Louis Tracy

“ Martha smiled once more. She liked Martin’s father. Each moment the first favorable impression was deepening. She was on the point of bustling away to the back kitchen, when they all heard the patter of feet, in desperate haste, approaching the front door. Elsie Herbert dashed in. She was hatless. Her long brown hair was floating in confusion over her shoulders and down her back. She was crying in great gulps and gasping for breath.
“Oh, Mr. Bolland!” she wailed. “Oh, Mrs. Bolland!—what shall I say? Martin is hurt. He fell off the swing. Angèle did it! I’ll kill her! ”

“ The sufferings of the young are strenuous as their joys. When Martin passed into the heart of the bustling fair its glamour had vanished. The notes of the organ were harsh, the gay canvas of the booths tawdry, the cleanly village itself awry. The policeman’s surprise at his lack of knowledge on the subject of his parentage was disastrously convincing. The man treated the statement as indisputable. There was no question of hearsay; it was just so, a recognized fact, known to all the grown-up people in Elmsdale. ”

“ Never had they feared death by flood or field, and their descendant scoffed at the grim vision now.
“What nonsense is this MacGregor has been talking?” he shouted. “Die! A man like me! By gad, vicar, I’d laugh, if I wasn’t too vexed!”
“Be patient, George, and hear me. Things are worse than you can guess. Your wound alone is a small matter, but, unfortunately, the knife——”
“There was no knife! It was a pitchfork!”
“Bear with me, I pray you. You will need to conserve your energy, and your protest only makes my duty the harder. ”

“ Was Elsie aping this demure demeanor because her father was present? Certainly, she looked a very different girl. Every curve of her pretty face, each line in her graceful contour, suggested modesty and nice manners. Why, he couldn’t tell, but he knew instinctively that Elsie Herbert would have drawn back horrified from the mad romp overnight, and he was humbled in spirit before her.
The worthy vicar never dreamed that the farmer’s sturdy son was capable of deep emotion. He interpreted Martin’s quick coloring to knowledge of a discreditable episode. ”

“ The enemy must be crushed by sheer force.
He was a plucky lad and was stung to frenzy by seeing Angèle offer Martin the use of a lace handkerchief for the bleeding lip, a delicate tenderness quietly repulsed.
So, when the rush came, Martin had to fight desperately to avoid annihilation. He was compelled to give way, and backed toward the hedge. Behind lay an unseen stackpole. At the instant when Beckett-Smythe lowered his head and endeavored to butt Martin violently in the stomach, the latter felt the obstruction with his heel. ”

“ It was essential that the British side of “No Man’s Land” should not be too quiet. Every few minutes a rocket or a Verrey light would soar over that torn Golgotha. But there was method in the seeming madness. The first and second glare would illuminate an area well removed from Martin’s territory. The third might be right over him or Mason, but they were then so well hidden that the sharpest eye could not discern their presence.
By nine o’clock they had covered more than a hundred yards of the enemy’s front, skirting his trip-wire throughout the whole distance. ”

“ Martin smiled. In his bemused brain the idea was gaining ground that Angèle would be flattered if he “licked” the squire’s son for her sake.
“Very well,” he said, stepping back into the moonlight. “We’ll settle it that way. If you beat me, Angèle remains. If I beat you, she goes home. Here, Jim. Hold my coat and hat. And, no matter what happens, mind you don’t play for any dancing.”
Martin stated terms and issued orders like an emperor. In the hour of stress he felt himself immeasurably superior to this gang of urchins, whether their manners smacked of Elmsdale or of Eton. ”

“ Angèle caught the astonished expression on the nurse’s face. Quickly her mood changed. Françoise sat near. She bent over and whispered:
“Tiens, nanna! Voici une vieille truie qui parle comme nous autres!”
Françoise nearly choked under a combination of protest and bread crumbs. Before she could recover her breath at hearing Mrs. Summersgill described “an old sow who talks like one of us!” Angèle cried airily to Martin:
“Take me to the stables. I haven’t seen the pony and the dogs for days and days.” ”

“ In a word, Bolland, you have made up your mind, and want me to agree with you. Of course, if Martin succeeds you, and you have read his character aright, there is but one line open. Send him to a good school, leave the choice of a profession to his more cultivated mind, and tie up your property so that it cannot be sold and wasted in a young man’s folly. When he is forty he may be glad to come back to Elmsdale and give thanks for your foresight on his bended knees. In any event, a little extra book lore will make him none the worse stock-raiser. ”

“ It was hard to believe that any man’s hair could catch in an oak so that he should be lifted up between heaven and earth, merely because he rode beneath the tree on the back of a mule. This sounded like the language of exaggeration, and sturdy little Martin Court Bolland hated exaggeration. ”

“ Every day in far-off Elmsdale Elsie would walk to the White House, or John and Martha would visit the vicarage. If there was no letter, some crumb of comfort could be drawn from its absence. Each morning, in both households, the first haunted glance was at the casualty lists in the newspapers. But none ever spoke of that, and Elsie knew what she never told the old couple—that the thing really to be dreaded was a long white envelope from the War Office, with “O.H.M.S.” stamped across it, for the relatives of fallen officers are warned before the last sad item is printed. ”

“ Brigade majors are necessarily inhuman. It is nothing to them what a man may have done—they think only of the next job. They are steeled alike to pity and reproach. This one was no exception among the tribe. He merely thumbed a list and said to the orderly:
“Give that chit to Mr. Fortescue.”
So a subaltern began the chase. He smelt the rum through a whole company of Gordons, but the barrel lies hid a fathom deep in the mud of Flanders.
That same afternoon Martin woke up, refreshed in mind and body. ”

