I"m afraid I was rather abrupt on that occasion, as I did not realise the object of the boy"s visit, but I congratulate you on your intelligence, William Brown, and have much pleasure in presenting you with the prize."
"AND WHAT ABOUT YOU, WILLIAM BROWN?" ASKED THE GENERAL.
Dazedly William rose to his feet. Dazedly he murmured thanks. Dazedly he took the precious case under his arm . . .
Violet Elizabeth accompanied him homeward, smiling radiantly.
"I helped you win it, didn"t I, William?" she said. "It wath me that won it really, wathn"t it, by helping you overpower that dithagreeable man that didn"t give me any chocolate."
And he was too dazed even to contradict her.
CHAPTER 9.
WILLIAM AND THE TEA-CAKE.
IF it hadn"t been for Mrs Mason, no one in the village would have taken any notice of Frulein Schmitt, or Miss Smith, as she preferred to be called. Miss Smith was an Austrian refugee, who had come to the Vicarage as a "help" about a year before the war small, shy, timid and quiveringly anxious to justify her position. Moreover, her admiration of everything British was so extreme as to be almost embarra.s.sing.
"Your calmness, your courage, your kindness," she would say, hands clasped, pale eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears, "they are an amazement to me. Constantly they are an amazement. Never in all my life have I been so happy as I am among you. After all my suffering it is like reaching haven after storm. My grat.i.tude overwhelms me. Never do I wish to leave this beautiful country, these kind brave people. Here is my spiritual home."
The recipients of these compliments felt vaguely flattered but were, generally speaking, too busy to do anything about it beyond greeting her kindly when they met her scurrying about the village on her patriotic activities. These consisted chiefly of knitting innumerable sea-boot stockings and helping at the local canteen that was patronised by large numbers of the airmen from Marleigh Aerodrome. Mrs Monks, her employer, gave her every afternoon "off", and Miss Smith spent them all at the canteen. It was difficult to get helpers for the afternoon shift, so Miss Smith took it on every day. She said that it was a small way of repaying all the kindness she had received in her beloved adopted country . . . She never wanted to go anywhere else or do anything else and she had no friends. She kept the Vicarage in perfect order and cooked succulent meals out of nothing at all. Mrs Monks called her a "treasure" and left it at that. It wasn"t till Mrs Mason came to the village that the limelight began to fall upon Miss Smith.
Mrs Mason"s journalistic genius had so far functioned chiefly in the atmosphere of Bloomsbury, but removal to the country seemed to have given it fresh impetus, and after a week or two, having exhausted every other topic connected with the village, she fell upon Miss Smith, the Grateful Refugee. Mrs Mason pursued her indefatigably, interviewing her on her sufferings in her native land and on those feelings of grat.i.tude to her adopted country that found such constant outlet in sea-boot stockings and the local canteen. And then when one would have thought that she had said all that could possibly be said on the subject she discovered Miss Smith"s soldier. Miss Smith"s soldier was a tall stooping military-looking man, with a white moustache and a limp, who had moved from London at the beginning of the war and lived in rooms in Hadley. He took a "const.i.tutional" into the country every afternoon, walking slowly and leaning heavily on his stick, and, pa.s.sing the canteen, would often go in for a rest before continuing his walk. And Miss Smith adopted him. He became her soldier. He was a silent reserved man, but questioning would draw from him an account of how he had been ga.s.sed and shot through the spine in the last war . . . and to Miss Smith he typified all the other soldiers who had suffered these things for her freedom. Moreover, he had been a prisoner of war in Germany and could speak a little German, which he practised with shy pride upon Miss Smith. Miss Smith discovered that he had been born in Yorkshire and that one of his happiest memories was the Yorkshire tea-cakes that his mother used to make . . . He had never tasted anything to compare with them, he said, since he came South . . . So, in order to give him a pleasant surprise, Miss Smith set to work to make a Yorkshire tea-cake. She hunted through recipe books; she experimented on the Vicarage gas cooker . . . till she had at last made a Yorkshire tea-cake that she considered fit to be offered to him. And he p.r.o.nounced it good as good, in fact, as the tea-cakes his mother used to make. Miss Smith"s gratification was unbounded, and thereafter, whenever the soldier stopped at the canteen, Miss Smith would have a tea-cake ready for him to take home with him. Mrs Mason seized on the story with zest and wrote an article Frulein Schmitt, the Soldier and the Tea-cakes which appeared in one of the monthly reviews. After that, having exhausted every other subject, she took refuge in those happy hunting grounds of the journalist War-time Cookery and The Mistakes Our Generals Have Made in Every Theatre of the War and Miss Smith relapsed into oblivion.
