CHAPTER II
THE HOME FOR TIRED PEOPLE
"To begin with," said Jim--"what's the place like?"
"Eighty acres, with improvements," answered his father. "And threefarms--all let."
"Daddy, you're like an auctioneer's advertisement," Norah protested."Tell us what it is _like_--the house, I mean."
"We'll run down and see it soon," said Mr. Linton. "Meanwhile, thelawyers tell me it's a good house, Queen Anne style----"
"What's that?" queried Jim.
"Oh, gables and things," said Wally airily. "Go on, sir, please."
"Standing in well-timbered park lands," said Mr. Linton, fishing apaper out of his pocket, and reading from it. "Sorry, Norah, but Ican't remember all these thrills without the lawyers' letter. Loungehall, four reception rooms----"
"Who are you going to receive, Nor?"
"Be quiet," said Norah, aiming a cushion at the offender. "Not you,if you're not extra polite!"
"Be quiet, all of you, or I will discontinue this penny reading," saidMr. Linton severely. "Billiard-room, thirteen bedrooms, three baths(h. and c.)----"
"Hydraulic and condensed," murmured Wally. Jim sat upon him withsilent firmness, and the reading was unchecked.
"Excellent domestic offices, modern drainage, central heating,electric plant, Company's water----"
"What on earth----?" said Jim.
"I really don't know," said his father. "But I suppose it means youcan turn taps without fear of a drought, or they wouldn't put it.Grounds including shady old-world gardens, walled kitchen garden,stone-flagged terrace, lily pond, excellent pasture. Squash racquetcourt."
"What's that?" asked Norah.
"You play it with pumpkins," came, muffled, from beneath Jim. "Let meup, Jimmy--I'll be good."
"That'll be something unusual," said Jim, rising. "Yes, Dad?"
"Stabling, heated garage, thatched cottage. Fine timber. Two of thefarms let on long leases; one lease expires with lease of house. Allin excellent order. I think that's about all. So there you are,Norah. And what are you going to do with it?"
It was the next morning, and the treacherous September sunshine hadvanished, giving place to a cold, wet drizzle, which blurred thewindows of the Lintons' flat in South Kensington. Looking down,nothing was to be seen but a few mackintoshed pedestrians, splashingdismally along the wet, grey street. Across the road the trees in alittle, fenced square were already getting shabby, and a few leavesfluttered idly down. The brief, gay English summer had gone; alreadythe grey heralds of the sky sounded the approach of winter, long andcold and gloomy.
"I've been thinking terribly hard," Norah said. "I don't think I everlay awake so long in my life. But I can't make up my mind. Of courseit must be some way of helping the War. But how? We couldn't make ita hospital, could we?"
"I think not," said her father. "The hospital idea occurred to me,but I don't think it would do. You see you'd need nurses and a bigstaff, and doctors; and already that kind of thing is organized.People well established might do it, but not lone Australians like youand me, Norah."
"How about a convalescent home?"
"Well, the same thing applies, in a less degree. I believe, too, thatthey are all under Government supervision, and I must admit I've nohankering after that. We wouldn't be able to call our souls our own;and we'd be perpetually irritated by Government under-strappers,interfering with us and giving orders--no, I don't think we couldstand it. You and I have always run our own show, haven't we,Norah--that is, until Jim came back to boss us!" He smiled at histall son.
There was a pause.
"Well, Dad--you always have ideas," said Norah, in the voice of onewho waits patiently.
Mr. Linton hesitated.
"I don't know that I have anything very brilliant now," he said. "ButI was thinking--do you remember Garrett, the fellow you boys used totell us about? who never cared to get leave because he hadn't anyhome."
"Rather!" said the boys. "Fellow from Jamaica."
"He was an awfully sociable chap," Wally added, "and he didn't likecities. So London bored him stiff when he was alone. He said thetrenches were much more homelike."
"Well, there must be plenty of people like that," said Mr. Linton."Especially, of course, among the Australians. Fellows to whom leavecan't mean what it should, for want of a home: and without any tiesit's easy for them to get into all sorts of mischief. And they shouldget all they can out of leave, for the sake of the War, if for nothingelse: they need a thorough mental re-fitting, to go back fresh andkeen, so that they can give the very best of themselves when the workbegins again."
