missing the wild merriment of the first few weeks, when
Jim and Wally dashed in and out perpetually and kept the house in a
simmer of uncertainty and laughter. That could never come again.

But beyond the immediate needs of the Tired People there was much to
plan and carry out. Conscription in England was an established fact;
already there were few fit men to be seen out of uniform. David
Linton looked forward to a time when shortage of labour, coupled with
the deadly work of the German submarines, should mean a shortage of
food; and he and Norah set themselves to provide against that time of
scarcity. Miss de Lisle and Philip Hardress entered into every plan,
lending the help of brains as well as hands. The farm was put under
intensive culture, and the first provision made for the future was
that of fertilizers, which, since most of them came from abroad, were
certain to be scarce. Mr. Linton and Hardress breathed more freely
when they had stored a two years' supply. The flock of sheep was
increased; the fowl-run doubled in size, and put in charge of a
disabled soldier, a one-armed Australian, whom Hardress found in
London, ill and miserable, and added to the list of Homewood's
patients--and cures. Young heifers were bought, and "boarded-out" at
neighbouring farms; a populous community of grunting pigs occupied a
little field. And in the house Norah and Miss de Lisle worked through
the spring and summer, until the dry and spacious cellars and
storerooms showed row upon row of shelves covered with everything that
could be preserved or salted or pickled, from eggs to runner beans.

Sometimes the Tired People lent a hand, becoming interested in their
hosts' schemes. Norah formed a fast friendship with a cheerful
subaltern in the Irish Guards, who was with them for a wet fortnight,
much of which he spent in the kitchen stoning fruit, making jam, and
acting as bottler-in-chief to the finished product. There were many
who asked nothing better than to work on the farm, digging, planting
or harvesting: indeed, in the summer, one crop would have been ruined
altogether by a fierce storm, but for the Tired People, who, from an
elderly Colonel to an Australian signaller, flung themselves upon it,
and helped to finish getting it under cover--carrying the last sheaves
home just as the rain came down in torrents, and returning to Homewood
in a soaked but triumphant procession. Indeed, nearly all the
unending stream of g