Chapter 22

SQUARING ACCOUNTS

Almost simultaneously Mr. Wibberley-Stimpson and his son and daughters opened their eyes, then rubbed them, and sat up and looked about them with a bewilderment that gradually gave way to intense relief. For, although the light had faded, their surroundings were reassuringly familiar. They were in their own drawing-room at "Inglegarth." It occurred at once to most of them that they had never actually left it--an impression that was pleasantly confirmed by Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson's first remark as she awoke later.

"Why, hasn't the dinner-gong gone yet?" she inquired crossly. "Cook gets more and more unpunctual!"

"I don't think it can be eight o'clock yet, my dear," said her husband, "it's quite light still."

"Nonsense, Sidney, it must be long past dinner-time! I've been so lost in my own thoughts that somehow I----"

"Now, Mother, you know you've been asleep and only just woke up!" said Edna, from one of the chintz couches.

"Have I? Perhaps I _did_ drop off just for a few seconds. In fact I must have done--for I begin to recollect having quite a curious dream. I dreamed that you and I, Sidney, were King and Queen of some absurd fairy Kingdom or other, and that--well, it was not at _all_ a pleasant dream."

"It's a most singular coincidence, Selina," he said, "but I've been dreaming much the same sort of thing myself!"

The others looked at one another, but none of them ventured to express just yet what was in all their minds.

"Have you?" said his wife languidly. "I suppose it was telepathy or something of that kind. Ring for Mitchell, Clarence--I hope dinner has not been allowed to get cold. And--and Miss Heritage seems to have left the drawing-room. Run up, Ruby, and tell her to come down."

"I don't believe she's upstairs at all, mummy," said Ruby. "No, of course she _can't_ be. We left her in the Palace--don't you remember? _She's_ Queen now, you know?"

"Queen! Miss Heritage! Why, you don't mean to tell me you've been dreaming that too?"

"So have I, as far as that goes, mater," said Clarence. "If it _was_ a dream, and not--not----"

"How could it be anything else? Besides, here we all _are_, exactly as we were!"

"We've got our cloaks and things on, though," said Ruby. "_I_ know how it was! We've been brought here in the stork-car while we were fast asleep. We sat up ever so long waiting for it."

"It can't be! I won't believe anything so absurd. Draw the curtains, somebody, and pull up the blinds.... It's odd, but it certainly looks more like early morning than any other time. Clarence, go out and strike the gong. Perhaps the maids haven't finished dressing yet."

Clarence went out accordingly. The gong bellowed and boomed from the hall, but there was no sound of stirring above. "I say," he reported, "I've just looked into the dining-room, and all the chairs are upside down on the table. That looks rather as if we'd been away for a bit--what?"

"Clarence! You're not beginning to think that--that all that about our having been a Royal Family may be _true_?"

"Well, Mater," he said, "if we haven't been in Maerchenland, where _have_ we been? Oh yes, we've been Royalties right enough--and a pretty rotten job we made of it!"

At this time there was a deprecatory knock at the drawing-room door. "Mitchell!" cried her mistress, "don't you know better than to--?" However, it was not Mitchell that entered--but a person unknown--a respectable-looking elderly female, who seemed to have made a hasty toilette.

"Askin' your pardons," she said, "but if you were wishing to see the family, they're away just now."

"We _are_ the family," replied Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson. "We have been--er--abroad, but have returned. And we should be glad of breakfast at once."

"I can git you a cup of tea as soon as the kittle's on the boil," she said, "but I'm only put in as caretaker like, and I've nothink in the 'ouse except bread and butter. The shops'll be opening now, so if you don't object to waiting a little, I could go out and get you a naddick and eggs and such like."

"Yes, buck up, old lady!" said Clarence, "and I say, see if you can get a _Daily Mail_ or a paper of some sort."

"What are you so anxious to see the paper for?" inquired Edna after the caretaker had departed.

"Only wanted to know what month we're in," he said. "It would have looked so silly to ask her what day it is. We must have been--over there--a good long time."

"At least a year!" said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, no longer able to sustain the dream theory. "More. When we left it was quite early Spring--and now all the trees are out! Sidney, what _will_ your firm say to your having been away so long without letting them know where you were?"

"I can't say, my love. I'm afraid they might make it a ground for a dissolution of partnership--unless I can give them a satisfactory explanation of my absence."

"The difficulty will be to find one!" said his wife. "As for you, Clarence, they will be too glad to see you back again at the Insurance Office to ask any questions."

"I dare say they would, Mater, only--it didn't seem worth mentioning before--but, as a matter of fact, I--er--resigned the day we left."

"Then it seems," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson bitterly, "we have been sent back here to find ourselves in comparative poverty! I hope and trust"--she felt furtively in her bead handbag before continuing more cheerfully--"that we shall be able to struggle through somehow."

