<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
<h3>SQUARING ACCOUNTS</h3>
<p>Almost simultaneously Mr. Wibberley-Stimpson and his son and daughters
opened their eyes, then rubbed them, and sat up and looked about them
with a bewilderment that gradually gave way to intense relief. For,
although the light had faded, their surroundings were reassuringly
familiar. They were in their own drawing-room at "Inglegarth." It
occurred at once to most of them that they had never actually left
it—an impression that was pleasantly confirmed by Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson's first remark as she awoke later.</p>
<p>"Why, hasn't the dinner-gong gone yet?" she inquired crossly. "Cook gets
more and more unpunctual!"</p>
<p>"I don't think it can be eight o'clock yet, my dear," said her husband,
"it's quite light still."</p>
<p>"Nonsense, Sidney, it must be long past dinner-time! I've been so lost
in my own thoughts that somehow I——"</p>
<p>"Now, Mother, you know you've been asleep and only just woke up!" said
Edna, from one of the chintz couches.</p>
<p>"Have I? Perhaps I <i>did</i> drop off just for a few seconds. In fact I must
have done—for I begin to recollect having quite a curious dream. I
dreamed that you and I, Sidney, were King and Queen of some absurd
fairy Kingdom or other, and that—well, it was not at <i>all</i> a pleasant
dream."</p>
<p>"It's a most singular coincidence, Selina," he said, "but I've been
dreaming much the same sort of thing myself!"</p>
<p>The others looked at one another, but none of them ventured to express
just yet what was in all their minds.</p>
<p>"Have you?" said his wife languidly. "I suppose it was telepathy or
something of that kind. Ring for Mitchell, Clarence—I hope dinner has
not been allowed to get cold. And—and Miss Heritage seems to have left
the drawing-room. Run up, Ruby, and tell her to come down."</p>
<p>"I don't believe she's upstairs at all, mummy," said Ruby. "No, of
course she <i>can't</i> be. We left her in the Palace—don't you remember?
<i>She's</i> Queen now, you know?"</p>
<p>"Queen! Miss Heritage! Why, you don't mean to tell me you've been
dreaming that too?"</p>
<p>"So have I, as far as that goes, mater," said Clarence. "If it <i>was</i> a
dream, and not—not——"</p>
<p>"How could it be anything else? Besides, here we all <i>are</i>, exactly as
we were!"</p>
<p>"We've got our cloaks and things on, though," said Ruby. "<i>I</i> know how
it was! We've been brought here in the stork-car while we were fast
asleep. We sat up ever so long waiting for it."</p>
<p>"It can't be! I won't believe anything so absurd. Draw the curtains,
somebody, and pull up the blinds.... It's odd, but it certainly looks
more like early morning than any other time. Clarence, go out and strike
the gong. Perhaps the maids haven't finished dressing yet."</p>
<p>Clarence went out accordingly. The gong bellowed and boomed from the
hall, but there was no sound of stirring above. "I say," he reported,
"I've just looked into the dining-room, and all the chairs are upside
down on the table. That looks rather as if we'd been away for a
bit—what?"</p>
<p>"Clarence! You're not beginning to think that—that all that about our
having been a Royal Family may be <i>true</i>?"</p>
<p>"Well, Mater," he said, "if we haven't been in Märchenland, where <i>have</i>
we been? Oh yes, we've been Royalties right enough—and a pretty rotten
job we made of it!"</p>
<p>At this time there was a deprecatory knock at the drawing-room door.
"Mitchell!" cried her mistress, "don't you know better than to—?"
