CHAPTER VII
THE THATCHED COTTAGE
But for the narrow white beds, you would hardly have thought that thebig room was a hospital ward. In days before all the world was caughtinto a whirlpool of war it had been a ballroom. A famous painter hadmade the vaulted ceiling an exquisite thing of palest blush-roses andlaughing Cupids, tumbling among vine-leaves and tendrils. The whitewalls bore long panels of the same design. There were no fittings forlight visible: when darkness fell, the touch of a button flooded theroom with a soft glow, coming from some unseen source in the carvedcornice. The shining floor bore heavy Persian rugs, and there weretables heaped with books and magazines; and the nurses who flitted inand out were all dainty and good to look at. All about the room weresplendid palms in pots; from giants twenty feet high, to lesser onesthe graceful leaves of which could just catch the eye of a tired manin bed--fresh from the grim ugliness of the trenches. It was thepalms you saw as you came in--not the beds here and there among them.
A good many of the patients were up this afternoon, for this was award for semi-convalescents. Not all were fully dressed: they movedabout in dressing-gowns, or lay on the sofas, or played games at thelittle tables. One man was in uniform: Major Hunt, who sat in a bigchair near his bed, and from time to time cast impatient glances atthe door.
"Wish we weren't going to lose you, Major," said a tall man in apurple dressing-gown, who came up the ward with wonderful swiftness,considering that he was on crutches. "But I expect you're keen togo."
"Oh, yes; though I'll miss this place." Major Hunt cast anappreciative glance down the beautiful room. "It has been great luckto be here; there are not many hospitals like this in England.But--well, even if home is only a beastly little flat in Bloomsbury it_is_ home, and I shall be glad to get back to my wife and theyoungsters. I miss the kids horribly."
"Yes, one does," said the other.
"I daresay I'll find them something of a crowd on wet days, when theycan't get out," said Major Hunt, laughing. "The flat is small, and mywretched nerves are all on edge. But I want them badly, for all that.And it's rough on my wife to be so much alone. She has led a kind ofwandering life since war broke out--sometimes we've been able to havethe kids with us, but not always." He stretched himself wearily."Gad! how glad I'll be when the Boche is hammered and we're able tohave a decent home again!"
"We're all like that," said the other man. "I've seen my youngsterstwice in the last year."
"Yes, you're worse off than I am," said Major Hunt. He lookedimpatiently towards the door, fidgeting. "I wish Stella would come."
But when a nurse brought him a summons presently, and he said good-byeto the ward and went eagerly down to the ground-floor (in an electriclift worked by an earl's daughter in a very neat uniform), it was nothis wife who awaited him in a little white-and-gold sitting-room, buta very tall man, looking slightly apologetic.
"Your wife is perfectly well," said David Linton, checking the quickinquiry that rose to the soldier's lips. "But I persuaded her to giveme the job of calling for you to-day: our car is rather morecomfortable than a taxi, and the doctor thought it would be a goodthing for you to have a little run first."
Major Hunt tried not to look disappointed, and failed signally.
"It's awfully good of you," he said courteously. "But I don't believeI'm up to much yet--and I'm rather keen on getting home. If youwouldn't mind going there direct."
David Linton cast an appealing look at the nurse, who had accompaniedher patient. She rose to the occasion promptly.
"Now, Major Hunt," she protested. "Doctor's orders! You promised totake all the exercise you could, and a run in the car would be thevery thing for you."
"Oh, very well." Major Hunt's voice was resigned. David Lintonleaned towards him.
"I'll make it as short as I can," he said confidentially. They saidgood-bye, and emerged into Park Lane, where the big blue motor waited.
"Afraid you must think me horribly rude," said the soldier, as theystarted. "Fact is, I'm very anxious to see my youngsters: I don'tknow why, but Stella wouldn't bring them to the hospital to see methis last week. But it's certainly jolly to be out again." He leanedback, enjoying the comfort of the swift car. "I suppose--" hehesitated--"it would be altogether too much trouble to go round by theflat and pick up my wife and Geoff. They would love a run."
"Oh! Ah! The flat--yes, the flat!" said David Linton, a littlewildly. "I'm afraid--that is, we should be too early. Mrs. Huntwould not expect us so soon, and she--er--she meant to be out, withall the children. Shopping. Fatted calf for the prodigal's return,don't you know. Awfully sorry."
"Oh, it's quite all right," said Major Hunt, looking rather amazed."Only she doesn't generally take them all out. But of course itdoesn't matter."
