Part 31 (1/2)

No one, of course, stayed very long at Homewood, unless he were hopelessly unfit. From ten days to three weeks was the average stay: then, like s.h.i.+ps that pa.s.s in the night, the ”Once-Tireds,” drifted away. But very few forgot them. Little notes came from the Fronts, in green Active Service envelopes: postcards from Mediterranean ports; letters from East and West Africa; grateful letters from wives in garrison stations and training camps throughout the British Isles.

They acc.u.mulated an extraordinary collection of photographs in uniform; and Norah had an autograph book with scrawled signatures, peculiar drawings and an occasional sc.r.a.p of very bad verse.

Major Hunt, his hand fully recovered, returned to the Front in February, and his wife prepared to seek another home. But the Lintons flatly refused to let her go.

”We couldn't do it,” said David Linton. ”Doesn't the place agree with the babies?”

”Oh, you know it does,” said Mrs. Hunt. ”But we have already kept the cottage far too long--there are other people.”

”Not for that cottage,” Norah said.

”It really isn't fair,” protested their guest. ”Douglas never dreamed of our staying: if he had not been sent out in such a hurry at the last he would have moved us himself.”

David Linton looked at her for a moment.

”Go and play with the babies, Norah,” he said. ”I want to talk to this obstinate person.”

”Now look, Mrs. Hunt,” he said, as Norah went off, rather relieved--Norah hated arguments. ”You know we run this place for an ideal--a dead man's ideal. _He_ wanted more than anything in the world to help the war; we're merely carrying on for him. We can only do it by helping individuals.”

”But you have done that for us. Look at Douglas--strong and fit, with one hand as good as the other. Think of what he was when he came here!”

”He may not always be fit. And if you stay here you ease his worries by benefiting his children--and saving for their future. Then, if he has the bad luck to be wounded again, his house is all ready for him.”

”I know,” she said. ”And I would stay, but that there are others who need it more.”

”Well, we haven't heard of them. Look at it another way. I am getting an old man; it worries me a good deal to think that Norah has no woman to mother her. I used to think,” he said with a sigh, ”that it was worse for them to lose their own mother when they were wee things; now, I am not sure that Norah's loss is not just beginning.

It's no small thing for her to have an influence like yours; and Norah loves you.”

Mrs. Hunt flushed.

”Indeed, I love her,” she said.

”Then stay and mother her. There are ever so many things you can teach her that I can't: that Miss de Lisle can't, good soul as she is.

They're not things I can put into words--but you'll understand. I know she's clean and wholesome right through, but you can help to mould her for womanhood. Of course, she left school far too early, but there seemed no help for it. And if--if bad news comes to us from the Front--for any of us--we can all help each other.”

Mrs. Hunt thought deeply.

”If you really think I can be of use I will stay,” she said. ”I'm not going to speak of grat.i.tude--I tried to say all that long ago. But indeed I will do what I can.”

”That's all right: I'm very glad,” said David Linton.

”And if you really want her taught more,” Mrs. Hunt said--”well, I was a governess with fairly high certificates before I was married. She could come to me for literature and French; I was brought up in Paris.

Her music, too: she really should practise, with her talent.”

”I'd like it above all things,” exclaimed Mr. Linton. ”Norah's neglected education has been worrying me badly.”

”We'll plan it out,” Mrs. Hunt said. ”Now I feel much happier.”

Norah did not need much persuasion; after the first moment of dismay at the idea of renewed lessons she saw the advantages of the plan--helped by the fact that she was always a little afraid of failing to come up to Jim's standard. A fear which would considerably have amazed Jim, had he but guessed it! It was easy enough to fit hours of study into her day. She rose early to practise, before the Tired People were awake; and most mornings saw her reading with Mrs.

Hunt or chattering French, while Eva sang shrilly in the kitchen, and the babies slept in their white bunks; and Geoffrey followed Mr.