by Roy J. Snell
_Chapter V_ The Young Lord
The house in which the Ramseys lived was large. Its kitchen wasimmense—large as the entire first floor of a modern American home. Itsfireplace took a five-foot log at its back. Walled round with two-footthick stone, with flagstone floor and massive beamed ceiling, this roomseemed the inside of a fort. And that, in days long gone bye, it mightvery well have been, for a moat—in these days dry and grown up toshrubs—ran round the house.
It was in this great room, when the day’s work was done and night hadshut out both the beauty and the horror of the day, that the familygathered about the cheery fire.
Over the massive glowing logs a teakettle sang. By the hearth lay Flash,the golden collie. Back of him, on a rug, the two young girls played atjacks. Dave, who sat nearest to them, noted with approval that theirhair was now neatly combed, their dresses clean, their facesshining—“That’s the part Alice plays,” he thought with approval.
As his eyes swept the circle, Alice knitting, Cherry smiling over abook, Jock and Brand talking about cattle that had strayed, he thought:“This is indeed a happy home.”
At that moment there came the sound of a motor, followed by a loud honk.At once Cherry, with cheeks aglow, was at the door.
She ushered in a young man of medium height, with smooth dark hair andsmiling black eyes.
“Good evening, everybody,” he exclaimed. “Thought I’d just drop by tosee how you liked the bombing. Stirred you up a bit. I’ll bet on that.I—” He paused as his eyes fell on Dave. Dave was new to him. So too werethe small girls who stared up at him.
“Lord Applegate,” Cherry began, “I want you—”
“Forget about the Lord part,” the young man laughed. “I’m not yet alord. If ever I receive the title it will never fit. Call me Harmon, asyou’ve always done, or Lieutenant Applegate of the R. A. F.”
“That,” Brand exclaimed, “is an honor indeed. I only wish—” He did notfinish but stared enviously at the Lieutenant’s uniform. “I’d be contentif I were only a private,” he whispered under his breath.
“Well, anyway,” Cherry laughingly began all over, “I want you to meetDavid Barnes. He’s from America. His uncle is a war reporter who knewfather in the World War. And so—”
“So he’s paying you a visit. That’s fine.” The young lord who wasn’t yeta lord but was a Lieutenant in the Royal Air Force shook hands withDave, then accepted a place beside him.
“Where did you get the children, Cherry?” Applegate asked, looking downat the pair who had resumed their game.
“Oh, they are Alice’s,” Cherry laughed.
“Nice work, Alice,” the Young Lord said. “It must have been a very longtime since I was here.”
“It has been,” Alice agreed. “Quite too long. But these children,—theyare refugees from London. Bombed out, you know.
“You should have seen them when they came!” she added in a low voice,with a grimace. “Their mothers came with them. But they couldn’t standthe eternal silence of this place.”
“So they left you the children?” said Applegate. “Good old Alice!”
“Oh, they’re really a joy!” The girl’s face lighted.
“But Harm!” Her face sobered. “That plane dropped a bomb on the oldplayhouse. Blew it to bits. You know, you used to come and play with ussometimes long ago—with dolls and things,” she added teasingly.
“With dolls! Good heavens!” he exclaimed.
“And today the dolls had their heads blown off,” Cherry added. “Justthink! It might have been our heads that were blown off!”
“Yes,” the young man’s face sobered, “it might have been. That was areal scrap. Didn’t come out so badly on the whole. Did they catch themen who bailed out?”
“Two of them.” Brand’s brow wrinkled. “The Home Guard tells me the othergot away.”
“Oh, they’ll catch him,” Applegate prophesied cheerfully.
“I’m not so sure about that.” Brand did not smile. “They did find hisparachute and his uniform half hidden under leaves.”
“Oh! Fixing to turn into a spy!” Applegate’s face sobered.
“Alice,” the younger of the two children called. “What is a spy?”
“A spy,” said Cherry, “steals secrets.”