“ The war has broken down many barriers, but few things have crumbled to ruin more speedily than the walls of prejudice and sectarian futilities which separated the many phases of religious thought in Britain.
The church, with its small graveyard, stood in the center of the village, and the Grants had to wring scores of friendly hands before they and the others walked to the vicarage for supper. Martin and Elsie contrived to extricate themselves from the crowd slightly in advance of the older people. They felt absurdly shy. They were wandering in dreamland. ”

“ Germany and England should be friends, not enemies. It will be a happy day for England when she ceases worrying about German measures of self-defense, but tries, rather, to imitate her wonderful achievements in every field of science. Any woman who uses fabrics need not be told how Germany has taught the whole world how to make aniline dyes, while her chemists are now modernizing the old-time theories of agriculture. You, Mr. Bolland, as a practical farmer, can surely bear out that contention? ”

“ John Bolland rose. His red face was dusky with anger, and it sent a pang through Martin’s heart to see something of fear there, too.
“Noo, what are ye drivin’ at?” he growled, speaking with ominous calmness.
“You know well enough,” came the straight answer. “The poor thing has something wrong with her, and she will never hold a calf. Look here, Bolland, meet me fairly in the matter. Either give me back twenty pounds, and we’ll cry ‘quits,’ or sell me another next spring at the same price, and I’ll take my luck.” ”

“ It all hinges on what you intend doing for him, Bolland. He is not your son. If he has to depend on his own resources when he’s a man, teach him a useful trade. No matter how able he may be, that will never come amiss.”
The farmer gazed around. As men counted in that locality, he was rich, not in hard cash, but in lands, stock, and tenements. His expenses did not grow proportionately with his earnings. He ate and dressed and economized now as on the day when Martha and he faced the world together, with the White House and its small meadows their only belongings. ”

“ Behind lay the remainder of the kitchen garden and an orchard, backed by a strip of meadowland that climbed rapidly toward the free moor with its whins and heather—a far-flung range of mountain given over to grouse and hardy sheep, and cleft by tiny ravines of exceeding beauty.
Across the village street stood some modern iron-roofed buildings, where Bolland kept his prize stock, and here was situated the real approach to the couple of hundred acres of rich arable land which he farmed. The house and rear pastures were his own ”

“ Small wonder, then, that Martin’s forehead should be seamed with foreboding. If his suspicions, which his father shared, were justified, the French Intelligence Department would quickly determine the truth, and no power on earth could save Angèle and her mother from a firing party. France knows her peril and stamps it out unflinchingly. Of late, too, the British authorities adopt the same rigorous measures. The spy, man or woman, is shown no mercy.
And now the whirligig of events had placed in Martin’s hands the question of life or death for Mrs. Saumarez and Angèle. ”

“ There was an awkward pause before Martin said:
“You girls get in. I’ll start you.”
He spoke collectively, but addressed Elsie. He wondered why her air was so distant.
[Pg 240]
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve done damage enough already.”
“Martin,” murmured Angèle, “she is furious because I said you kissed me.”
This direct attack was a crude blunder. Mischievous and utterly unscrupulous though the girl was, she could not measure this boy’s real strength of character. The great man is not daunted by great difficulties—he grapples with them; and Martin had in him the material of greatness. ”

“ On the sixth of August, exactly one month later, two German army corps, with full artillery and commissariat trains, were loaded into transports and brought to the mouth of the Elbe. They hoped to avoid the British fleet, and their objective was the Yorkshire coast between Whitby and Filey. Once ashore, they meant entrenching a camp on the Elmsdale moor. Obviously, they did not dream of conquering England by one daring foray. Their purpose was to keep the small army of Britain fully occupied until France was humbled to the dust. They would lose the whole hundred thousand men. ”

“ Angèle sidled toward Martin when a movement in court permitted. Françoise would have restrained her, but the child slid along a bench so quickly that the nurse’s protest came too late.
“Martin,” she whispered, “you behaved beautifully. I was so angry with you at first. But it was not you. I know now. Evelyn Atkinson told.”
“I wish it had never happened,” said the boy bitterly. He hated the notion that his evidence was the strongest link in the chain encircling the hapless Betsy.
“Oh, I don’t find it bad, this court. One is all pins and needles at first. But the men are nice.” ”

“ Martin had eyes only for the girl’s acrobatic agility, but Elsie blushed.
“I don’t like that,” she said.
“I can stand on my head and walk on my hands,” cried Angèle instantly. “Martin, some day I’ll show you.”
Conscious though she was that these things were said to annoy her, Elsie remembered that Angèle was a guest.
“How did you learn?” she asked. “Were you taught in school?”
“School! Me! I have never been to school. Education is the curse of children’s lives. I never leave mamma. One day in Nice I saw a circus girl doing tricks of that sort. I practiced in my bedroom.” ”

“ The slow-moving lips, set tight after each syllabic struggle, the shaggy eyebrows overhanging horn-rimmed spectacles, the beetling forehead and bull-like head sunk between massive shoulders, the very clutch of the big hands on the Bible held stiffly at a distance, bespoke a triumphant dogmatism that found as little actuality in the heartbroken cry of David as in a description of a seven-branched candlestick. ”

“ Beckett-Smythe nodded to the police officer, who drew forward a small table, which, with writing materials, he placed before the magistrate.
A foolscap sheet bore already some written words. The magistrate bent over it, and said, in a voice shaken with emotion:
“Listen, George. I have written here: ‘I, George Pickering, being of sound mind, but believing myself to be in danger of death, solemnly take oath and depose as follows’: Now, I want you to tell me, in your own words, what took place last Monday night. You are going to the awful presence of your Creator. ”