She knew now that they would not be without resources. She could feel them through the handkerchief in which they had been wrapped--two pieces which she had had the presence of mind to pick up from the Halma board as she passed through Edna's and Ruby's chamber the evening before. One was carved from a ruby, the other from a diamond, and each of them was worth a small fortune. Her one regret now was that she had not pocketed several more while she was about it. But, although she would have been perfectly within her rights in doing so--for were they not her own property?--she had thought at the time that it would be risky to take any number that could be noticed. There was always the chance that Miss Heritage might count them!

However, she said nothing about this to her family just then; it would be a pleasant surprise for them later on.

"But," she continued, "I _do_ think it might have occurred to Miss Heritage--I can't and won't call her by any other name--that, as she was known to be in my employment when we left 'Inglegarth,' our returning without her may expose us to very unpleasant remarks. People may think I've discharged her--left her stranded in foreign parts--or I don't know what!"

"That is what she _calculated_ on, no doubt!" said Edna.

"Oh, stop it, Edna!" said her brother, "you ought to know her better than that!"

"Oh, of course she's an angel--in _your_ estimation! But she could have saved mother from being misunderstood if she'd wanted to--and since she hasn't--well, I'll leave you to draw the obvious inference!"

Ruby, who had been roving about the room during this conversation, now broke in:

"Mummy," she cried, "there's a letter here for you, and it looks like darling Queen Daphne's writing!" And she brought it to her mother. It was enclosed in a folded square of parchment--envelopes, like other modern conveniences, being unknown in Maerchenland--and fastened with the royal signet, which Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson broke with a melancholy reminiscence of the satisfaction it had given her to use the seal herself.

"_Dear Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson_," she read aloud--"_As I am about to be married here very shortly, my return with you to England will naturally be impossible. It is a great grief to me to have to part from my dear little pupil Ruby, to whom I have become so deeply and sincerely attached. Will you please tell her from me that I shall never forget her, and miss her very much indeed.--Believe me, very truly yours,_

DAPHNE HERITAGE."

"Well," commented Mrs. Stimpson, while poor Ruby's tears began to flow afresh, "that is certainly a letter which I could show to _anybody_. Though I notice she doesn't say anything about being grieved to part with anyone but Ruby. A deliberate slight to the rest of us! And then the meanness of turning us out without the slightest return for all we've done for her! It _does_ show such petty ingratitude!"

"Easy on, Mater!" said Clarence. "She don't seem to have let us go away quite empty-handed after all. I mean to say there's a box or something over there that I fancy I've seen before in the Palace."

He went up to examine it as he spoke. It was an oblong case, rather deeper and squarer than a backgammon box, covered with faded orange velvet and fitted with clasps and corners of finely wrought silver set with precious stones.

Inside were the emerald and opal "halma" board and ruby and diamond pieces, and with them a slip of parchment with Daphne's handwriting. "_I thought perhaps_," she had written, "_you might care to have this. Princess Rapunzelhauser tells me she is afraid two of the men are missing, but I hope she is mistaken and they are really all there.--D._"

"_I_ shall never play with them!" declared Ruby breaking down once more. "I--I couldn't bear to, without Her!"

"Of _course_ you will never play with them, my dear," said her mother, "they are far too valuable for that."

A very inadequate impression of Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson's strength of character must have been given if anyone expects that this gift would cause her the slightest degree of shame or contrition; on the contrary, it only served to justify her in her own eyes--not that she needed any justification--for having appropriated those two pieces. She had merely anticipated--and nothing would be easier than to put them back in the box without being observed.

"A magnificent present!" pronounced Mr. Stimpson. "Really what I should call very handsome indeed of her. If we ever had to sell this set they'd fetch a colossal sum--_here_--simply colossal!"

"And a minute ago, Mater," said Clarence, "you accused her of being mean!"

"Well," she replied, "and what are these things, when all is said, to the riches we've surrendered to her? A mere trifle--which she'll never even miss!"

"You're forgetting they were hers--not ours--all the time. And we've left her precious little gold to go on with. It makes me sick to hear you running her down, when, when ... well, anyhow, Mater, I'll be glad if you won't--in _my_ hearing!"

"There's no occasion to use that tone to _me_, Clarence. I have my own opinion of Miss Heritage, and I am not likely to alter it now. But if you choose to keep your illusions about her, _I_ shall say nothing to disturb them."

"You may be very clever, Clarence," said Edna, "I know you _think_ you are, but there's _one_ subject at all events you're hopelessly ignorant about--and that's _Women_!"

"I don't mind owning it," he retorted. "I'd have taken my oath once that a highly superior cultivated English girl like you could never have cottoned to any Johnny in the Ogre line of business. But you've shown me my mistake!"

