CHAPTER XXIII
On Leave
The next great event on the horizon of Marjorie and Dona was that Larrywas transferred from the London Military Hospital to the Whitecliffe RedCross Hospital. Mrs. Anderson came to The Tamarisks for a night as soonas he was installed, and paid a flying visit to Brackenfield to see herdaughters, and beg an exeat, that she might take them to spend a briefhalf-hour with their brother. It was neither a Wednesday nor a Saturday,but in the circumstances Mrs. Morrison granted permission; and thegirls, rejoicing at missing a music lesson and a chemistry lecture, wereborne away by their mother for the afternoon. As they expected, theyfound Larry established as prime pet of the hospital. He was anattractive lad, already a favourite with his cousin Elaine, and hishandsome boyish face and prepossessing manners soon won him the goodgraces of the other V.A.D.'s.
"I'm having the time of my life!" he assured his family. "I shan't wantto go away. They certainly know how to take care of a fellow here. Afterthe trenches it's just heaven!"
"It was hard luck to be wounded when you'd only been at the front threeweeks!" sympathized Dona.
"Never mind! I got on the Roll of Honour before my nineteenth birthday!"triumphed Larry. "And I'll go back and have another shot before I'm mucholder."
"I wish the military age were twenty-one!" sighed Mrs. Anderson.
"And I wished it were fifteen when the war started," laughed Larry."Never mind, little Muvviekins! Peter and Cyril are kids enough yet; youcan tie them to your apron-strings for a while."
"I shall go home feeling quite happy at leaving you in such good hands,"declared his mother. "I know you'll be well nursed here."
Events seemed to crowd upon one another, for hardly was Larry settled inthe Red Cross Hospital than Leonard got leave, and, after first goinghome, came for a hurried visit to The Tamarisks in order to see hisbrother. Mrs. Anderson wrote to Mrs. Morrison asking special permissionfor the girls to be allowed an afternoon with their brother, whom theyhad not seen for a year, and again the Principal relaxed her rule intheir favour. Marjorie, nearly wild with excitement, came flying intothe sitting-room at St. Elgiva's to tell the news to her friends.
"Another exeat! You lucky thing!" exclaimed Betty enviously. "Why can'tmy brother come to Whitecliffe?"
"Can't you bring him to school and introduce him to us?" suggestedIrene.
"Or take some of us out with you?" amended Sylvia.
"We're simply dying to meet him!" declared Patricia.
"He has only the one afternoon to spare," replied Marjorie, "and haspromised to take just Dona and me out to tea at a cafe, though I don'tmind betting Elaine goes too. I wish I could bring him to school andintroduce him. The Empress is fearfully mean about asking brothers.Brackenfield might be a convent."
Chrissie also seemed tremendously interested in Leonard's arrival. Shewalked round the quad with Marjorie.
"How glorious to have a brother home from the front!" she saidwistfully. "If he were mine, I'd nearly worship him. There'd be suchheaps of things I'd want to ask him, too. I'd like to hear all about atank."
"You've seen them on the cinema."
"But only the outside, of course. I want to know exactly how they work.Don't laugh. Why shouldn't I? Surely every patriotic girl ought to bekeen on everything in connection with the war. I wish you'd ask him."
"Why, I will if you like."
"You won't forget?"
"I'll try not."
"And there's a new shell we've just been making. I wonder how itanswers. I heard we've some new guns too. Would your brother know?"
"Really, I shall never remember all this! Pity you can't come with usand ask him for yourself."
"I believe I could get an exeat----" began Chrissie eagerly.
"I'm sure you couldn't!" snapped Marjorie. "Dona and I are going just byourselves."
The sisters spent a somewhat disturbed morning. It was difficult toconcentrate their minds on lessons when such a delightful outing awaitedthem in the afternoon. Immediately after dinner they rushed to theirdormitories to don their best dresses in honour of Leonard. They knew hewould not care to take out two Cinderellas, so they made carefultoilets. Marjorie, in front of her looking-glass, replaited her hair,and tied it with her broadest ribbon, chattering all the while toChrissie, who sat on the bed in her own cubicle.
"Leonard's an old dandy. At least, he was a year ago--the war may havechanged him. He used to be most fearfully particular, and notice whatgirls had on. I remember how savage he was with Nora once for going tochurch in her old hat, and it was such a wet day, too; she didn't wantto spoil her new one. He always kept his trousers in stretchers, and hisboots had to be polished ever so--Chrissie, you're not listening.Actually opening letters! You mean to say you've not read them yet, andyou got them this morning!"
"I hadn't time," said Chrissie, rather abstractedly. She was drawingpound notes out of the envelope.
"Sophonisba! What a lot of money!" exclaimed Marjorie. "It isn't yourbirthday?"
"No. This is to take me home, of course."
"It won't cost you all that, surely! Doesn't your mother send yourrailway fare to Mrs. Morrison? Mine always does."
"My mother wouldn't like me to be short of money on the journey,"remarked Chrissie serenely, locking up the notes in her littlejewel-box.