Not entirely into oblivion, however, for the story of the tea-cake had somehow struck the popular imagination. Even Mrs Brown, hara.s.sed as she was by points and coupons, by the curious appearance of war-time sausages and the still more curious disappearance of war-time eggs, found time to turn up an old cookery book and make a Yorkshire tea-cake.
"I think it"s quite a success," she said modestly. "Anyway, will you take it down to the canteen for me, William. It"s the day her soldier generally calls, I believe. I don"t suppose it"s as good as Miss Smith"s, but tell Miss Smith that I"d like him to have it as well as hers, just to see if it"s all right. If it is, I could make one or two occasionally to save her the trouble."
William had arranged to play in the woods with Ginger that afternoon, but, like everyone else in the village, he felt a proprietary pride in Miss Smith and her soldier, so he took the paper bag his mother gave him and set off for the Church Room, where the canteen was held. He found Miss Smith arranging cakes and teacups on long trestle tables.
"Mother sent you this for your soldier," said William, taking the tea-cake out of the bag and putting it on the table.
Miss Smith clasped her hands in ecstasy.
"But you are so kind," she said. "You are all so kind. I am so grateful, and my soldier, he will be so grateful, too. I will put it here, next to the one I have made myself, and he shall have them both. I am so glad to be here to give your kind mother"s tea-cake to my friend. We have been doing what you call the spring cleaning at the Vicarage, and I had almost decided not to come this afternoon, as we had reached the stairs, which, as you doubtless know, is in spring cleaning a most difficult point, but dear Mrs Monks insisted that I should have my usual time off this afternoon. "Send for me," I said, "should any crisis occur and I will close the canteen and come." She said she could manage perfectly, so I came."
William was on the point of taking his departure, when the small boy who represented the outdoor staff of the Vicarage appeared in the doorway.
"Please, Miss Smith, Mrs Monks says she"s very sorry to trouble you, after all, but could you come just a minute to give her a hand with the stair carpet? She"s puttin" of it back an" got to the bend an" she says it"s a bit tricky an" she says I"m not big enough to help an" she says could you close the canteen or get someone to leave in charge just for a few minutes an" she"s very sorry to trouble you."
The small boy paused for breath.
"Oh dear!" said Miss Smith, looking more put out than this simple message warranted. "Of course I will come at once. I do not like to close the canteen. It is true that few people come to the canteen at this so early hour, but I do not like that those who do should find a closed door." Her eye fell speculatively upon William. "I wonder . . . I will not be away long, dear boy, and few will come. Perhaps you would be kind to what you say hold the fort? No one will want more than a cup of tea and a cake. You can pour out a cup of tea from the teapot which I have freshly made, and the cakes are all on the plates set out. The cups of tea are a penny and the cakes are twopence . . . And, of course, should my soldier come, this is the cake I have made for him." She took a paper bag from the shelf above the sink, opened it and showed a round tea-cake, floury and nicely browned. "You will give it to him, will you not, my dear boy? Of course I may be back before he comes . . . I thank you, my dear boy, so kind and good and helpful, like all the boys of your beloved country."
"WILL YOU HOLD THE FORT, DEAR BOY?" ASKED MISS SMITH.
With that she scurried away, leaving William to "hold the fort" . . .
For a few minutes, William sat behind the teapot waiting for customers. None came. He began to grow bored. He began to grow hungry. To sit like this, surrounded by plates of buns and cakes jam rolls, doughnuts, treacle tart, chocolate cake was, he thought pathetically, an ordeal such as few are called upon to undergo in their country"s service. It was an ordeal, however, that he realised he must undergo without flinching. The cakes belonged to the Forces, and to rob the Forces of food was a crime from which his soul shrank in horror. Like one of the saints of old, he sat with his eyes resolutely turned away from temptation especially from the treacle tart, which was his greatest weakness. But, as his hunger grew, his thoughts began to turn to the tea-cake that his mother had made. No question of patriotism was involved in that. That question lay, not between William and his country, but between William and his mother. Miss Smith"s soldier had, of course, fought in the last war, but that was ancient history now, and he had a shrewd idea that Miss Smith"s soldier did very well out of Miss Smith. In any case, he would have Miss Smith"s tea-cake, which was all he was expecting. He took his mother"s tea-cake out of its bag and Miss Smith"s tea-cake out of its bag and laid them side by side on the shelf. They looked very much alike. Perhaps one was a little bigger than the other. If he were driven by the pangs of hunger to eat one, he would eat the smaller one, of course . . .