"I'll tell you what," said his host, regaining his composure. "We'lltake all of you out to-morrow--Mrs. Hunt and the three youngsters aswell as yourself. The car will hold all."
Major Hunt thanked him, rather wearily. They sped on, leaving theoutskirts of London behind them. Up and down long, suburban roads,beyond the trail of motor-'buses, until the open country gleamedbefore them. The soldier took a long breath of the sweet air.
"Gad, it's good to see fields again!" he said. Presently he glancedat the watch on his wrist.
"Nearly time to turn, don't you think?" he said. "I don't want Stellato be waiting long."
"Very soon," said Mr. Linton. "Just a little more country air. Thechauffeur has his orders: I won't keep you much longer."
He racked his brains anxiously for a moment, and then plunged into astory of Australia--a story in which bushrangers, blacks and bushfiresmingled so amazingly that it was impossible not to listen to it.Having once secured his hapless guest's attention, he managed to leavethe agony of invention and to slide gracefully to cattle-mustering,about which it was not necessary to invent anything. Major Huntbecame interested, and asked a few questions; and they were deep in acomparison of the ways of handling cattle on an Australian run and aTexan ranch, when the car suddenly turned in at a pair of big irongates and whirled up a drive fringed with trees. Major Hunt broke offin the middle of a sentence.
"Hallo! Where are we going?"
"I have to stop at a house here for an instant," said Mr. Linton."Just a moment; I won't keep you."
Major Hunt frowned. He was tired; the car was wonderfullycomfortable, but the rush through the keen air was wearying to asemi-invalid, and he was conscious of a feeling of suppressedirritation. He wanted to be home. The thought of the hard littlesofa in the London flat suddenly became tempting--he could lie thereand talk to the children, and watch Stella moving about. Now theywere miles into the country--long miles that must be covered againbefore he was back in Bloomsbury. He bit his lips to restrain wordsthat might not seem courteous.
"I should really be very grateful if----"
He stopped. The car had turned into a side-avenue--he caught aglimpse of a big, many-gabled house away to the right. Then theyturned a corner, and the car came to a standstill with her bonnetalmost poking into a great clump of rhododendrons. There was athatched cottage beside them. And round the corner tore a small boyin a sailor suit, with his face alight with a very ecstasy of welcome.
"Daddy! Oh, Daddy!"
"Geoff!" said Major Hunt amazedly. "But how?--I don't understand."
There were other people coming round the corner: his wife, tall andslender, with her eyes shining; behind her, Norah Linton, with Alisontrotting beside her, and Michael perched on one shoulder. At sight ofhis father Michael drummed with his heels to Norah's great discomfort,and uttered shrill squeaks of joy.
"Come on," said Geoffrey breathlessly, tugging at the door. "Come on!they're all here."
"Come on, Hunt," said David Linton, jumping out. "Let me helpyou--mind your hand."
"I suppose I'll wake up in a moment," said Major Hunt, getting outslowly. "At present, it's a nice dream. I don't understand anyth
ing.How are you, Miss Linton?"
"You don't need to wake up," said his wife, in a voice that shook alittle. Her brave eyes were misty. "Only, you're home."
"It's the loveliest home, Daddy!" Geoff's hand was in his father's,pulling him on.
"There's tsickens!" said Alison in a high pipe. "An' a ackit wivtoys."
"She means an attic," said Geoffrey scornfully. "Come on, Daddy.We've got such heaps to show you."
Somehow they found themselves indoors. Norah and her father haddisappeared; they were all together, father, mother, and babies, in abig room flooded with sunlight: a room covered with a thick redmatting with heavy rugs on it; a room with big easy-chairs andgate-legged tables, and a wide couch heaped with bright cushions,drawn close to an open casement. There was a fire of logs, cracklingcheerily in the wide fireplace: there were their ownbelongings--photographs, books, his own pipe-rack and tobacco-jar:there were flowers everywhere, smiling a greeting. Tea-cups andsilver sparkled on a white-cloth; a copper kettle bubbled over aspirit-lamp. And there were his own people clinging round him,welcoming, holding him wherever little hands could grasp: the babiesfresh, clean, even rosy; his wife's face, no longer tired. And therewas no Bloomsbury anywhere.
Major Hunt sat down on the sofa, disentangled Michael from his leg,and lifted him with his good arm.
"It isn't a dream, really, I suppose, Stella?" he said. "I won't wakeup presently? I don't want to."
"No; it's just a blessed reality," she told him, smiling. "Hang upDaddy's cap, Geoff: steady, Alison, darling--mind his hand. Don'tworry about anything, Douglas--only--you're home."
