Jim."

Hardress made a curious little gesture of protest.

"And I'm left--half of me!"

"You have got to help us, Phil," Norah said. "We need you badly."

"I can't do much," he said. "But as long as you want me, I'm here.
Then I'm to tell the others, sir----"

"Tell them we hope they will help us to carry on as usual," said David
Linton. "I'll come across with you presently, Phil, to look at the
new cultivator: I hear it arrived last night."

He looked at Norah as the door closed.

"You're sure it isn't too much for you, my girl? I will send them
away if you would rather we were by ourselves for a while."

"I promised Jim that whatever happened we'd keep smiling," Norah said.
"He wouldn't want us to make a fuss. Jim always did so hate fusses,
didn't he, Dad?"

She was quite calm. Even when Mrs. Hunt came hurrying over, and put
her kind arms about her, Norah had no tears.

"I suppose we haven't realized it," she said. "Perhaps we're trying
not to. I don't want to think of Jim as dead--he was so splendidly
alive, ever since he was a tiny chap."

"Try to think of him as near you," Mrs. Hunt whispered.

"Oh, he is. I know Jim never would go far from us, if he could help
it. I know he's watching, somewhere, and he will be glad if we keep
our heads up and go straight on. He would trust us to do that." Her
face changed. "Oh, Mrs. Hunt,--but it's hard on Dad!"

"He has you still."

"I'm only a girl," said Norah. "No girl could make up for a son: and
such a son as Jim. But I'll try."

There came racing little feet in the hall, and Geoffrey burst in.

"It isn't true!" he shouted. "Say it isn't true, Norah! Allenby says
the Germans have killed Jim--I know they couldn't." He tugged at her
woollen coat. "Say it's a lie, Norah--Jim couldn't be dead!"

"Geoff--Geoff, dear!" Mrs. Hunt tried to draw him away.

"Don't!" Norah said. She put her arms round the little boy--and
suddenly her head went down on his shoulder. The tears came at last.
Mrs. Hunt went softly from the room.

There were plenty of tears in the household: The servants had all
loved the big cheery lad, with the pleasant word for each one. They
went about their work red-eyed, and Allenby chafed openly at the age
that kept him at home, doing a woman's work, while boys went out to
give their lives, laughing, for Empire.

"It ain't fair," he said to Miss de Lisle, who sobbed into the muffler
she was knitting. "It ain't fair. K