At precisely half-past two the melancholy Hodson arrived at the school,and escorted Marjorie and Dona to The Tamarisks. Here they foundLeonard, and it was a very happy meeting between the brother andsisters.
"Leonard shall take you into the town," said Aunt Ellinor. "I knowyou'll like to have him to yourselves for an hour. No, Elaine can't go.She's on extra duty at the Red Cross this afternoon."
"I have to be back in the ward by half-past three," smiled Elaine. "Yes,I'll give your love to Larry. I'm sorry you can't see him to-day, butthe Commandant's a little strict about visiting."
"We'll concentrate on Leonard," declared the girls.
It was an immense satisfaction to them to trot off one on each side oftheir soldier brother. They felt very proud of him as they walked alongthe Promenade, and noticed people glance approvingly at thegood-looking young officer. After going on the pier and doing the usualsights of Whitecliffe, Leonard took them to the Cliff Hotel and orderedtea on the terrace. Dona and Marjorie were all smiles. This was farsuperior to a cafe. The terrace was delightful, with geraniums andoleanders in large pots, and a beautiful view over the sea. They had alittle table to themselves at the end, underneath a tree. It wassomething to have a brother home from the front.
"Tell us everything you do out in France," begged Dona.
"You wouldn't like to hear everything, Baby Bunting," returned Leonardgravely. "It's not fit for your ears. Be glad that you in England don'tsee anything of the war. There's one little incident I can tell you,though. We'd marched many miles through the night over appalling groundunder scattered shell-fire, and were only in our place of attack half anhour before the advance started up the ridge. That night march is astory in itself, but that's not what I'm going to tell you now. We drewclose to one of the blockhouses, and the sound of our cheering must havebeen heard by the Germans inside those concrete walls. The barrage hadjust passed, and its line of fire, volcanic in its fury, went travellingahead. Suddenly out of the blockhouse a dozen men or so came running,and we shortened our bayonets. From the centre of the group a voiceshouted out in English: 'I'm a Warwickshire man, don't shoot! I'm anEnglishman!' The man who called had his hands up in sign of surrender,like the German soldiers.
"'It's a spy!' said one of our men. 'Kill the blighter!'
"The voice again rang out: 'I'm English!'
"And he was English, too. It was a man of a Warwickshire regiment, whohad been captured on patrol some days before. The Germans had taken himinto their blockhouse--and because of our gun-fire they could not getout of it--and kept him there. He was well treated, and his captorsshared their food with him, but the awful moment came for him when thedrum-fire passed, and he knew tha
t unless he held his hands high hewould be killed by our own troops."
"How awful!" shivered Dona.
"Tell us some more tales about the war," begged Marjorie.
"I might have been killed one evening," said Leonard, "if it hadn't beenfor a friend. We were carrying dispatches, and fell into an ambush. Iowe it to Winkles that I'm here to-day. He fought like a demon. I neversaw such a fellow!"
"Who's Winkles?"
"Oh, an awfully good chap, and so humorous! I've never once seen himdown. I've got his photo somewhere, I believe. I took a snapshot of himonce."
"Oh, do show it to us!"
Leonard searched through his pockets, and after turning out anassortment of letters and papers produced a small photograph forinspection. The girls bumped their heads together in their eagerness tolook at it. It had been taken in camp, and represented the young soldierin the act of raising a can of coffee to his lips. There was a pleasedsmile on the whimsical face, and a twinkle in the dark eyes. Marjoriecaught her breath.
"Why, why!" she gasped. "It's surely Private Preston!"
"That's his name right enough. We call him Winkles, though. He's alieutenant now, by the way--got his commission just lately."
"But--I thought he was killed?"
"Not a bit of it! I heard from him yesterday."
"He was in the Roll of Honour," urged Marjorie, still unable to believe.
"No, he wasn't. That was his brother Henry, who was in the sameregiment--a nice chap, though nothing to Winkles."
Marjorie sat in a state of almost dazed incomprehension. A black cloudseemed suddenly to have rolled away from her, and she had not yet hadtime to readjust herself. As in a dream she listened to Dona'sexplanation.
"He was in the Red Cross Hospital here, and we saw him when Elaine tookus to the Christmas tree."
"Was it Whitecliffe? I knew he'd been in a Red Cross Hospital, but neverheard which one," commented Leonard.
"He was going on to a convalescent home," continued Dona.
"He came back to the front before he was really fit," said Leonard."The poor chap had had influenza, but he was so afraid of being thoughta shirker that he made a push to go. He was laid up with a touch ofpneumonia, I remember, a week after he rejoined."
"Will he get leave again?" faltered Marjorie.
"Yes, next month, he hopes. They don't live such a very long way fromSilverwood, and he said he'd try to go over and see the Mater. She'dgive him a welcome, I know."
"Rather!" agreed the girls.
"We shall be at home in August," added Dona.
Marjorie, however, said nothing. There are some joys that it is quiteimpossible to express to outsiders.
"I'm glad they've made him a lieutenant," she said to herself.
A Patriotic Schoolgirl Page 23
