"LAST LEAVE"
The Lindsay boys did not get home on leave until the Easter vacation,
for they were taking their military training along with their
university work. John drove down to Silver Creek Crossing to meet
them, for the roads to town were almost impassable. The home-coming of
the boys had always been the great event in their family life, but it
was a far more wonderful thing this time; it had something of the
flavour of heroes returning from the war.
Christina and Jimmie met them at the road gate under the moaning
poplars, where the wind whipped her skirts about her and blew her hair
into her eyes.
Their mother and Uncle Neil were half way down the lane, and even
Grandpa had hobbled to the edge of the garden to meet the soldier boys
home on their first leave. Christina had known they would be in khaki,
but when a trim young private of artillery in jingling spurs and
bandolier, and a smart young subaltern in shining boots and straps and
belt and what not leaped from the democrat and charged upon her;
instead of running to meet them, their sister put her head down against
the gate post and burst into tears. Somehow the sight of Sandy in the
uniform of his country's service had overwhelmed Christina with a sense
of the great gulf that had yawned between them. Sandy and Neil were
gone and there were two soldier-men in their place. Manlike, they did
not understand her tears.
"Goodness, Christine!" cried Sandy, jovially, "if you're sorry we've
come home, we can turn right back if you'd rather."
"You silly thing--I--I'm not sorry," gasped Christina; kissing them and
turning from tears to laughter. "I--I forgot you'd be in uniform."
"Well, cheer up," said Neil comfortingly, "I'll admit that the sight of
Sandy's calves is enough to make anybody weep, but he'll fatten up next
summer--here's Mother!"--and he ran up the lane at a breakneck pace.
Certainly Sandy's calves were not any too stout. He looked like a whip
handle dressed up, Uncle Neil said as he circled round him admiringly.
But he was as neat and smart as a whip, too, even if he were thin and
even John could not hide his admiration. And as for Grandpa, he had to
take refuge in Gaelic exclamations to express himself.
The mother spoke just one hint of her regrets as they sat around the
supper table, Neil at her right hand. She smoothed his rough khaki
sleeve, examining the cloth closely, and pronounced it a fine
comfortable piece that would wear well.
"It's the only cloth to wear these days, Mother," Neil said. "Don't
you think so?"
She shook her head. "I would be hoping to see you in a black coat,
Neily," she said softly.
"That'll come later," said Neil comfortingly. "You think I did right,
don't you?" he continued, anxiously.
"Oh, yes, yes, indeed, you did right, and I'm proud that you will be
wanting to go," she declared bravely. And Neil's heart was content.
These were stirring days in Orchard Glen while the boys were home. All
the boys and girls gathered at the Lindsays just as they used to. But
there was one family missing. The McKenzies were absent, and Uncle
Neil never sang the "Standard on the Braes o' Mar" any more.
There was great fun with Sandy and Neil, for Sandy was an officer and
his elder brother a private, and it was impossible for them to remember
that Neil's old air of authority with Sandy was now quite out of place.
The private was always saluting the subaltern with tremendous gravity,
and the next moment treating him in a manner that deserved a
court-martial.
Jimmie followed his soldier brothers about in a passion of admiration.
And one day the ambition that was burning him up burst forth.
"Say, what do you think?" he cried excitedly, coming in with the
afternoon mail. "Tommy Holmes has enlisted, and he's a month younger
than I am."
"Then he's a silly youngster, and ought to be kept washing dishes to
punish him," said Neil sharply. "No boy under eighteen has any right
to enlist!"
"I'll be eighteen next Fall!" declared Jimmie defiantly.
"Which means you've barely turned seventeen, so hold your tongue," said
Sandy.
Jimmie saluted with mock meekness. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," he
said, with a great show of nervousness.
Uncle Neil laughed uproariously, but brother Neil looked serious, and
when milking time came he took Jimmie aside in the barn.
"You're worrying Mother, with your talk about enlisting," he said.
"Can't you see that, and be quiet."
"I want to go as much as you do," said Jimmie stubbornly.
"I don't want to go at all," declared Neil, and his younger brother
stared. "And neither would you if you would stop and think what a
fearful thing this war is. I'm going because it is my duty, and so is
Sandy. It's your duty to stay at home and finish the education John
and Allister are giving you, and look after Mother.
"I don't want to go back to school," grumbled Jimmie, "Not after I've
passed next summer, anyway."