Edna, who was scarlet with wrath, would no doubt have made an obvious rejoinder had not a diversion been caused by the caretaker, who appeared with that morning's _Daily Mail_.

"Ah, so you managed to get a paper?" cried Clarence. "Good!" and he took it from her hands and opened it. "I say," he announced as soon as they were alone, "we haven't been away so long as we thought. We're still in 1914. Saturday, twenty-fifth of July."

"Is that all?" said his mother. "But I remember now that tiresome old Court Godmother saying that Time went quicker in Maerchenland than it does here. I don't understand how--but there's evidently _some_ difference. The twenty-fifth of July? Dear me, the Pageant must be over and done with long ago! Not of course that I should have cared to take part in it _now_!"

"Well, my boy," said Mr. Stimpson as Clarence ran through the columns of the paper, "and what's the latest news?"

"First defeat of Middlesex," replied Clarence; "Surrey's at the head of the table now for the Championship! Fine batting by Gloucester at Nottingham yesterday--319 to Notts 299 first innings, and 75 for three wickets!"

"Capital!" said his father without enthusiasm, "and what about Politics? Got Home Rule yet?"

"I'll tell you in a minute.... Looks as if they hadn't. Breakdown of Home Rule Conference at Buckingham Palace. Wonder what the Government will do _now_."

"They've only to be firm," said Mr. Stimpson, in his character as ex-autocrat. "If Ulster chooses to resent the will of the People as expressed in the last General Election, well, she must be put down, or what's our Army _for_, I should like to know. Any other news?"

"Nothing much, except that Austria's just sent an ultimatum to Servia. Seems the Austrian Grand Duke's been assassinated, and Austria believes the Servians were in it. Anyhow, they've got to knuckle down by six o'clock to-night or they'll be jolly well walloped. But of course they'll give in when they're up against Austria.... I see these writing chaps are doing their best to work up a scare, though. Here's one of 'em actually saying it may 'plunge all Europe into War.' Good old Armageddon coming off at last, I suppose. How they can write such tommy-rot!"

"It's only to send up their circulation," said Mr. Wibberley-Stimpson. "Depend upon it, there'll be no War. None of the Powers want it--too expensive in these days. They'll see that it's settled without fighting. And even if they can't, _we_ shan't be dragged in--we shall just let 'em fight it out among themselves, and when it's over we shall come in for a share of the pickings!"

"Well," said Clarence, as he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it away, "we needn't worry ourselves about Armageddon--got something more serious to think about."

"What do you mean, Clarence?" inquired his mother uneasily.

"Why," he said, "it seems we've been away about four months. We can explain now why Miss Heritage hasn't come back with us. She's made that all right by her letter--and a trump she was to think of it! But what are we going to say when people want to know--and you can bet they _will_--where we've been all this time and what we've been doing?"

"We can simply tell them we have been temporarily occupying exalted positions in a foreign country which we are not at liberty to mention," suggested Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson hopefully.

"We _could_," he said; "and the reply we should get would probably be 'Rats.' They might put it more politely--but that's what it would amount to. Believe me, you'll never make people here swallow you and the governor as the late King and Queen of Fairyland--it's a jolly sight too thick! Besides, there's nothing particular in what we've done there to brag about--what?"

"_I_ at least have nothing to reproach myself with," said his mother virtuously. "Still I agree with you, Clarence, that perhaps it _would_ be better if we could give some account of ourselves which would sound a little less improbable."

"We shall have to invent one. And as soon as we've done breakfast I vote we put our heads together and fake something up. But, whatever it is, we must all remember to stick to it!"

And after long and strenuous cogitation, the Stimpson family managed to construct a fairly plausible story of an unexpected summons to a remote part of the world, in which they were obliged by circumstances to remain without any facilities for informing their friends of their situation.

There was one danger which Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson foresaw. At any time she might encounter the Duchess of Gleneagles or Lady Muscombe in Society. However, she decided that the risk was almost negligible. After all, their respective circles could not be said to intersect and, if she ever _should_ come across either of these distinguished ladies, it would be easy to deny all recollection of ever having met them before.

And thus reassured, she was able to support the official version of the family adventures so whole-heartedly that she ended by accepting it as the only authentic one.

Ruby, it is true, confided a widely different account in secret to one or two of her most intimate friends.

But Ruby's story met with the fate that is only too certain to befall this veracious and absolutely unexaggerated narrative--nobody was ever found to believe a single word of it!

EPILOGUE

The re-appearance of the Wibberley-Stimpsons, coupled with the circumstantial explanations they gave of their mysterious absence abroad, provided their friends and neighbours with very nearly the proverbial nine days' wonder. It might have done so even longer, but for that fateful beginning of August, when, with appalling suddenness, the blow was dealt which shattered the peace of Europe and convulsed the whole world.