"So you think of making Sir John's place into a Home for Tiredpeople?" said Norah, excitedly. "Dad, it's a lovely plan!"
"What do you think, Jim?" asked Mr. Linton.
"Yes, I think it's a great idea," Jim said slowly. "Even the littlebit of France we had showed us what I told you--that you've got togive your mind a spring-cleaning whenever you can, if you want to keepfit. I suppose if people are a bit older they can stick itbetter--some of them, at least. But when you're in the line for anytime, you sometimes feel you've just _got_ to forget things--smellsand pain, and--things you see."
"Well, you'd forget pretty soon at a place like the one you've beenreading about," said Wally. "Do you remember, Jim, how old poor oldGarrett used to look? He was always cheery and ragging, and all thatsort of thing, but often he used to look like his own grandfather, andhis eyes gave you the creeps. And he couldn't sleep."
"'M!" said Jim. "I remember. If Garrett's still going, will you havehim for your first patient, Nor? What will you call them, by theway--guests? patients? cases?"
"Inmates," grinned Wally.
"Sounds like a lunatic asylum," rejoined Jim. "How about lodgers? Orpatrons?"
"They'll be neither, donkey," said Norah pleasantly. "Just TiredPeople, I think. Oh, Dad, I want to begin!"
"You shouldn't call your superiors names, especially when I have moreideas coming to me," said Jim severely. "Look here--I agree with Dadthat you couldn't have a convalescent home, where you'd need nursesand doctors; but I do think you might ask fellows on final sick-leave,like us--who'd been discharged from hospitals, but were not quite fityet. Chaps not really needing nursing, but not up to much travelling,or to the racket and fuss of an hotel."
"Yes," said Wally. "Or chaps who had lost a limb, and were trying toplan out how they were going to do without it." His young face lookedsuddenly grave; Norah remembered a saying of his once before--"I don'tin the least mind getting killed, but I don't want Fritz to wing me."She moved a little nearer to him.
"That's a grand idea--yours too, Jimmy," she said. "Dad, do you thinkSir John would be satisfied?"
"If we can carry out our plan as we hope, I think he would," Mr.Linton said. "We'll find difficulties, of course, and make mistakes,but we'll do our best, Norah. And if we can send back to the Frontcheery men, rested and refreshed and keen--well, I think we'll bedoing our bit. And after the War? What then?"
"I was thinking about that, too," said Norah. "And I got a clearernotion than about using it now, I think. Of course,"--shehesitated--"I don't know much about money matters, or if you think Iought to keep the place. You see, you always seem to have enough togive us everything we want, Dad. I won't need to keep it, will I? Idon't want to, even if I haven't got much money."
"I'm not a millionaire," said David Linton, laughing. "But--no, youwon't need an English income, Norah."
"I'm so glad," said Norah. "Then when we go back to Billabong, Dad,couldn't we turn it all into a place for partly-disabledsoldiers,--where they could work a bit, just as much as they were ableto, but they'd be sure of a home and wouldn't have any anxiety. Idon't know if it could be made self--self--you know--earning its ownliving----"
"Self-supporting," assisted her father.
"Yes, self-supporting," said Norah gratefully. "Perhaps it could.But they'd all have their pensions to help
them."
"Yes, and it could be put under a partly-disabled officer with a wifeand kids that he couldn't support--some poor beggar feeling likecommitting suicide because he couldn't tell where little Johnny's nextpair of boots was coming from!" added Jim. "That's the most rippingidea, Norah! What do you think, Dad?"
"Yes--excellent," said Mr. Linton. "The details would want a lot ofworking-out, of course: but there will be plenty of time for that. Iwould like to make it as nearly self-supporting as possible, so thatthere would be no idea of charity about it."
"A kind of colony," said Wally.
"Yes. It ought to be workable. The land is good, and withpoultry-farming, and gardening, and intensive culture, it should paywell enough. We'll get all sorts of expert advice, Norah, and planthe thing thoroughly."
"And we'll call it 'The O'Neill Colony,' or something like that," saidNorah, her eyes shining. "I'd like it to carry on Sir John's name,wouldn't you, Dad?"
"Indeed, yes," said David Linton. "It has some sort of quiet,inoffensive name already, by the way--yes, Homewood."
"Well, that sounds nice and restful," said Jim. "Sort of name you'dlike to think of in the trenches. When do we go to see it, Dad?"