However, it was not Mitchell that entered—but a person unknown—a
respectable-looking elderly female, who seemed to have made a hasty
toilette.</p>
<p>"Askin' your pardons," she said, "but if you were wishing to see the
family, they're away just now."</p>
<p>"We <i>are</i> the family," replied Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson. "We have
been—er—abroad, but have returned. And we should be glad of breakfast
at once."</p>
<p>"I can git you a cup of tea as soon as the kittle's on the boil," she
said, "but I'm only put in as caretaker like, and I've nothink in the
'ouse except bread and butter. The shops'll be opening now, so if you
don't object to waiting a little, I could go out and get you a naddick
and eggs and such like."</p>
<p>"Yes, buck up, old lady!" said Clarence, "and I say, see if you can get
a <i>Daily Mail</i> or a paper of some sort."</p>
<p>"What are you so anxious to see the paper for?" inquired Edna after the
caretaker had departed.</p>
<p>"Only wanted to know what month we're in," he said. "It would have
looked so silly to ask her what day it is. We must have been—over
there—a good long time."</p>
<p>"At least a year!" said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, no longer able to
sustain the dream theory. "More. When we left it was quite early
Spring—and now all the trees are out! Sidney, what <i>will</i> your firm say
to your having been away so long without letting them know where you
were?"</p>
<p>"I can't say, my love. I'm afraid they might make it a ground for a
dissolution of partnership—unless I can give them a satisfactory
explanation of my absence."</p>
<p>"The difficulty will be to find one!" said his wife. "As for you,
Clarence, they will be too glad to see you back again at the Insurance
Office to ask any questions."</p>
<p>"I dare say they would, Mater, only—it didn't seem worth mentioning
before—but, as a matter of fact, I—er—resigned the day we left."</p>
<p>"Then it seems," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson bitterly, "we have been
sent back here to find ourselves in comparative poverty! I hope and
trust"—she felt furtively in her bead handbag before continuing more
cheerfully—"that we shall be able to struggle through somehow."</p>
<p>She knew now that they would not be without resources. She could feel
them through the handkerchief in which they had been wrapped—two pieces
which she had had the presence of mind to pick up from the Halma board
as she passed through Edna's and Ruby's chamber the evening before. One
was carved from a ruby, the other from a diamond, and each of them was
worth a small fortune. Her one regret now was that she had not pocketed
several more while she was about it. But, although she would have been
perfectly within her rights in doing so—for were they not her own
property?—she had thought at the time that it would be risky to take
any number that could be noticed. There was always the chance that Miss
Heritage might count them!</p>
<p>However, she said nothing about this to her family just then; it would
be a pleasant surprise for them later on.</p>
<p>"But," she continued, "I <i>do</i> think it might have occurred to Miss
Heritage—I can't and won't call her by any other name—that, as she was
known to be in my employment when we left 'Inglegarth,' our returning
without her may expose us to very unpleasant remarks. People may think
I've discharged her—left her stranded in foreign parts—or I don't know
what!"</p>
<p>"That is what she <i>calculated</i> on, no doubt!" said Edna.</p>
<p>"Oh, stop it, Edna!" said her brother, "you ought to know her better
than that!"</p>
<p>"Oh, of course she's an angel—in <i>your</i> estimation! But she could have
saved mother from being misunderstood if she'd wanted to—and since she
hasn't—well, I'll leave you to draw the obvious inference!"</p>
<p>Ruby, who had been roving about the room during this conversation, now
broke in:</p>
<p>"Mummy," she cried, "there's a letter here for you, and it looks like
darling Queen Daphne's writing!" And she brought it to her mother. It
was enclosed in a folded square of parchment—envelopes, like other
modern conveniences, being unknown in Märchenland—and fastened with the
royal signet, which Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson broke with a melancholy
reminiscence of the satisfaction it had given her to use the seal
herself.</p>
<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>Dear Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson</i>," she read aloud—"<i>As I am about
to be married here very shortly, my return with you to England will
naturally be impossible. It is a great grief to me to have to part
from my dear little pupil Ruby, to whom I have become so deeply and
sincerely attached. Will you please tell her from me that I shall
never forget her, and miss her very much indeed.—Believe me, very
truly yours,</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Daphne Heritage.</span>"</p>
</div>
<p>"Well," commented Mrs. Stimpson, while poor Ruby's tears began to flow
afresh, "that is certainly a letter which I could show to <i>anybody</i>.
Though I notice she doesn't say anything about being grieved to part
with anyone but Ruby. A deliberate slight to the rest of us! And then
the meanness of turning us out without the slightest return for all
we've done for her! It <i>does</i> show such petty ingratitude!"</p>
<p>"Easy on, Mater!" said Clarence. "She don't seem to have let us go away
quite empty-handed after all. I mean to say there's a box or something
over there that I fancy I've seen before in the Palace."</p>
<p>He went up to examine it as he spoke. It was an oblong case, rather
deeper and squarer than a backgammon box, covered with faded orange
velvet and fitted with clasps and corners of finely wrought silver set
with precious stones.</p>
<p>Inside were the emerald and opal "halma" board and ruby and diamond
pieces, and with them a slip of parchment with Daphne's handwriting. "<i>I
thought perhaps</i>," she had written, "<i>you might care to have this.
Princess Rapunzelhauser tells me she is afraid two of the men are
missing, but I hope she is mistaken and they are really all there.—D.</i>"</p>
<p>"<i>I</i> shall never play with them!" declared Ruby breaking down once more.