The door opened, and he turned expectantly. A customer or the old soldier? But it was neither. It was Mrs Mason. She entered, smiling coyly and carrying a paper bag in her hand. The smile faded from her face when she saw William.
"I thought Miss Smith would be here," she said.
"She"s had to go to the Vicarage," explained William, ""cause of the stair carpet bendin", but she won"t be long."
"Has her soldier been yet?" said Mrs Mason.
"No, not yet," said William.
Mrs Mason opened the paper bag and drew out a tea-cake.
"I"ve made a tea-cake for him," she said proudly. "I"m doing a column of war-time tea-cakes and I"ve tried them all, and I think this is the best. I"m so sorry Miss Smith isn"t here. I"d stay and give it to him myself, but I"m going to Upper Marleigh to interview someone who has a new idea for Post-War Reconstruction something to do with the Pyramids, I believe. It may, or may not, prove worth writing up. Anyway, here"s the tea-cake. Tell him it"s from the lady who wrote the article about him and give him my best wishes. And now I must fly. I hope that Miss Smith will be back soon, because I really really don"t think that you are a suitable person to be left in charge of" she waved her hand around her "all this. However . . ."
With that she vanished abruptly.
William took her tea-cake out of its bag and placed it with the others on the shelf. They were all so much alike that he could hardly tell which was which.
The door opened again. This time it was a customer a despatch rider in crash helmet and leather jerkin who curtly demanded a cup of tea and piece of swiss roll. His heart swelling with pride, William poured out a cup of tea, put a piece of swiss roll on a plate, took the three pennies and dropped them into the till. The despatch rider was a man of few words. Displaying no surprise at seeing a small boy in charge of the canteen, he drank down his cup of tea in three gulps, ate the swiss roll in two mouthfuls, said "Cheerio" and vanished. The sight of the despatch rider"s meal had increased William"s hunger. Its pangs had by now become almost unbearable. He turned his eyes away from the treacle tart and fixed them on the three tea-cakes. By this time he hadn"t any idea which was which . . . but they looked jolly good . . . After all, one had been made by his mother, and he was certain that, if she knew how hungry he was, she would want him to have it. She could easily make another for Miss Smith"s soldier. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was his duty to eat it, if only to save himself from the crime of eating the Forces" food. He didn"t know, of course, which of the three tea-cakes was his mother"s, and he didn"t see that it mattered. They were all tea-cakes and surely one was enough for Miss Smith"s soldier . . .
He took up the nearest and bit into it. Yes, it was jolly good. He was munching away happily, when suddenly his teeth struck something hard . . . It was a jolly big currant, or could it be a piece of candied peel? He took it out of his mouth. Gosh! It was an India rubber one of those long ones. Gosh! His mother or whoever had made it must have dropped it into the cake by mistake when she was making it. Well, an India rubber was a jolly useful thing to have, and he didn"t suppose she"d want it now. He"d take it home and wash it. He slipped it into his pocket and finished the tea-cake . . . Yes, it was jolly good! Fortified by it, he could even look at the treacle tart without weakening. He put one of the remaining tea-cakes back into its bag and was just going to put away the other when the door opened again, and an old tramp sidled into the room. He was a picturesque tramp, with a tattered frock coat and a pair of trousers that still showed between rents and patches the remains of a black and white check and might even in days gone by have graced a Victorian wedding. In place of a collar he wore a dingy cotton handkerchief that might once have been red and his boots (he wore no socks) were tied together by string. What could be seen of his face through a covering of grime and several days" growth of beard wore a cheerful good-humoured expression.
""Ullo," he greeted William. "Anythin" to eat?"
"It"s only for soldiers," explained William.
"That"s orl right," said the tramp easily, coming into the room and slinging a sort of bundle, tied up in old sacking, from his shoulder. "I fought in the Boer war an" the las" one, so if I"m not a soldier I don"t know "oo is." His eyes roved round the heaped plates. "Now wot"ve you got?"
"You"ve gotter pay for "em," said William.
He tried to speak firmly but sounded weakly apologetic. He knew that tramps were considered undesirable characters and his own experience of them had not been encouraging, but they possessed an irresistible fascination for him. They represented that life of outlawry that had always appealed to him a life of glorious freedom, unshackled by the trammels of respectability and civilisation. He would have liked to give this satisfying representative of the species the whole roomful of cakes, but he had to account for them to higher powers . . .
"They"re not mine," he added. "If they were mine I"d give them you, but they"re for the Forces."