"The lawyers have written to ask the tenants what day will suit them,"said his father. "They're an old Indian Army officer and his wife, Ibelieve; General Somers. I don't suppose they will raise anyobjection to our seeing the house. By the way, there is anotherimportant thing: there's a motor and some vehicles and horses, and afew cows, that go with the place. O'Neill used to like to have itready to go to at any time, no matter how unexpectedly. It was onlywhen War work claimed him that he let it to these people. He wasunusually well-off for an Irish landowner; it seems that his fathermade a heap of money on the Stock Exchange."
"Horses!" said Norah blissfully.
"And a motor."
"That will be handy for bringing the Tired People from the station,"said she. "Horses that one could ride, I wonder, Daddy?"
"I shouldn't be surprised," said her father, laughing. "Anyhow, Idaresay you will ride them."
"I'll try," said Norah modestly. "It sounds too good to be true. CanI run the fowls, Daddy? I'd like that job."
"Yes, you can be poultry-expert," said Mr. Linton. "As for me, Ishall control the pigs."
"You won't be allowed to," said Wally. "You'll find a cold, proudsteward, or bailiff, or head-keeper or something, who would die ofapoplexy if either of you did anything so lowering. You may beallowed to ride, Norah, but it won't be an Australian scurry--you'llhave to be awfully prim and proper, and have a groom trotting behindyou. With a top-hat." He beamed upon her cheerfully.
"Me!" said Norah, aghast. "Wally, don't talk of such horrible things.It's rubbish, isn't it, Dad?"
"Grooms and top-hats don't seem to be included in the catalogue," saidMr. Linton, studying it.
"Bless you, that's not necessary," said Jim. "I mean, you needn't gettoo bucked because they're not. Public opinion will force you to getthem. Probably Nor will have to ride in a top-hat, too."
"Never!" said Norah firmly. "Unless you promise to do it too, Jimmy."
"My King and Country have called me," said Jim, with unction."Therefore I shall accompany you in uniform--and watch you trying tokeep the top-hat on. It will be ever so cheery."
"You won't," said Norah. "You'll be in the mud in Flanders----" andthen broke off, and changed the subject laboriously. There were fewsubjects that did not furnish more or less fun to the Linton family;but Norah never could manage to joke successfully about even theFlanders mud, which appeared to be a matter for humorous recollectionto Jim and Wally. Whenever the thought of their return to that dimand terrible region that had swallowed up so many crossed her vision,something caught at her heart and made her breath come unevenly. Sheknew they must go: she would not have had it otherwise, even had itbeen certain that they would never come back to her. But that theyshould not--so alive, so splendid in their laughing strength--theagony of the thought haunted her dreams, no matter how she strove toput it from her by day.
Jim saw the shadow in her eyes and came to her rescue. There wasnever a moment when Jim and Norah failed to understand each other.
"You'll want a good deal of organization about that place, Dad," hesaid. "I suppose you'll try to grow things--vegetables and crops?"
"I've been trying to look ahead," said Mr. Linton. "This is only thesecond year of the War, and I've never thought it would be a shortbusiness. It doesn't seem to me that England realizes war at all, sofar; everything goes on just the same--not only 'business as usual,'but other things too: pleasure, luxuries, eating, clothes; everythingas usual. I reckon that conscription is bound to come, and before theHun gets put in his place nearly every able-bodied man in theseislands will be forced to help in the job."
"I think you're about right," Jim said.
"Well, then, other things will happen when the men go. Food will getscarcer--the enemy will sink more and more ships; everything that theshops and the farmers sell will get dearer and dearer, and many thingswill cease to exist altogether. You'll find that coal will run short;and live stock will get scarce because people won't be able to getimported food stuffs that they depend on now. Oh, it's my idea thatthere are tight times coming for the people of England. And that, ofcourse, means a good deal of anxiety in planning a Home for TiredPeople. Tired People must be well fed and kept warm."
"Can't we do it, Daddy?" queried Norah, distressed.
"We're going to try, my girl. But I'm looking ahead. One farm comesin with the house, you know. I think we had better get a man to runthat with us on the shares system, and we'll grow every bit of foodfor the house that we can. We'll have plenty of good cows, plenty offowls, vegetables, fruit; we'll grow potatoes wherever we can put themin, and we'll make thorough provision for storing food that willkeep."
