loftily. "Small childrens don't
come in to tea, at least not when there's parties. I came, 'cause
Mother says I'm getting 'normous."

"So you are. Are the others quite well?"

"Oh yes," Geoffrey answered, clearly regarding the question as
foolish. "They're all right. Alison's got a puppy, and Michael's
been eating plate-powder. His mouf was all pink."

"What's that about my Michael," demanded Mrs. Hunt. "Oh yes--we found
him making a hearty meal of plate-powder this morning. Douglas says
it should make him very bright. I'm thankful to say it doesn't seem
to be going to kill him."

"Michael never will realize that there is a war on," said Major Hunt,
aggrieved. "I found him gnawing the strap of one of my gaiters the
other day."

"You shouldn't underfeed the poor kid," said Wally. "It's clear that
he's finding his nourishment when and how he can. Isn't there a
Society for dealing with people like you?"

"There is," said Jim solemnly. "It's called the Police Force."

"You're two horrible boys!" said their hostess, laughing. "And my
lovely fat Michael!--he's getting so corpulent he can hardly waddle.
He and the puppy are really very like each other; both of them find it
easier to roll than to run." She cast an inquiring eye round the
room: "Some more tea, Norah?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hunt." Norah's voice sounded strange in her own
ears. She wanted to get away from the room, and the light-hearted
chatter . . . to make sure, though she was sure already. The guns of
France seemed to sound very near her.

The party broke up after a while. Jim and Wally lingered behind the
others.

"Will you and the Major come over this evening, Mrs. Hunt? We're off
to-morrow."

"Oh--I'm sorry." Mrs. Hunt's face fell. "Poor Norah!"

"Norah will keep smiling," said Jim. "But I'm jolly glad you're so
near her, Mrs. Hunt. You'll keep an eye on them, won't you? I'd be
awfully obliged if you would."

"You may be very sure I will," she said. "And there will be a
tremendous welcome whenever you get leave."

"We won't lose any time in coming for it," Jim said. "Blighty means
more than ever it did, now that we've got a real home. Then you'll
come to-night?"

"Of course we will." She watched them stride off into the shrubbery,
and choked back a sigh.

Norah came back to them through the trees.

"It's marching orders, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's marching orders, old kiddie," Jim answered. They looked at