CHAPTER II. JOSEPHINE'S ARRIVAL
CHAPTER III. JOSEPHINE'S GIFTS
CHAPTER IV. SUNDAY AT THE GLEN
CHAPTER V. DICK RUMBELOW ENLISTS
CHAPTER VI. A JOYFUL SURPRISE
CHAPTER VII. HIS BRAVE LITTLE DAUGHTER
CHAPTER VIII. "A REAL PLUCKY LITTLE MAID"
CHAPTER IX. SERIOUSLY WOUNDED
CHAPTER X. JOY AND SORROW
CHAPTER XI. KEEPING A BRAVE HEART
CHAPTER XII. TWO HEROES
LITTLE SOLDIERS ALL
CHAPTER I
NEWS FROM INDIA
"DEAR me!" exclaimed Miss Basset; "oh, dear me! I was saying only
yesterday that the whole world seemed topsy-turvy as the result of the
war, but I never thought that this might happen! Oh, dear me!"
She was a gentle-faced maiden lady of nearly seventy, with soft brown
eyes and silvery hair. As she spoke she glanced across the
breakfast-table, at which she was presiding, at her brother, and then
at the young folks—a girl and boy—who were seated facing each other.
Having assured herself she had every one's attention, she proceeded—
"Really it is most upsetting! Though we have often said we should
like to see Paul's little daughter, haven't we, John? It will be a
great responsibility for us to have charge of her, but under the
circumstances—"
"Had you not better let me know the contents of Paul's letter, my
dear Ann?" interposed Mr. Basset, smiling.
He was a tall thin man, with stooping shoulders which made him look
older than his sister, who was his senior by several years. Being of
a retiring disposition, he lived a quiet life, spending most of his
days in the pursuits he loved—the study of flowers and insects. The
gardens surrounding his home—the Glen, a modern red brick residence,
situated near the west country town of Midbury—were full of the
choicest plants; and he was the possessor of one of the finest
collections of moths and butterflies in England.
Miss Basset had kept house for her brother for many years, during
which they had been very happy together. They were good, kind people,
always ready to help any charitable cause which was brought to their
notice; but they lived rather narrow lives, and made few new
acquaintances.
Six years previously Mr. Basset had been left trustee to two orphan
children—May and Donald Rae—who had then come to live at the Glen.
They were twins, twelve years of age, and were being educated by a
daily governess.
Donald had been to a boarding-school at Exeter for some months; but,
unfortunately, whilst playing football he had seriously injured his
right knee. He had been laid up for weeks, and was still obliged to
walk with a crutch. The doctors advised that he should be kept at home
for the present, and had expressed the opinion that he would most
likely be lame all his life.
Miss Basset passed the letter she had been reading to her brother. It
was from their nephew, Paul Basset, their dead brother's only son,
who was an officer in an Indian regiment. He was a widower, his young
wife having died eighteen months after their marriage, leaving him
with a baby girl whom he had kept with him in India. She was now
eleven years of age.
"I see! I see!" murmured Mr. Basset, as, having read his nephew's
letter, he folded it carefully, placed it in its envelope, and
returned it to his sister. "Well, I suppose having Josephine here will
not make much difference anyway, Ann?"
"I don't know about that," Miss Basset answered doubtfully; "it will
depend upon what she is like, of course. An Indian-born child,
accustomed to native servants, may not settle down comfortably in an
English home. Dear me, I was saying only yesterday that we had no
relative at the front, little thinking how soon our nearest and
dearest would be there! Oh, dear me!"
"Is Captain Basset going to the front then?" asked Donald eagerly
He and his sister had been listening to their elders with growing
curiosity.
Miss Basset assented, her eyes filling with tears as she did so;
she wiped them hastily.
"And he is sending his little daughter to us in charge of a brother
officer's wife who is going to Exeter," she explained; "he wants us to
keep her till the end of the war. I do think—" turning to her brother—
"that he should have consulted us, though, before making his plans."