"Eggs--in water glass," said Norah. "And I'll make tons of jam andbottle tons of fruit and vegetables."
"Yes. We'll find out how to preserve lots of things that we knownothing about now. I don't in the least imagine that if real shortagecame private people would be allowed to store food; but a house runfor a war purpose might be different. Anyhow, there's no shortageyet, so there's no harm in beginning as soon as we can. Of course wecan't do very much before we grow things--and that won't be until nextyear."
"There's marmalade," said Norah wisely. "And apple jam--and we'll dryapples. And if the hens are good there may be eggs to save."
"Hens get discouraged in an English winter, and I'm sure I don't blamethem," said Jim, laughing. "Never mind, Nor, they'll buck up in thespring."
"Then there's the question of labour," said Mr. Linton. "I'm inclinedto employ only men who wouldn't be conscripted: partially-disabledsoldiers or sailors who could still work, or men with other physicaldrawbacks. Lots of men whose hearts are too weak to go 'over the top'from the trenches could drive a plough quite well. Then, ifconscription does come, we shall be safe."
"I'll like to do it, too," said Norah. "It would be jolly to helpthem."
"Of course, it will cut both ways," Mr. Linton said. "There should beno difficulty in getting men of the kind--poor lads, there are plentyof disabled ones. I'm inclined to think that the question of womenservants will be more difficult."
"Well, I can cook a bit," said Norah--"thanks to Brownie."
"My dear child," said her father, slightly irritated--"you've no ideaof what a fairly big English house means, apart from housekeeping andmanaging. We shall need a really good housekeeper as well as a cook;and goodness knows how many maids under her. You see the thing hasgot to be done very thoroughly. If it were just you and the boys andme you'd cook our eggs and bacon and keep us quite comfortable. Butit will be quite another matter when we fill up all those rooms withTired People."
"I suppose so," said Norah meekly. "But I can be useful, Daddy."
He patted her shoulder.
"Of course you
can, mate. I'm only afraid you'll have too much to do.I must say I wish Brownie were here instead of in Australia."
"Dear old Brownie, wouldn't she love it all!" said Norah, her eyestender at the thought of the old woman who had been nurse and mother,and mainspring of the Billabong house, since Norah's own mother hadlaid her baby in her kind arms and closed tired eyes so many yearsago. "Wouldn't she love fixing the house! And how she'd hate cookingwith coal instead of wood! Only nothing would make Browniebad-tempered."
"Not even Wal and I," said Jim. "And I'll bet we were trying enoughto damage a saint's patience. However, as we can't have Brownie, Isuppose you'll advertise for some one else, Dad?"
"Oh, I suppose so--but sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,"returned Mr. Linton. "I've thought of nothing but this inheritance ofNorah's all day, and I'm arriving at the conclusion that it's going tobe an inheritance of something very like hard work!"
"Well, that's all right, 'cause there shouldn't be any loafers inwar-time," Norah said. She looked out of the window. "The rain isstopping; come along, everybody, and we'll go down Regent Street on a'bus." To do which Norah always maintained was the finest thing inLondon.
They went down to see Norah's inheritance two days later. A quicktrain from London dropped them at a tiny station, where thestationmaster, a grizzled man apparently given over to the care ofnasturtiums, directed them to Homewood. A walk of a mile along a widewhite road brought them to big iron gates, standing open, beside atiny lodge with diamond-paned windows set in lattice-work, underoverhanging eaves; and all smothered with ivy out of which sparrowsfluttered busily. The lodgekeeper, a neat woman, looked at the partycuriously: no doubt the news of their coming had spread.
From the lodge the drive to the house wound through the park--a widestretch of green, with noble trees, oak, beech and elm; not toweringlike Norah's native gum-trees, but flinging wide arms as though toembrace as much as possible of the beauty of the landscape. Bracken,beginning to turn gold, fringed the edge of the gravelled track. Afew sheep and cows were to be seen, across the grass.
"Nice-looking sheep," said Mr. Linton.
"Yes, but you wouldn't call it over-stocked," was Jim's comment. Jimwas not used to English parks. He was apt to think of any grass as"feed," in terms of so many head per acre.
