tters as David's
overgrowing his strength, because she could not feed him properly; the
completely bedridden nature of auntie; and worse than these, the
growing coldness and unkindness of her neighbours. Perhaps they did not
mean to be unkind, perhaps they did, for it was not in their nature to
withstand the pressure of mass sentiment, the continual personal
discomfort of having to stand in queues, the fear of air raids, the
cumulative indignation caused by stories of atrocities true and untrue.
In spite of her record of kindliness towards them she became tarred with
the brush at last, for her nerves had given way once or twice, and she
had said it was a shame to keep her man like that, gettin' iller and
iller, who had never done a thing. Even her reasonableness--and she was
very reasonable--succumbed to the strain of that weekly sight of him,
till she could no longer allow for the difficulties which Mrs. Clirehugh
assured her the Government had to deal with. Then one day she used the
words "fair play," and at once it became current that she had "German
sympathies." From that time on she was somewhat doomed. Those who had
received kindnesses from her were foremost in showing her coldness,
being wounded in their self-esteem. To have received little benefits,
such as being nursed when they were sick, from one who had "German
sympathies" was too much for the pride which is in every human being,
however humble an inhabitant of Putney. Mrs. Gerhardt's Cockney spirit
could support this for herself, but she could not bear it for her
children. David came home with a black eye, and would not say why he had
got it. Minnie missed her prize at school, though she had clearly won
it. That was just after the last German offensive began; but Mrs.
Gerhardt refused to see that this was any reason. Little Violet twice
put the heart-rending question to her: "Aren't I English, Mummy?"

She was answered: "Yes, my dear, of course."

But the child obviously remained unconvinced in her troubled mind.

And then they took David for the British army. It was that which so
upset the applecart in Mrs. Gerhardt that she broke out to her last
friend, Mrs. Clirehugh:

"I do think it's hard, Eliza. They take his father and keep him there
for a dangerous Hun year after year like that; and then they take his
boy for the army to fight against him. And how I'm to get on without him
I don't know."

Little Mrs. Clirehugh, who was Scotch, with a Gloucester