do credit to a uniform. Cecilia paused to
watch them.

"Thank goodness, the children can come and drill in the park again!" she
said. "I hated to come here before the armistice--soldiers, soldiers,
drilling everywhere, and guns and searchlight fixings. Whenever I saw a
squad drilling it made me think of you, and of course I felt sure you'd
be killed!"

"I do like people who look on the bright side of life!" said Bob
laughing. "And whenever you saw an aeroplane I suppose you made sure I
was crashing somewhere?"

"Certainly I did," said his sister with dignity.

"Women are queer things," Bob remarked. "If you had these unpleasant
beliefs, how did you manage to write as cheerfully as you did? Your
letters were a scream--I used to read bits of 'em out to the fellows."

"You had no business to do any such thing," said Cecilia, blushing.

"Well, I did, anyhow. They used to make 'em yell. How did you manage
them?"

"Well, it was no good assuring you you'd be killed," said Cecilia
practically. "I thought it was more sensible to try to make you laugh."

"You certainly did that," said Bob. "I fancied from your letters that
life with the she-dragon was one huge joke, and that Papa was nice and
companionable, and the kids, sweet little darlings who ate from your
hand. And all the time you were just the poor old toad under the
harrow!"

"I'm not a toad!" rejoined his sister indignantly. "Don't you think you
could find pleasanter things to compare me to?"

"Toads aren't bad," said Bob, laughing. "Ever seen the nice old fellow
in the Zoo who shoots out a tongue a yard long and picks up a grub every
time? He's quite interesting."

"I certainly never had any inclination to do any such thing," Cecilia
laughed.

They had turned into Piccadilly and were walking down, watching the
crowded motor traffic racing north and south. Suddenly Bob straightened
up and saluted smartly, as a tall staff officer, wearing a general's
badges, ran down the steps of a big club, and nearly cannoned into
Cecilia.

"I beg your pardon!" he said--and then, noticing Bob--"How are you,
Rainham?" He dived into a waiting taxi, and was whisked away.

"Did he bump you?" inquired Bob.

"No--though it would be almost a privilege to be bumped by anyone as
splendid as that!" Cecilia answered. "He knows you, too!--who is he,
Bobby?"

"That's General Harran, the Australian," said Bob proudly. "He's a great
man. I've run into him occasionally since I've