The drive, well-gravelled and smoothly rolled, took them on,sauntering slowly, until it turned in a great sweep round a lawn,ending under a stone porch flung out from the front of the house. Awide porch, almost a verandah; to the delighted eyes of theAustralians, who considered verandah-less houses a curious Englishcustom, verging on lunacy. Near the house it was shut in with glass,and furnished with a few lounge chairs and a table or two.
"That's a jolly place!" Jim said quickly.
The house itself was long and rambling, and covered with ivy. Therewere big windows--it seemed planned to catch all the sunlight thatcould possibly be tempted into it. The lawn ended in a terrace with astone balustrade, where one could sit and look across the park and towoods beyond it--now turning a little yellow in the sunlight, and soonto glow with orange and flame-colour and bronze, when the early frostsshould have painted the dying leaves. From the lawn, to right andleft, ran shrubberies and flower-beds, with winding grass walks.
"Why, it's lovely!" Norah breathed. She slipped a hand into herfather's arm.
Jim rang the bell. A severe butler appeared, and explained thatGeneral and Mrs. Somers had gone out for the day, and had begged thatMr. Linton and his party would make themselves at home and explore thehouse and grounds thoroughly: an arrangement which considerablyrelieved the minds of the Australians, who had rather dreaded theprospect of "poking about" the house under the eyes of its tenants.The butler stiffened respectfully at the sight of the boys' uniforms.It appeared presently that he had been a mess-sergeant in days goneby, and now regarded himself as the personal property of the General.
"Very sorry they are to leave the 'ouse, too, sir," said the butler."A nice place, but too big for them."
"Haven't they any children?" Norah asked.
"Only the Captain, miss, and he's in Mesopotamia, which is an 'orrible'ole for any gentleman to be stuck in," said the butler with a finecontempt for Mesopotamia and all its works. "And the mistress istired of 'ousekeeping, so they're going to live in one of them therefamily 'otels, as they call them." The butler sighed, and then, as ifconscious of having lapsed from correct behaviour, stiffened torigidity and became merely butler once more. "Will you see the 'ousenow, sir?"
They entered a wide hall in which was a fireplace that drew anexclamation from Norah, since she had not seen so large a one sinceshe left Billabong. This was built to take logs four feet long, tohold which massive iron dogs stood in readiness. Big leatherarmchairs and couches and tables strewn with magazines and papers,together with a faint fragrance of tobacco in the air, gave to thehall a comforting sense of use. The drawing-room, on the other hand,was chillingly splendid and formal, and looked as though no one hadever sat in the brocaded chairs: and the great dining room was almostas forbidding. The butler intimated that the General and his wifepreferred the morning-room, which proved to be a cheery place, facingsouth and west, with a great window-recess filled with floweringplants.
"This is jolly," Jim said. "But so would the other rooms be, if theyweren't so awfully empty. They only want people in them."
"Tired people," Norah said.
"Yes," Wally put in. "I'm blessed if I think they would stay tiredfor long, here."
There was a long billiard-room, with a ghostly table shrouded indust-sheets; and upstairs, a range of bedrooms of all shapes andsizes, but all bright and cheerful, and looking out upon differentaspects of park and woodland. Nothing was out of order; everythingwas plain, but care and taste were evident in each detail. Then, downa back staircase, they penetrated to outer regions where the corner ofNorah's soul that Brownie had made housewifely rejoiced over a big,bright kitchen with pantries and larders and sculleries of the mostmodern type. The cook, who looked severe, was reading the _DailyMail_ in the servants' hall; here and there they had glimpses of smartmaids, irreproachably clad, who seemed of a race apart from either thecheery, friendly housemaids of Donegal, or Sarah and Mary ofBillabong, who disliked caps, but had not the slightest objection tohelping to put out a bush-fire or break in a young colt. Norah triedto picture the Homewood maids at either task, and failed signally.
From the house they wandered out to visit well-appointed stables withroom for a dozen horses, and a garage where a big touring carstood--Norah found herself quite unable to realize that it belonged toher! But in the stables were living things that came and nuzzledsoftly in her hand with inquiring noses that were evidently accustomedto gifts of sugar and apples, and Norah felt suddenly, for the firsttime, at home. There were two good cobs, and a hunter with abeautiful lean head and splendid shoulders; a Welsh pony designed fora roomy tub-cart in the coach house; and a good old stager able foranything from carrying a nervous rider to drawing a light plough. Thecobs, the groom explained, were equally good in saddle or harness; andthere was another pony, temporarily on a visit to a vet., which SirJohn had liked to ride. "But of course Killaloe was Sir John'sfavourite," he added, stroking the hunter's soft brown muzzle. "Therewasn't no one could show them two the way in a big run."
