Part 41 (1/2)
”'Tis a young lady, and she volunteering to see to bedding for the pigs!” Desmond answered.
The ladder creaked, and, peering out, they saw a shock yellow head rise into the trap-door. The girl who came up was about twenty--stoutly built, with a broad, good-humoured face. She wore rough clothes, and but for her two thick plaits of yellow hair, might easily have pa.s.sed for a man.
The heavy steps came slowly across the floor, while the men lay trying to breath so softly that no unusual movement should stir the loose pea-straw. Then, to their amazement, she spoke.
”Where are you?” she said in English.
Astonishment as well as fear held them silent. She waited a moment, and spoke again.
”I saw you come in. You need not be afraid.”
Still they made no sign. She gave a short laugh.
”Well, if you will not answer, I must at least get my straw for my pigs.”
She stooped, and her great arms sent the loose stalks flying in every direction. Desmond and Jim sat up and looked at her in silence.
”You don't seem to want to be killed,” Desmond said. ”But a.s.suredly you will be, if you raise an alarm.”
The girl laughed.
”I could have done that all day, if I had wished,” she said. ”Ever since I saw you run in when I put up my window this morning.”
”Well--what do you want? Money?”
”No.” She shook her head. ”I do not want anything. I was brought up in England, and I think this is a silly war. There is a bucket of milk for you downstairs; it will come up if one of you will pull the string you will find tied to the top of the ladder.” She laughed.
”If I go to get it you will think I am going to call for help.”
Jim was beyond prudence at the moment. He took three strides to the ladder, found the cord, and pulled up a small bucket, three parts full of new milk. The girl sat down on an empty oil-drum and watched them drink.
”So! You are thirsty, indeed,” she said. ”Now I have food.”
She unearthed from a huge pocket a package of bread and sausage.
”Now you can eat. It is quite safe, and you could not leave yet; my uncle is still wandering about. He is like most men; they wander about and are very busy, but they never do any work. I run the farm, and get no wages, either. But in England I got wages. In Clapham.
That is the place of all others which I prefer.”
”Do you, indeed?” Desmond said, staring at this amazing female. ”But why did you leave Clapham?”
”My father came back to fight. He knew all about the war; he left England two months before it began. I did not wish to leave. I desired to remain, earning good wages. But my father would not permit me.”
”And where is he now?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
”I do not know. Fighting: killed, perhaps. But my uncle graciously offered me a home, and here am I. I do the work of three men, and I am--how did we say it in Clapham?--bored stiff for England. I wish this silly old war would end, so that I could return.”
”We're trying to return without waiting for it to end,” said Jim solemnly. ”Only I'd like to know how you knew what we were.”
”But what else could you be? It is so funny how you put on these clothes, like the ostrich, and think no one will guess who you are.