"My dear Ann, don't you realize he had no time for anything but to
act? His regiment was ordered immediately to the front, and he had
to decide what to do with Josephine at once. He has paid us a
compliment, I consider, in sending the child to us. It shows
he realizes we shall do our best for her and try to make her happy.
You noticed, I suppose, that he remarked she would probably be with us
almost as soon as her letter? So we may expect her any time now."
"Then I must see about having a bedroom prepared for her," Miss Basset
said, rising; "she shall have the one next mine, for it faces south
and is very warm and cosy. If she is a nice child it will be pleasant
for May. Poor little soul, I dare say she's in dreadful trouble about
her father—because he's gone to the war, I mean. She may never see him
again."
"Or he may live to win the Victoria Cross!" cried Donald, his eyes
sparkling. Then, as Miss Basset left the room, he continued: "Oh, how
I wish I was a man and able to enlist in the army! When I think of
those poor Belgians fighting so bravely I long to be a few years
older—but, there, my knee will prevent my ever being a soldier now,
I suppose!"
"Never mind!" said May; "never mind, dear!"
"But I do mind!" the boy answered sharply, "so what's the good of your
talking like that? Never mind, indeed!"
Mr. Basset had gone to the window, and was looking out into the garden
where autumn flowers still lingered. He was paying no attention to the
children, and presently he opened the window and stepped out into the
October sunshine. There was silence in the breakfast-room for some
minutes after he had gone. May felt snubbed, but she showed no
resentment. She was naturally sweet-tempered and allowed Donald
to treat her as he pleased. It would have been better for both of
them, perhaps, if she had not. During the time he had been ill with
his injured knee she had been his willing slave, and when he had
vented his irritability upon her she had borne it without complaint.
"I wonder what Josephine will be like," she remarked presently, "and
if we shall get on with her?"
"What's the good of wondering? I wish it was a boy who was coming
instead of a girl!"
"I dare say you do. For your sake I wish so, too, dear."
"And I wish you wouldn't keep on calling me dear!" Donald exclaimed
complainingly; "you have such an old-fashioned way of speaking, May,
as though you were your own grandmother!"
May laughed, but she was secretly hurt. She moved to the window and
watched her guardian pacing the garden paths. In a minute she cried—
"I hear a band! I believe the soldiers are coming! Let us go to the
gate and watch them pass!"
There were several hundred recruits billeted in Midbury, and nearly
every day they went for a long march. This morning, as they came
to the big iron gate leading into the shrubbery which hid the Glen
and its gardens from the high road, they found an elderly gentleman
there with a pretty, fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl, and a boy
leaning on a crutch. They saluted them as they passed by.
"I seem to know the faces of some of them," remarked Mr. Basset,
as the last line of khaki-clad figures disappeared from view.
"A lot of them are Midbury men," Donald answered. "How well they are
marching!—much better than they did a week ago! Did you notice young
Dicker, May?"
May nodded. Her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkling. She could
not think why it was that the sounds of a military band and marching
feet should always bring a lump into her throat.
"What Dicker is that?" inquired Mr. Basset. "Not the blacksmith's
son? Yes? Why, he is an only child! I wonder his father let him
join!"
"His father wouldn't have been very pleased if he hadn't," Donald
answered quickly; "I managed to get as far as the blacksmith's
yesterday, and had a talk with old Dicker. He was so proud to tell me
that his boy had been the first man in Midbury to obey the call
to arms. He says that after our duty to God comes our duty to our
king and country. He's right, isn't he?"
"Yes, yes!" agreed Mr. Basset. "Old Dicker is a very fine fellow,
straight as a line, and honest as the day, but I should have thought
he was too peace-loving to have consented to his son being a soldier.
I thought he hated war as much as I do."
"But you don't think it wrong to fight in a good cause?" questioned
Donald eagerly.
"Certainly not, certainly not! It's the right thing to do—only people
don't always do it."
"Then they're cowards!" declared the boy hotly.