"I don't even want to ask questions," said her husband, in the samedazed voice. "I find one has no curiosity, when one suddenly gets toheaven. We won't be going away from heaven, though, will we?"
"No--we're permanent residents," she told him, laughing. "Now getquite comfy; we'll all have tea together."
"Tea's is lovely here," confided Alison to him. "They's cweam--an'cakes, _evewy_ day. An' the tsickens make weal eggs, in nesses!"
"And I can ride. A pony, Daddy!" Geoffrey's voice was quivering withpride. He stood by the couch, an erect little figure.
"Why, he's grown--ever so much!" said Major Hunt. "They've all grown;you too, my little fat Michael. I left white-faced babies in thatbeastly flat. And you too----" She bent over him. "Your dear eyeshave forgotten the old War!" he said, very low.
There was a heavy knock at the door. Entered Eva, resplendent in abutterfly cap and an apron so stiffly starched that it stood awayresentfully from her figure. By no stretch of imagination could Evaever have been called shy; but she had a certain amount of awe for hermaster, and found speech in his presence a little difficult. But onthis occasion it was evident that she felt that something was demandedof her. She put her burden of buttered toast on a trivet in thefender, and said breathlessly:
"'Ope I see yer well, sir. And _ain't_ this a nice s'prise!"
"Thank you, Eva--yes," said Major Hunt.
Whereat, the handmaiden withdrew, her heavy tread retreating to thekitchen to the accompaniment of song.
"Ow--Ow--_Ow_, it's a lovely War!"
"I didn't know her for a moment," Major Hunt said, laughing. "Yousee, she never had less than six smuts on her face in Bloomsbury.She's transformed, like all of you in this wonderful dream."
"Tea isn't a dream," said his wife. She made it in the silvertea-pot, and they all fluttered about him, persuading him to eat: andmade his tea a matter of some difficulty, since all three childreninsisted on getting as close to him as possible, and he had but onegood hand. He did not mind. Once, as his wife brought him a refilledcup, she saw him lean his face down until it rested for a moment onthe gold rings of Michael's hair.
It was with some anxiety that Norah and her father went to call ontheir guest next morning.
"What will we do if he's stiff-necked and proud, Dad?" Norah asked."I simply couldn't part with those babies now!"
"Let's hope he won't be," said her father. "But if the worst comes toworst, we could let him pay us a little rent for the place--we couldgive the money to the Red Cross, of course."
"'M!" said Norah, wrinkling her nose expressively. "That would behorrid--it would spoil all the idea of the place."
But they found Major Hunt surprisingly meek.
"I daresay that if you had propounded the idea to me at first I shouldhave said 'No' flatly," he admitted. "But I haven't the heart todisturb them all now--and, frankly, I'm too thankful. If you'll letme pay you rent----"
"Certainly not!" said Mr. Linton, looking astonished and indignant."We don't run our place on those lines. Just put it out of your headthat we have anything to do with it. You're taking nothing fromus--only from a man who died very cheerfully because he was able to dofive minutes' work towards helping the War. He's helping it still ifhis money makes it easier for fellows like you; and I believe,wherever he is, he knows and is glad."
"But there are others who may need it more," said Hunt weakly.
"If there are, I haven't met them yet," Mr. Linton responded. Heglanced out of the window. "Look there now, Hunt!"
Norah had slipped away, leaving the men to talk. Now she came ridingup the broad gravel path across the lawn, on the black pony: leadingthe fat Welsh pony, with Geoffrey on his back. The small boy sat verystraight, with his hands well down. His flushed little face soughtanxiously for his father's at the window.
Major Hunt uttered a delighted exclamation.
"I didn't know my urchin was so advanced," he said. "Well done, oldson!" He scanned him keenly. "He doesn't sit too badly, Mr. Linton."
"He's not likely to do so, with Norah as his teacher. But Norah sayshe doesn't need much teaching, and that he has naturally good hands.She's proud of him. I think," said Mr. Linton, laughing, "that theyhave visions of hunting together this winter!"
"I must go out and see him," said the father, catching up his cap.Mr. Linton watched him cross the lawn with quick strides: and turned,to find Mrs. Hunt at his elbow.
"Well--he doesn't look much like an invalid, Madam!" he said, smiling.
"He's not like the same man," she said, with grateful eyes. "He sleptwell, and ate a huge breakfast: even the hand is less painful. Andhe's so cheery. Oh, I'm so thankful to you for kidnapping us!"
"Indeed, it's you that we have to thank," he told her. "You gave usour first chance of beginning our job."