membered Mrs. Cobbett definitely, as a buxom, merry-looking young
woman. She now looked older than her husband, and she did not smile at
him, as the man had done, as she held out her worn, thin hand.

"A deal has happened," she said slowly, "since you went away."

"Yes," said Radmore, "a deal has happened, Mrs. Cobbett; but Beechfield
seems unchanged, I cannot see any difference at all."

"Hearts are changed," she said in a strange voice.

For the first time since he had been in Beechfield, Radmore felt a tremor
of real discomfort run through him.

He looked up at the mantelpiece. It was bare save for the photographs, in
cheap frames, of two stolid-looking lads, whom he vaguely remembered.

"Those your boys?" he asked kindly, and then, making an effort of memory
of which he felt harmlessly proud, he said:--"Let me see, one was Peter
and the other was Paul, eh? I hope they're all right, Mrs. Cobbett?"

"In a sense, sir," she said apathetically. "I do believe they are. They
was both killed within a month of one another--first Paul, then Pete, as
we called him--so Mr. Cobbett and I be very lonely now."

As Radmore and Timmy walked away from the post-office, Radmore said
a trifle ruefully:--"I wish, Timmy, you had told me about those poor
people's sons. I'm afraid--I suppose--that a good many boys never came
back to Beechfield."

He now felt that everything was indeed changed in the lovely, peaceful
little Surrey village.

"I expect," said Timmy thoughtfully, "that the most sensible thing you
could do"--(he avoided calling Radmore by name, not knowing whether he
was expected to address him as "godfather," "Godfrey," or "Major
Radmore")--"before we see anybody else, would be to take a look at the
Shrine. You have plenty of matches with you, haven't you?"

"The Shrine?" repeated Radmore hesitatingly.

"Yes, _you_ know?"

But somehow Radmore didn't know.

They walked on in the now fast gathering darkness through a part of the
village where the houses were rather spread out. And suddenly, just
opposite the now closed, silent schoolhouse and its big playground, Timmy
stopped and pointed up to his right. "There's our Shrine," he exclaimed.
"If you'll give me the box of matches, I'll strike some while you look at
the names."

Radmore stared up to where Timmy pointed, but, for a moment or two, he
could see nothing. Then, gradually, there emerged against the high hedge
a curious-looking wooden panel protected by a s