Then the Fools' Paradise in which England had so long luxuriated crumbled beneath her feet, and left her face to face with stern realities. Nothing was the same, or ever would be the same, again. Issues, causes, topics, which scarcely a week before had seemed of such vital and engrossing importance, shrivelled into insignificance or extinction under the scorching blast of war.

And so it followed that Gablehurst entirely forgot its previous curiosity concerning the private affairs of the Wibberley-Stimpson family, thereby relieving them from a strain on their inventive powers which they had begun to find extremely wearing.

The crisis afforded Mr. Stimpson a long-desired occasion for taking a spirited part in politics. At the suggestion of his wife, who reasoned that in so Conservative a neighbourhood it would be popular to condemn any steps a Radical Government had taken, he summoned a public meeting to protest against the British Ultimatum to Germany, on the ground that England's safety and interests alike depended on her preserving the strictest neutrality under any circumstances whatever. As his sole supporter on the platform was a recently naturalised British subject with a pronounced German accent, the result of this patriotic endeavour was, as he admitted afterwards, "a little unfortunate." Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson herself was compelled to recognise, as she led him home with two black eyes and only one coat-tail, that she had been less correct than usual in estimating the local sentiment, though, of course, she ascribed his treatment entirely to the lack of tact and ability with which he had handled his subject. However, they have long since succeeded in living all that down. Mr. Stimpson very soon recognised that his views of the situation had been mistaken, and made haste to publish his conviction of the righteousness of our cause. No one now enlarges with more fervour on the ruin and disgrace that would have overtaken us if we had been induced to stand aside by persons he refers to as "those infernal cranks and pacifists."

Moreover, he acquired further merit by his generous contribution of two thousand pounds to the Prince of Wales' Fund--a contribution which caused a sensation among many who could give a fairly shrewd guess at the income he drew as a partner in the firm of Cramphorn, Stimpson, & Thistleton.

But then they did not know that, shortly before, he had disposed of two exquisitely carved pieces--one diamond, and the other ruby--by private contract to an American millionaire, for a sum which would have covered an even more princely donation. He has several more of these curiosities, but is reserving them for times when they are more likely to fetch their proper value.

As for his wife and elder daughter, they have already achieved the distinction of sitting on more War Committees, and talking more at every one of them, than any other ladies in Gablehurst.

It is unnecessary to say that they have also knitted a prodigious quantity of garments, or at least did until they were requested to abandon their colour-schemes for the regulation khaki wool--which perceptibly cooled their enthusiasm.

But, after all, the greatest exhibition of self-denial was given by Ruby, who parted with her latest and best-beloved acquisitions--two tree-frogs and an axolotl--and sent the proceeds of their sale to the Red Cross Society.

Clarence had made several applications for such vacant berths as he could hear of in the City which seemed to combine the advantages of light work and a heavy salary, but somehow the principals he interviewed could not be brought to share his own conviction that he was exactly the person to suit them. He had referred them to his previous employers, but even that had led to no favourable result.

The war had not gone on long, however, when it was forcibly borne in upon him that, if there was no particular demand in business circles for his services, they were needed rather urgently just then by his King and Country.

And so, one evening before dinner, he strolled casually into the drawing-room at "Inglegarth" and electrified his family by mentioning that he had offered himself that afternoon to a certain Cavalry regiment, and been pronounced physically fit after examination.

His mother was naturally the most deeply affected by the news, though, after the first shock was over, she was sustained by recollecting that she had caught herself secretly envying a neighbour, whom she had never looked upon as a social equal, but whose boy had just obtained a commission in the Territorials.

"You might have prepared us for this, Clarence!" she said, as soon as she could speak. "It's a heavy blow to me--to us all. Still, if you feel it your duty to go, I hope your Father and I are not the parents to hold you back. If I'm not on one of the same committees as Lady Harriet," she added more brightly, "I really think I must call and let her know. She would be so interested to hear that you are now a Cavalry officer."

"You might make it a Field-Marshal, Mater, while you're about it!" he returned. "But, if you want to be accurate, you'd better describe me as a bally trooper, because that's all I am, or likely to be."

"A trooper!" exclaimed his horrified mother. "Clarence, you _can't_ mean to tell us you've enlisted as an ordinary common soldier! I couldn't possibly permit you to throw yourself away like that, nor, I am sure, will your Father! Sidney, of course you will insist on Clarence's explaining at once to the Colonel, or whoever accepted him, that he finds we object so strongly to his joining that he is obliged to withdraw his offer."

"Certainly," said Mr. Stimpson. "Certainly. It's not too late yet, my boy. You've only to say that we can't allow it--you're more badly wanted at home--and they're sure to let you off."