Mr. Basset did not gainsay it. Hitherto the shadow of the war had not
come very near him. He had subscribed to the hospital which was
shortly to be opened in Midbury for wounded soldiers, as had his
sister, and to various war funds; but until that morning it had not
occurred to him, any more than it had to Miss Basset, that it might
effect them personally. Now it seemed as if it might, for their dead
brother's son was very dear to them.
"Oh, Donald, don't you wish there was something you and I could do
for our country?" cried May. "If I was a little older I might be a
Red Cross nurse—"
Donald interrupted her with a laugh. "I like that!" he cried; "you a
Red Cross nurse indeed! Why, you haven't the pluck of a mouse!
I shan't forget how you wept over that dead rabbit we found in a
snare the other day!"
"That was because it had suffered," May answered; "you know it had
been caught by the leg, not killed outright. If it had been living
I should have loved to care for it till it was well."
Donald made no reply to this. He had suddenly remembered the hours
his sister had devoted to him during his late illness, and felt
ashamed that he had laughed at her tender-heartedness. He did not
tell her so, however, and they went back to the house without
speaking to each other again.
Punctually at ten o'clock Miss Cummings, the governess, arrived.
She lived at Midbury with her widowed mother, and had held her
present situation for years. She was a clever teacher, and a strict
disciplinarian. May and Donald had a great respect but no affection
for her. She was a tall, gaunt young woman, with a sallow complexion,
grey eyes, and tightly-braided brown hair.
"Oh, Miss Cummings, have you heard the news?" May questioned, as the
governess entered the schoolroom where she and Donald were waiting
for her. "Captain Basset is sending his little girl to England—"
"So Miss Basset has informed me," Miss Cummings interrupted; "I met
her in the hall. But no talking now, children! It's time for work
to begin."
As a rule work ceased at half-past twelve o'clock. This morning May
and Donald were inattentive, not wilfully, but because they found it
impossible to keep their thoughts from wandering to the expected
visitor, and the result was that it was nearly one o'clock before
they had finished writing the impositions their governess gave them.
By that time they were both feeling very ill-used.
The family at the Glen, who were simple living people, dined at
half-past one. After dinner, if the weather was fine, Miss Cummings
generally took May for a walk. She did so to-day.
"Where are we going?" May inquired, as, on closing the big iron gate
behind them, the governess paused, looking undecided. "May I choose
the way?"
"Yes, if you like," Miss Cummings replied.
So May chose the road towards Midbury, which led past the
blacksmith's house and shop. Old Dicker, a vigorous man of sixty,
with grizzled hair, was at work in the shop, and his wife, a little,
plump, rosy-cheeked, brown-eyed woman, stood in the doorway knitting.
May nodded smilingly to the blacksmith, and spoke to Mrs. Dicker.
"I saw your son march past the Glen this morning," she informed her.
"Ah, yes!" said the woman. "He was on his way to Kilber Down with the
other recruits. They're going to be taught trench-digging there."
"How interesting!" exclaimed Miss Cummings.
"Ah, there's a lot for them to learn," said Mrs. Dicker, "and they've
got to be sharp about it."
"Did you want your son to be a soldier?" asked May curiously.
"Not at first," Mrs. Dicker admitted, "but when I'd thought about it
more I did, and felt ashamed I hadn't bid him go and do his duty.
God's calling us all to-day, as plain as plain can be to show
ourselves Christian soldiers."
"But women can't be soldiers," said May; "they don't fight battles."
"They have sometimes the hardest battles of all to fight,"
Mrs. Dicker answered gravely, "and so you'll find, miss. I wanted
to keep my boy. That was selfishness, and I had to fight it.
It wasn't easy."
"But you won!" smiled Miss Cummings.
At this minute a cab appeared, coming towards them from the direction
of Midbury. As it passed by May clutched her governess excitedly by
the arm.
"Did you see?" she cried— "see all the luggage I mean? And the lady
and little girl? Oh, let us go home, please, Miss Cummings! I feel
sure that little girl is Josephine Basset!"