"John doesn't want to stay here on the farm. He'd like to go to the
Front, but he stays. You are young and you will be needed later. So
be a man and do your duty. All the soldiers aren't going info the
trenches."
But his advice had little effect on Jimmie, the war fever was in his
veins. He gave his promise, however, to wait until he was eighteen,
and Neil had to be content. But he was restless and fretful under the
restriction, he felt quite sure that the war would all be over long
before that date and his great opportunity would be gone.
Meanwhile Orchard Glen was slowly waking up at the call for men. Tommy
Holmes rushed into khaki after the first glorious sight of the Lindsay
boys in the village street, and Tremendous K.'s eldest son followed.
And Christina had the heavy task of writing to Ellen to tell her that
Bruce had given up his prospects of being a Doctor, and was enlisted
with the University corps. Mr. Sinclair's only son, who was a minister
in a neighbouring town, came home to say farewell, dressed in his
chaplain's uniform, and the little village lived in a whirl of
excitement.
The Red Cross Society was busy night and day making socks for the boys
who had left, with the result that they each one got far more than any
young man with only two feet could possibly wear.
All this stir, and the sight of so much khaki coming and going in the
village had a bad effect upon Dr. McGarry. Every day he took the war
more grievously to heart. He and Mr. Holmes took different sides as to
the conduct of the spring campaign, and after Tommy enlisted it was not
safe for the Doctor to go into the store, so high did feeling run.
And at home the Doctor was even worse, until poor Mrs. Sutherland's
life was scarcely worth living. Wallace unwittingly brought down a
torrent of wrath upon his head one day when the Spring Drive was on and
prospects were looking black. It was an inopportune moment for Wallace
to broach the subject upon which he had been thinking deeply for many
days.
"Uncle," he said, as they sat down to their pretty tea-table in the
sun-flooded dining-room. "I'd like to go on a farm this Spring. That
Ford place below the mill is for sale, and the Browns are talking of
buying it. You've always wanted to retire on a farm and I could start
the work and----"
He paused, interrupted by his mother's dismayed exclamation. "Wallace!
You with your prospects to settle down here and be a common farmer!
Surely you don't mean it!"
"Elinor, don't be foolish!" snapped her brother, looking up from a
dreary paragraph concerning a British reverse that was attempting to
appear as a strategic move. "You might be glad to have him a common
farmer, as you call it. And as for his prospects, I don't see what
they are, to tell you the truth."
"Don't you agree with me, Uncle?" cried Wallace ingratiatingly. "These
old chaps here farm like Noah before the flood. I'd like to show some
of them an up-to-date way of managing stock." But his uncle was not
capable of agreeing with anybody. His sister's tears forbade that he
put his duty before his nephew, and it fairly broke the old man's heart
that Wallace needed any one to suggest that he enlist. In times of
peace he would have sympathised with the boy's desire to be a farmer,
and he approved highly of Christina, but just now he could listen to
nothing but the cry of Belgium.
"What's the use of talking a lot of rot!" he burst forth irritably.
"You needn't ask my advice about farming! Before you'd get your crop
off your farm next Fall the Kaiser of Germany would have everything to
say about it. How will you like it when you have to pass over most of
your profits to him and his War Lords? Here we are planning and
scheming and all the time we're living in a Fool's Paradise, with the
enemy at our door! We are marrying and giving in marriage, while the
floods are pouring in upon us! Yes, go farming to-morrow if you like!
It'll only be for a few months anyway. The Philistines are upon us!"
Matters were always serious when the Doctor took to quoting Scripture,
and Mrs. Sutherland reached protectingly for her cut-glass spoon tray
as his fist came down with a crash upon the table.
The result of the unhappy episode was that Wallace tramped sulkily up
to his room after supper, and when his distressed mother went up to
comfort him, she found him packing his suit-case once more. He was
going to enlist. This was the end, he could stand no more, he declared.
"Oh, Wallace, Wallace, you will surely break your widowed mother's
heart," declared Mrs. Sutherland in despair. She wept and pleaded.
She made extravagant promises. She would write to Uncle William, she
would even go to see him if he thought best, she would not urge him to
go back to college if he did not want to. She would write Uncle
William about the farm and she would try to make Uncle Peter be more
reasonable if only Wallace would promise that he would not break her
heart by enlisting. Wallace was a warm-hearted boy who could not bear
to look upon distress. So he promised and his mother put aside all her
high hopes and wrote humbly and pleadingly to her brother. Wallace was
really not strong enough to study, the confinement seemed to impair his
health. Peter agreed with her there. He would like to go farming,
there was an excellent chance to buy or rent a place right near the
village. Peter was interested in it and declared that he would like to
retire and go on this farm some day. They felt that Wallace's health
would improve if he had outdoor life, etc.