"Can't quite see myself telling 'em that, Guv'nor. Even if I _wanted_ to be let off--which I don't."

"After the way you've been brought up and everything!" cried Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson. "To sink to _this_! Has it occurred to you that you would have to associate entirely with persons of the very lowest class?"

"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen some of the Johnnies who passed the Vet with me," he replied. "And, as to classes, all that tosh is done away with now. There's only one class a fellow can't afford to associate with--the slackers who ought to be in khaki and aren't. I couldn't have stuck being in that crowd any longer, and I'm jolly lucky to have got well out of it!"

"All the same, Clarence," lamented his Mother, "you _must_ see what a terrible come-down it is for _you_, who not so very long ago were a Crown Prince!"

"I thought we'd agreed to forget all that, Mater," he said, wincing slightly. "Anyway, if I don't turn out a better Tommy than I did a Prince, they won't have me in the regiment long. But I'm not going to get the push this time, if I can help it. Come, Mater," he concluded, "don't worry any more over what's done and can't be undone--just try and make the best of it!"

But this was beyond Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson's philosophy just then. If he had been leaving his comfortable home with a commission as sub-lieutenant, she might have been able to find some slight consolation in announcing the fact to her friends. Now she would have to make the humiliating admission that he was nothing more than a common trooper--after which she felt she would never be able to hold up her head again!

As things turned out, these apprehensions proved unfounded. For it seemed that other young Gablehurst men belonging to families in as good a position as her own had enlisted as privates, and, so far from being considered to have brought discredit on their parentage, were regarded with general approval.

And the pride with which their mothers spoke of them encouraged Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson to be even prouder of Clarence, as the only one who had joined a Cavalry regiment.

When he was undergoing the necessary training with the reserve regiment and first had to enter the Riding-School, he was prepared, remembering how suddenly and completely his control of Maerchenland horses had left him, for some highly unpleasant experiences.

Daphne's pendant had been left in safe custody at Inglegarth, and, even if he had had any idea that it had assisted his horsemanship (which he was far from suspecting), he would not have brought it with him, lest he should lose a thing which Daphne had said he would please her by keeping.

Probably, had he brought and been allowed to wear the token, it would not have made any impression whatever on the mind of a British charger--but fortunately no talisman was needed.

All the riding in Maerchenland, while his horses continued docile, had not been without some good result after all. At least he found that he had quite as good a seat as any of his fellow-recruits, and a very much better one than most of them.

And the months of training passed, not unhappily. He made friends, not all of them in his own class; he set himself to learn his job as quickly and thoroughly as he could, and his sergeant-major spoke of him, though not in his presence, as a smart young chap who showed more sense than some he had to do with.

He had not been many weeks in the regiment before he got his first stripe, and when he came home on furlough he was able to inform his family that he had just been promoted to be a full-blown Corporal. It was a farewell visit, as he was being sent out in a day or two with a draft to his regiment at the Front. He had grown broader across the chest, and looked extremely brown and fit, while his family noticed that he no longer ended his remarks with "what?" Once or twice he expressed his satisfaction at getting the chance at last of having a go at the Bosches--but he said very little about the future, and seemed more interested in hearing about Ruby's new school and Edna's ambulance class.

Then he left them, and for months after that they had to endure the long strain of constant anxiety and suspense which few British households have escaped in these dark times. Clarence had always been a poor correspondent--and his letters, though fairly regular, were short and wanting in details. But he said the regiment was doing dismounted work in the trenches; that he was acquiring the habit of sleeping quite soundly under shell-fire; that he had been much cut up by losing some of his best pals, but so far had not been hit himself, though he had had several narrow shaves; he kept pretty fit, but was a bit fed up with trench work, though he didn't see an earthly of riding in a cavalry charge at present.

The last letter was dated February. After that came a silence, which was explained by an official letter stating that he was in a field hospital, severely wounded. Inglegarth remained for days in helpless misery, dreading the worst, till they were relieved by the news that he was now in a base hospital and going on well.

But it was some weeks before he could be moved to London, and longer still before he was convalescent enough to be taken to his own home, where the joy of seeing him recover so rapidly was checked by the knowledge that he would only leave them the sooner.

He was much the same slangy and casual Clarence they had known, though rather subdued, but he had moods of sombre silence at times which none of them dared to interrupt, when his eyes seemed to be looking upon sights they had seen and would fain forget. As to his own doings he said but little, though he told them something of his experiences during his last week at the front--how the regiment had been rushed up in motor-buses from Bleu to Ypres; how they had marched to the Reformatory which they had defended for five days under heavy fire; how they had then dug caverns and occupied trenches to the south of the Menin road, and how the trenches had been mined by the enemy, and five officers killed and sixty-four casualties, of which latter he was one.