They tore themselves with difficulty from the stables, and, stillguided by the butler, who seemed to think he must not let them out ofhis sight, wandered through the grounds. Thatched cottage, orchard,and walled garden, rosery, with a pergola still covered with lateblooms, lawns and shrubberies. There was nothing very grand, but allwas exquisitely kept; and a kind of still peace brooded over thebeauty of the whole, and made War and its shadows seem very far away.The farms, well-tilled and prosperous-looking, were at the westernside of the park: Mr. Linton and Jim talked with the tenant whoselease was expiring while Norah and Wally sat on an old oak log andchatted to the butler, who told them tales of India, and askedque
stions about Australia, being quite unable to realize anydifference between the natives of the two countries. "All niggers, Icalls them," said the butler loftily.
"That seems a decent fellow," said Mr. Linton, as they walked backacross the park. "Hawkins, the tenant-farmer, I mean. Has he made asuccess of his place, do you know?"
"'Awkins 'as an excellent name, sir," replied the butler. "A good,steady man, and a rare farmer. The General thinks 'ighly of 'im.'E's sorry enough that 'is lease is up, 'Awkins is."
"I think of renewing it, under slightly different conditions," Mr.Linton observed. "I don't wish to turn the man out, if he will growwhat I want."
"Well, that's good news," said the butler heartily. "I'm sure 'Awkins'lldo anything you may ask 'im to, sir." A sudden dull flush cameinto his cheeks, and he looked for a moment half-eagerly at Mr.Linton, as if about to speak. He checked himself, however, and theyreturned to the house, where, by the General's orders, coffee andsandwiches awaited the visitors in the morning-room. The butlerflitted about them, seeing to their comfort unobtrusively.
"If I may make so bold as to ask, sir," he said presently, "you'll becoming to live here shortly?"
"As soon as General Somers leaves," Mr. Linton answered.
The man dropped his voice, standing rigidly to attention.
"I suppose, sir," he said wistfully, "you would not be needing abutler?"
"A butler--why. I hadn't thought of such a thing," said Mr. Linton,laughing. "There are not very many of you in Australia, you know."
"But indeed, sir, you'll need one, in a place like this," said theex-sergeant, growing bold. "Every one 'as them--and if you would beso kind as to consider if I'd do, sir? I know the place, and theGeneral 'ud give me a good record. I've been under him these fifteenyears, but he doesn't need me after he leaves here."
"Well----" said Mr. Linton thoughtfully. "But we shan't be a smallfamily--we mean to fill this place up with officers needing rest.We're coming here to work, not to play."
"Officers!" said the ex-sergeant joyfully. "But where'd you get anyone to 'elp you better, sir? Lookin' after officers 'as been my jobthis many a year. And I'd serve you faithful, sir."
Norah slipped her hand into her father's arm.
"We really would need him, I believe, Daddy," she whispered.
"You would, indeed, miss," said the butler gratefully. "I could valetthe young gentlemen, and if there's any special attention needed, Icould give it. I'd do my very utmost, miss. I'm old to go outlooking for a new place at my time of life. And if you've once beenin the Army, you like to stay as near it as you can."
"Well, we'll see," Mr. Linton said guardedly. "I'll probably write toGeneral Somers about you." At which the butler, forgetting hisbutlerhood, came smartly to attention--and then became covered withconfusion and concealed himself as well as he could behind acoffee-pot.
"You might do much worse," Jim remarked, on their way to the station."He looks a smart man--and though this place is glorious, it's goingto take a bit of running. Keep him for a bit, at any rate, Dad."
"I think it might be as well," Mr. Linton answered. He turned at abend in the drive, to look back at Homewood, standing calm andpeaceful in its clustering trees. "Well, Norah, what do you think ofyour property?"
"I'm quite unable to believe it's mine," said Norah, laughing. "But Isuppose that will come in time. However, there's one thing quitecertain, Dad--you and I will have to get very busy!"
Captain Jim Page 2
