in these days to put up with unexpected
people coming at all sorts of hours?

"But," said Norah, "that's what the house is _for_. My father and I
would not want a houseful of servants if we didn't mean to have a
houseful of people. What would we do with you all?" At which Mrs.
Atkins sniffed, and replied haughtily that she had been in a place
where there was only one lady, and _she_ kept eleven servants.

"More shame for her," said Norah. "Anyhow, we explained it all to you
when we engaged you, Mrs. Atkins. If we weren't going to have people
here we should still be living in London, in a flat. And if the
servants won't do their work, we shall just have to get others who
will." Which was a terrible effort of firmness for poor Norah, who
inwardly hoped that Mrs. Atkins did not realize that she was shaking
in her shoes!

"Easier said than done, in war-time," said the housekeeper morosely.
"Servants don't grow on gooseberry-bushes now, and what they don't
expect----! Well, _I_ don't know what the world's coming to." But
Norah, feeling unequal to more, fled, and, being discovered by Wally
and Jim with her head in her hands over an account-book, was promptly
taken out on Killaloe--the boys riding the cobs, which they
untruthfully persisted that they preferred.

Then came Tuesday morning: with early breakfast, and the boys once
more in khaki, and Jones, in the carriage, keeping the browns moving
in the chill air. Not such a hard parting as others they had known
since for the present there was no anxiety: but from the days when Jim
used to leave Billabong for his Melbourne boarding-school, good-bye
morning had been a difficult one for the Lintons. They joked through
it in their usual way: it was part of the family creed to keep the
flag flying.

"Well, you may have us back at any time as your first Tired People,"
said Wally, his keen face looking as though it never could grow weary.
"Machine-gun courses must be very fatiguing, don't you think, Jim?"

"Poor dears!" said Norah feelingly. "We'll have a special beef-tea
diet for you, and bath-chairs. Will they send you in an ambulance?"

"Very likely, and then you'll be sorry you were so disrespectful,
won't she, Mr. Linton?"

"I'm afraid you can't count on it," said that gentleman, laughing.
"Norah's bump of respect isn't highly developed, even for me. You'll
write soon, Jim, and tell us how you get on--and what your next
movements are."

"Rather," answe