Before he was pronounced fit for active service again he heard that he had been recommended for a commission, and given one in another cavalry regiment which had very nearly the same _prestige_ and traditions as his own, though he would have been the last to admit it till then.

Thus was Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson's dearest desire at last attained; she could now inform her friends and acquaintances that her boy was actually a subaltern, while, even in conversation with strangers, it was always possible to lead up to the fact by enlarging on the heavy cost of a cavalry officer's kit.

And yet, in fairness to her, it may be said that, with all her striving after social distinction, if she had been required to choose between her son returning to the front with a commission and keeping him at home with no higher rank than that of a corporal, she would have chosen the latter without a moment's hesitation.

But since the choice was not given her, Clarence's promotion did much to console her for his approaching departure--at least until the day arrived, when she turned blindly away from the platform with an aching dread that the train was bearing him out of her life for ever.

* * * * *

That was several months ago, and Second-Lieutenant Stimpson (he dropped the "Wibberley" when he first enlisted) has been at the front ever since.

There is a certain endless road, bordered by splintered stumps which once were poplars, and pitted in places with deep shell-holes, that he knows only too well; having taken his troop along it many a night to relieve the party in the trenches.

Even now, when he comes to the group of ruined cottages at which he has to leave the road and strike across country into the danger-zone, he is unpleasantly conscious of a sinking at his heart at the prospect of another week or so of that infernal existence of shattering noise, flying death-splinters, and sickening sights and smells. There he will have to be constantly on the watch, meals and sleep can only be snatched at precarious intervals, and seldom without disturbance; if there is anything more nerve-racking than the scream of shells and the hail of shrapnel it is the lull that follows, when he waits for the enemy's rush to begin. And yet, the moment he finds himself back in the trench again, he becomes acclimatised; his men speak of him as a cool and resourceful young officer under any difficulties, while on more than one occasion he has done some daring and very useful reconnoitring work that may even earn him mention in despatches.

But at present he is enjoying one of his hard-earned rests, being billeted in a farmhouse well away from the firing-line.

Here, having no duties or responsibilities to fix all his thoughts on the present, he can allow them to dwell on the future for a while.

This desperate and relentless war will come to an end in time--how soon he knows no more than anyone, but that it will end in victory for England and her Allies he has no doubt whatever. He is equally sure, though he could not account for his certainty, that, unlike many a better fellow than himself, he will live to see his country at peace once more. But what is he to do then? Even if an opening in the City presented itself, he could never stick an office again after this. On the other hand, even if he gets another step or two, he will find it difficult to live on his pay in a crack cavalry regiment. However, the Governor will no doubt give him an allowance that will enable him to stay in the Service--the Mater can be safely trusted to see to that!

So, this question being satisfactorily disposed of, his thoughts, as usual on these occasions, drift back to Maerchenland, and particularly to Daphne's parting words on the night he left the Palace.

Would she think, he wonders, that he has done something to justify her belief in him?

At least she might be pleased if she knew that he could not fairly be described any longer as a useless rotter.

"Only," he tells himself disconsolately, "she never _will_ know. England's no country of hers now, and she wouldn't feel enough interest in it even to send the Baron across in the stork-car for a daily paper. If she did, she'd be none the wiser, because he'd be sure to bring _The Poultry-Fancier's Journal_ or _The Financial News_, or something of that sort. And, after all, if she had any idea of the ghastly business that has been going on in this old world for the last year, she's too much heart to be happy--even in Maerchenland. But now she'll go on being happy for the rest of her life, bless her! and if she gives me a thought now and then--well, it will be a jolly sight more than I deserve!"

THE END

* * * * *

_Works by F. Anstey_

Salted Almonds. Second Impression. Crown 8vo. 6s.

_ATHENAEUM._--'All the pieces have that rare savour which is the Author's secret.'

The Brass Bottle. With a Frontispiece. 5th Impression. (_Waterloo Library._) Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.

_SPECTATOR._--'In his logical conduct of an absurd proposition, in his fantastic handling of the supernatural, in his brisk dialogue and effective characterisation, Mr. Anstey has once more shown himself to be an artist and a humourist of uncommon and enviable merit.'

The Talking Horse and other Tales.

_ATHENAEUM._--'The grimmest of mortals, in his most surly mood, could hardly resist the fun of "The Talking Horse."'

The Giant's Robe.

_PALL MALL GAZETTE._--'We read and cannot cease reading till the puzzle is solved in a series of exciting situations.'

The Pariah.

_SATURDAY REVIEW._--'Extremely entertaining reading. There is not a dull page--we might say, not a dull sentence--in it....'

A Fallen Idol.

_TIMES._--'Will delight the multitudinous public that laughed over "Vice Versa."... The boy who brings the accursed image to Champion's house, Mr. Bales, the artist's factotum, and above all Mr. Yarker, the ex-butler who has turned policeman, are figures whom it is as pleasant to meet as it is impossible to forget.'