“And blows up castles and bridges. A terrible man!” said Alice. “I knowall about it. I’ll tell you a story about a spy when it’s time for bed.”
“Ooo.” Peggy gave a delectable shiver. “After that we won’t dare go tosleep!”
“The most astonishing thing,”—Brand leaned forward in his chair—“is thatone of the men we captured today is the son of the prisoner who workedon this farm more than twenty years ago.”
“What?” Applegate exclaimed. “It can’t be possible!”
“How do you expect us to believe that?” Cherry demanded with a wave ofthe hand.
“I’ll leave it to Dave and Jock,” Brand defended.
“That’s right,” Jock agreed. Dave nodded his head.
“See?” Brand’s voice was low. “What’s more, I’m almost sure the fellowwho eluded us is his brother. If you don’t believe that, look at thispicture.” He passed the paper and the photo around.
“Hans Schlitz,” Applegate said, musingly, “That’s the name, rightenough. I’ve often heard my mother speak of him. Gloomy, brooding sortof fellow, he was. Probably went back to Europe after the war to tellhis sons vile tales of the way he was treated. Poisoned their minds withhate.”
“Oh—ah!” Cherry shuddered. “Gives me the creeps to think of that son ofhis prowling about here at night.”
“Oh come!” Applegate sprang up. “It’s not as bad as all that. Come on,Cherry.” He put out his hands. “How about a song. I’ll do the honors atthe old grand. Happy days.”
“I’d love it!” said Cherry, allowing herself to be led away to thecorner where a huge grand piano loomed out of the shadows.
Taking up a candle, Alice carried it to that corner, set it on thepiano, then tiptoed back.
With this pale light playing across their interesting mobile faces theyoung Lord and Cherry took their places.
The moments that followed will linger long in David’s memory. Neverbefore had he seen or heard anything like it. The pale light playing ontwo bright happy faces, eager for all life, and most of all the perfectblending of mellow tones from the ancient piano with the fresh, free joyof Cherry’s voice. Ah! That was something indeed! More than once,without knowing it, he whispered:
“Oh Cherry! I didn’t know you could sing like that!”
From moment to moment the mood of the music changed. Now the girl’sslender form was swaying to “It’s a Lovely Day Tomorrow,” the next shewas bringing back for good old Jock’s sake a song loved by all those oftwenty years before:
“There’s a long, long trail awinding Into the land of my dreams, Where the nightingale is singing And the white moon beams.”
And then, springing to a place on the long piano bench she cried: “Now!Let’s all sing, Roll out the barrel.”
Long before this songfest was over Dave found himself bursting with awonderful plan. No, it was not his war. But he could do his bit,couldn’t he? And he would.
When quite out of breath after her last rollicking song Cherry was ledto her place by the fire, she exclaimed:
“Oh! It’s wonderful just to live!”
“Yes,” the Young Lord agreed. “It is grand. And yet, perhaps tomorrow wedie.
“Come!” He took Brand by the shoulder. “Let’s go out and see the holesthose bombs dug for you. I’ve got to report to my C. O. about them.” Andso the two of them disappeared into the night.
“Come Peggy. Come Tillie,” Alice called. “Time for a goodnight story.And then to bed.”
“Will you really tell us a spy story?” Peggy begged.
“Perhaps.”
“A real, true spy story!” Tillie was fairly dancing.
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br /> “Yes, I guess so.”
At that Alice, the two children, and Flash, the dog, marched into thesmall dining room to close the door behind them.
“It was the Young Lord who piloted that Tomahawk plane this afternoon,”Jock said in a hoarse whisper. “I have it on good authority, the verybest.”
“And he said never a word about it!” Dave marvelled.
“He’s like that.” Cherry’s lips went white. “He never tells of suchthings. But just think! He nearly crashed!”
“So near I closed my eyes,” Dave replied admiringly. “Young Lord,” hethought. “Not a bad name for a chap like that!”
