After his ample dinner, William sank into the big chair before the fire,
and with a book on his knee became lost in thought.
He woke half-an-hour later to observe that Margaret was knitting.
"It's sheer waste of time," he told her, "to make anything of wool that
colour."
"Is it?" she asked sweetly.
"If there's no more khaki or brown wool left in the shops, you should
make something of flannel. Any self-respecting soldier would rather be
frost-bitten to death a dozen times than wear a garment of pink wool."
"Do you think so?" asked Margaret, smiling.
"Besides, you really ought to stick to the beaten track--belts, mufflers
and mittens. Nobody wants ear-muffs."
"This is going to be a coat," she said, holding it up and surveying it
with satisfaction.
"A coat?--that handful of pink, a coat? That feeble likeness of an
egg-cosy, a coat? A pink woollen coat for a British soldier! My poor
friend over there in the trenches, whoever you are, may Heaven help you!
And may Heaven forgive you, Margaret, for this night's work!"
"I shan't finish it to-night--it'll take days. And he'll be very proud
of it, I know."
"Who will?"
"The soldier-boy will. Bless his heart; he's a born fighter--anyone can
see it with half an eye. Mabel says----"
"Oh, one of Mabel's pals, is it? Well, what's Donald doing to allow
Mabel to take such an interest in this precious soldier-boy who is
prepared to be proud of a coat of soft pink wool? Who is the idiot?"
"He's no idiot, and his name's Peter," said Margaret.
"Peter! Peter what?"
"Dear old thing, I wish you'd pull yourself together, and try to realise
that you have been an uncle for at least three weeks. Donald and Mabel
are going to call him 'Peter'--didn't I tell you?"
* * * * *
"South Wales. Safe Southern shelter from shells and
shrapnel."--_Advt. in "The Times."_
Just the place for our shy young sister
Susie to sew shirts for soldiers in.
"On the outbreak of war M. F. van Droogenbroeck, an engineer,
joined the Belgian Flying Corps, and did most useful work, being
complimented by his King for his invention of a new kind of
aircomb."
_Daily Mirror._
Our own 'air-comb is the old kind with a couple of spikes missing.
* * * * *