Lyre and Lancet. With 24 Full-page Illustrations.

_SPEAKER._--'Mr. Anstey has surpassed himself in "Lyre and Lancet."... One of the brightest and most entertaining bits of comedy we have had for many a day.'

Vice Versa; or, a Lesson to Fathers.

_SATURDAY REVIEW._--'If ever there was a book made up from beginning to end of laughter, and yet not a comic book, or a "merry" book, or a book of jokes, or a book of pictures, or a jest book, or a tomfool book, but a perfectly sober and serious book in the reading of which a sober man may laugh without shame from beginning to end, it is a book called "Vice Versa; or a Lesson to Fathers."... We close the book, recommending it very earnestly to all fathers in the first instance, and their sons, nephews, uncles, and male cousins next.'

Also available from publisher

CONAN DOYLE'S NEW 'SHERLOCK HOLMES' STORY.

The Valley of Fear. With a Frontispiece.

By the Author of 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,' 'The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes,' 'The Lost World,' &c.

_Punch_.--'As rousing a sensation as the greediest of us could want. I can only praise the skill with which a most complete surprise is prepared.'

_Pall Mall Gazette._--'My Dear Watson! All good "Sherlockians" will welcome Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's new story with enthusiasm ... it is all very thrilling and very fine reading.'

Journeys with Jerry the Jarvey.

By the Hon. ALEXIS ROCHE.

_Scotsman._--'The stories are so good and the epigrams so quaint that one is loath to lay it down. A book that can call forth a hearty laugh on nearly every page.'

_Field._--'The stories are really irresistible, and there is not a dull page in the whole book.'

Oliver. By B. PAUL NEUMAN.

Author of 'The Greatness of Josiah Porlick,' 'Chignett Street,' &c.

_Westminster Gazette._--'The first hundred pages contain as fine a piece of restrained realistic writing as our recent literature has put forth. We laid down this very individual book with a wholesome respect for Mr. Neuman's literary art.'

_Punch._--'The thing is remarkably well done, a close and unsparing treatment of a subject by no means easy ... an original and successful story.'

Two Who Declined. By HERBERT TREMAINE.

_Evening Standard._--'A striking, even absorbing novel. Its author will certainly "count" before long.'

_Pall Mall Gazette._--'A very clever story, and a work of great promise.'

Some Elderly People and their Young Friends.

By S. MACNAUGHTAN.

Author of 'The Fortune of Christina McNab,' 'A Lame Dog's Diary,' &c.

_Globe._--'Miss Macnaughtan at her best. All her characters are charming. Her books are a sovereign remedy for depression and misanthropy.

_Daily Telegraph._--'One of the most engaging stories that we have read for a goodly while--a story full of lively wit and mellow wisdom. Delightful is indeed the word which best sums up the whole book.'

The Pastor's Wife.

By the Author of 'ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN.'

_Globe._--'A wonderful portrait of a woman by a woman. The power of this story is undeniable, and the analysis of feminine feeling almost uncanny. A very remarkable novel indeed.'

Spragge's Canyon.

By HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL. Author of 'The Hill,' 'The Paladin,' 'Blinds Down,' etc.

_Pall Mall Gazette._--'It is a fine story, told with all the art of which Mr. Vachell is a master.'

Molly, My Heart's Delight.

By KATHARINE TYNAN. Author of 'A Midsummer Rose,' 'John Bulteel's Daughters,' etc.

_Globe._--'A charming and altogether captivating heroine. A story to make one glad o' the reading.'

The Ways of Miss Barbara.

By AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE. Authors of 'Rose of the World,' 'French Nan,' etc.

_Liverpool Daily Post._--'This delightful story of old world gallantry and gaiety bubbles over with comedy and kindness. This should be one of the most popular novels of the season.'

A Green Englishman, and other Stories of Canada

By S. MACNAUGHTAN. Author of 'The Fortunes of Christina M'Nab,' 'The Expensive Miss du Cane,' etc.

_Observer._--'Miss Macnaughtan has the crispness and sense of rounding off of the ideal short story writer.'

A Freelance in Kashmir.

By LADY CHARNWOOD.

_Times._--'There are a happy few to-day who understand the tradition of Trollope, and Lady Charnwood must be reckoned among them. There is insight, reflection, a gift for the invention of natural incident and the flow of natural dialogue, and humour.'

A Tale of the Great Anarchy.

By Lieut.-Colonel G. F. MacMUNN, D.S.O., Author of 'The Armies of India.'

_Birmingham Daily Post._--'Colonel MacMunn knows his India and his history; and for this stirring story he has turned to the inviting period of the "Great Anarchy."'