Whatever the letter contained it proved the key to unlock Uncle
William's closed money box. He was not at all a hard man and his
sister's distress moved him. He wrote that he was glad that the young
cub had sense enough to farm, for it was no use trying to educate him.
But he thought that a military training would be good for a young
fellow's health. However, if he would rather feed the pigs and clean
out the stable than go to college, all right, let him, that was
probably his proper place. The words stung but they were covered by a
most wonderful cheque, with instructions to Uncle Peter to see that the
youngster did not throw it away.
Mrs. Sutherland was relieved even in the midst of her bitter
disappointment. She had had such high ambitions for Wallace and now
there seemed nothing ahead of him but the life of a common farmer. He
would marry Christina Lindsay and probably never go further from home
than Algonquin and William would give all his money to Tom's girls who
had more now than they needed. But there was no alternative, and when
she thought of his enlisting she was thankful that there was something
to keep him at home. The recruiting officers would not trouble a young
man on a farm.
From that time Christina noticed a marked change in Mrs. Sutherland's
attitude toward her. From being coldly aloof she became warmly
gracious and treated her second only to Joanna. Christina accepted the
change gratefully. It had always been a trial, this disapproval of
Wallace's mother. She ought to be very happy, she told herself, when
she scolded herself for still longing to be away. Wallace would always
be in Orchard Glen now, the Ford place had good barns and a fine old
house, and who knew?--her heart beat fast at the thought, but there was
no thrill of joy accompanying. Some subtle change had come over
Christina since Sandy had enlisted. It seemed as if there could be no
other course for a young man now in these days of agony and blood. Her
heart was away with her brothers in their high endeavour and could be
content with nothing less.
It was a beautiful Autumn day when Sandy and Neil came home for their
last leave, as bright and happy as though they were going for a
pleasure trip round the world. Hugh MacGillivray brought Mary home to
say good-bye to them, for Mary was needing special care these days and
could not travel alone.
Grandpa read the 91st Psalm at worship the morning before they left,
and he paused and looked at the two young soldiers as he read the
words. "Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror by night nor for the
arrow that flieth by day ... a thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten
thousand at thy right hand but it shall not come nigh thee."
Christina listened and wondered and a strange new doubt crept into her
soul. How could she believe that promise, knowing that so many brave
boys had fallen before the arrow that flieth by day and that these dear
ones might meet a similar fate? Were the words of that psalm merely
beautiful sounding phrases that meant nothing? She glanced at her
mother to see if she could read a similar doubt there; but Mrs.
Lindsay's face was rapt, as though she had seen a new vision of the
psalm's meaning, and Christina was puzzled and disheartened.
She held up her head bravely, standing at the garden gate to wave them
good-bye as they drove down the lane in the golden sunlight. Then she
ran down the lane after them, stumbling a little when a mist came over
her eyes. She even ran down the road, gallantly waving her apron as
long as Sandy waved his cap, feeling glad that he could not see the
tears that were streaming down her face. And she made sure that the
democrat had disappeared behind the hill before she gave way and sank
down sobbing on the dusty grass of the roadside.
She went back to the desolate home, she must not linger over her grief
for she was needed there as comforter. Her mother had disappeared into
the sanctuary of her room where she was seeking strength from the
source that had never failed her in all life's trials and would hold
her up even in this great agony. Grandpa was sitting fumbling
helplessly with his hymn book and arguing with himself. She could hear
him whispering, "Be not far from me, O Lord, for trouble is near!" and
she patted his bowed white head gently as she passed. Uncle Neil had
fled to the barn, and Mitty was crying over the wash-tub in the shed.
Christina went furiously to work, as her refuge from tears. It would
never do to break down and be no use when Sandy was gone away to fight
for her!
But work would not last all day. It was finished in the evening and
Wallace came up in his usual gay spirits to report progress on his new
farm, where everything was running in the most up-to-date manner. But
Christina was too sad to even pretend to be interested. She could not
rejoice over a new gasoline engine that was to do all the work, when
Sandy and Neil were to be made part of the cruel engine of war. And
for the first time Wallace found her uninterested and consequently
uninteresting.