He was sent to
the Front rather sooner than most, for he was a very intelligent man, and
really keen. I've got a boy now, a lad of seventeen--not half a bad sort,
but it does seem strange to give him every Saturday just double the money
I used to give McPherson!"

She went out, through into the garden, on these last words, and again
there came over Radmore a feeling of poignant sadness. How strange that
he should have spent those weeks in London, knowing so little, nay, not
knowing at all, what the War had really meant to the home country.

He opened the door into the corridor, and listened, wondering where they
had all gone. He had some business letters to write, and he told himself
that he would go and get them done in what he still thought of in his
mind as George's room. He had noticed that the big plain deal writing
table was still there.

He went upstairs, and when he opened the bedroom door, he was astonished
to find Rosamund kneeling in front of George's old play-box, routing
among what looked like a lot of papers and books.

"I'm hunting for a prescription for father," she said, looking up. "Timmy
thinks he put it in here one day after coming back from the chemist's at
Guildford." She looked flushed, and decidedly cross, as she went on: "No
one's taught Timmy to put things in their proper place, as we were taught
to do, when we were children!"

Radmore felt amused. She certainly was very, very pretty, and did not
look much more than a child herself.

"Look here," he said good-naturedly, "let me help. I don't think you're
going the right way to work." He felt just a little bit sorry for Timmy;
Rosamund was raking about as if the play-box was a bran-pie.

Bending down he took up out of the box a bundle of envelopes, copybooks,
and Christmas cards. Then he sat himself down on a chair in the window,
and began going through what he held, carefully and methodically.

Suddenly through the open door there came a cry of "Miss Rosamund, I want
you!"

Rosamund got up reluctantly. "Nanna's a regular tyrant!"

"Leave all this to me," he said. "I'll find the prescription if it's
here."

She went off, and almost at once he came to a folded bit of paper.
Perhaps this was the prescription? He opened it, and this is what he
read:--

March 12, 1919. This is the happiest day of my life. One of my
godmothers has died and left me L50. I am going to buy two nanny-goats,
a boy and a girl. They will have kids, and