_Scotsman._--'The author may be congratulated on having written so entertaining and instructive a novel.'

They Who Question.

A Novel by a well-known writer published anonymously.

_Daily Telegraph._--'A story which is packed with thought in itself, and well calculated also to arouse and stimulate thought in others. The book is one to be recommended.'

La Belle Alliance.

By ROWLAND GREY, Author of 'Green Cliffs,' etc.

_Daily Telegraph._--'This is a fresh, human, very sympathetic story, founded upon close observation of life. It will delight girl-readers, although it is secretly directed at their parents.'

The House of the Foxes.

By KATHARINE TYNAN. Author of 'Honey, My Honey,' 'Molly, My Heart's Delight,' etc.

_Morning Post._--'Mrs. Katharine Tynan brings her superior art to adorn a legendary tale of the Irish family of the Rosses of Turloughmore.'

_Pall Mall Gazette._--'There is much genial description of homely Irish humble life woven through the story. Meg is a charming heroine.'

Two Sinners.

By Mrs. DAVID G. RITCHIE. Author of 'Man and the Cassock,' 'The Truthful Liar,' 'The Human Cry,' etc.

_Spectator._--'An extremely clever and interesting novel. The book is rich in surprises and, as Sir James Paget once said, surprise in the great essential in recreation.'

The Irish Nuns at Ypres: An Episode of the War.

By D. M. C., O.S.B. (Member of the Community).

Edited by R. BARRY O'BRIEN, Author of 'The Life of Charles Stewart Parnell,' &c. With an Introduction by JOHN REDMOND, M.P.

_Yorkshire Post._--'No more vivid and impressive narrative of what German frightfulness means to the civilian population has yet been seen. The story once read will not soon be forgotten.'

_Court Journal._--'Those who are on the look out for a war book off the beaten track should get this work. It is one of the most powerful yet simple narratives that we have seen. It will rank when the war is over as one of the most damaging pieces of evidence against the Germans and their methods.'

Paris Waits: 1914.

By Mrs. M. E. CLARKE.

_Punch._--'I have seldom met a volume of more pronounced "heart Interest" than "Paris Waits." Not only are her pen-pictures remarkably vivid and realistic, but the camera has also helped.'

_Times._--'It is a very familiar tale that is told in these pages, yet it gains a new pathos, a deeper significance from the simple yet eloquent way it is told.'

_Daily Mail._--'A noteworthy book. It relates in detail the story of those tragic days.'

War and Lombard Street.

By HARTLEY WITHERS. Author of 'The Meaning of Money,' 'Poverty and Waste,' &c.

_Times._--'Carried out with the same happy touch of literary simplicity and wit, combined with an expert knowledge of his subject, which has given distinction and popular value to his preceding books. Nothing could be clearer or more enlightening for the general reader.'

_Morning Post._--'In brief but most attractive language it deals with the historic financial events of the past six months. A most fascinating resume of the financial events of the crisis up to date.'

_Daily News._--'Mr. Withers knows all the machinery of the money market, and he has a lucid style which makes matters plain normally very mysterious and technical to the layman.'

The Tollhouse.

By EVELYN ST. LEGER, Author of 'The Shape of the World,' 'The Blackberry Pickers.'

_Times._--'An appealing and humorous picture of the life of an old-fashioned English village in war time.'

_Scotsman._--'This charming short novel.'

The Spirit of England.

A Series of Papers written in 1914 and 1915.

By the Right Hon. GEORGE W. E. RUSSELL, Author of 'Collections and Recollections,' &c.

_Scotsman._--'An eminently readable book in which many good things come up by the way. It is always thoughtful and stimulating.'

_Globe._--'This very Interesting and suggestive book.'

Life of John Viriamu Jones.

By Mrs. VIRIAMU JONES.

_Pall Mall Gazette._--'This Life of the first Vice-Chancellor of the University of Wales is very well done, and gives us an admirable portrait of a singularly earnest, strenuous, and lovable nature.'

_Times._--'This fascinating volume.'

_South Wales Daily News._--'Will be largely read, not only in the Principality, but far beyond its confines ... deeply interesting.'

The Minor Horrors of War.

By Dr. A. E. SHIPLEY, F.R.S., Master of Christ's College, Cambridge.

This book deals with various insect and other pests which cause disgust, discomfort, and often disease amongst our troops now fighting in all quarters of the globe.

_Country Life._--'A book which gives a good deal of very necessary information in an entertaining manner.'

_Medical Officer._--'It may be studied with advantage in barracks or billets, in the tropics or the trenches.'

The System of National Finance.

By E. HILTON YOUNG, M.P.

_Morning Post._--'The book should become a permanent addition to the literature of the subject, the more so as there is no other which deals with the Nation's finance in the same practical manner.'