"I—I couldn't bear to, without Her!"</p>
<p>"Of <i>course</i> you will never play with them, my dear," said her mother,
"they are far too valuable for that."</p>
<p>A very inadequate impression of Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson's strength of
character must have been given if anyone expects that this gift would
cause her the slightest degree of shame or contrition; on the contrary,
it only served to justify her in her own eyes—not that she needed any
justification—for having appropriated those two pieces. She had merely
anticipated—and nothing would be easier than to put them back in the
box without being observed.</p>
<p>"A magnificent present!" pronounced Mr. Stimpson. "Really what I should
call very handsome indeed of her. If we ever had to sell this set they'd
fetch a colossal sum—<i>here</i>—simply colossal!"</p>
<p>"And a minute ago, Mater," said Clarence, "you accused her of being
mean!"</p>
<p>"Well," she replied, "and what are these things, when all is said, to
the riches we've surrendered to her? A mere trifle—which she'll never
even miss!"</p>
<p>"You're forgetting they were hers—not ours—all the time. And we've
left her precious little gold to go on with. It makes me sick to hear
you running her down, when, when ... well, anyhow, Mater, I'll be glad
if you won't—in <i>my</i> hearing!"</p>
<p>"There's no occasion to use that tone to <i>me</i>, Clarence. I have my own
opinion of Miss Heritage, and I am not likely to alter it now. But if
you choose to keep your illusions about her, <i>I</i> shall say nothing to
disturb them."</p>
<p>"You may be very clever, Clarence," said Edna, "I know you <i>think</i> you
are, but there's <i>one</i> subject at all events you're hopelessly ignorant
about—and that's <i>Women</i>!"</p>
<p>"I don't mind owning it," he retorted. "I'd have taken my oath once that
a highly superior cultivated English girl like you could never have
cottoned to any Johnny in the Ogre line of business. But you've shown me
my mistake!"</p>
<p>Edna, who was scarlet with wrath, would no doubt have made an obvious
rejoinder had not a diversion been caused by the caretaker, who appeared
with that morning's <i>Daily Mail</i>.</p>
<p>"Ah, so you managed to get a paper?" cried Clarence. "Good!" and he took
it from her hands and opened it. "I say," he announced as soon as they
were alone, "we haven't been away so long as we thought. We're still in
1914. Saturday, twenty-fifth of July."</p>
<p>"Is that all?" said his mother. "But I remember now that tiresome old
Court Godmother saying that Time went quicker in Märchenland than it
does here. I don't understand how—but there's evidently <i>some</i>
difference. The twenty-fifth of July? Dear me, the Pageant must be over
and done with long ago! Not of course that I should have cared to take
part in it <i>now</i>!"</p>
<p>"Well, my boy," said Mr. Stimpson as Clarence ran through the columns of
the paper, "and what's the latest news?"</p>
<p>"First defeat of Middlesex," replied Clarence; "Surrey's at the head of
the table now for the Championship! Fine batting by Gloucester at
Nottingham yesterday—319 to Notts 299 first innings, and 75 for three
wickets!"</p>
<p>"Capital!" said his father without enthusiasm, "and what about Politics?
Got Home Rule yet?"</p>
<p>"I'll tell you in a minute.... Looks as if they hadn't. Breakdown of
Home Rule Conference at Buckingham Palace. Wonder what the Government
will do <i>now</i>."</p>
<p>"They've only to be firm," said Mr. Stimpson, in his character as
ex-autocrat. "If Ulster chooses to resent the will of the People as
expressed in the last General Election, well, she must be put down, or
what's our Army <i>for</i>, I should like to know. Any other news?"</p>
<p>"Nothing much, except that Austria's just sent an ultimatum to Servia.
Seems the Austrian Grand Duke's been assassinated, and Austria believes
the Servians were in it. Anyhow, they've got to knuckle down by six
o'clock to-night or they'll be jolly well walloped. But of course
they'll give in when they're up against Austria.... I see these writing
chaps are doing their best to work up a scare, though. Here's one of 'em
actually saying it may 'plunge all Europe into War.' Good old Armageddon
coming off at last, I suppose. How they can write such tommy-rot!"</p>
<p>"It's only to send up their circulation," said Mr. Wibberley-Stimpson.
"Depend upon it, there'll be no War. None of the Powers want it—too
expensive in these days. They'll see that it's settled without fighting.
And even if they can't, <i>we</i> shan't be dragged in—we shall just let 'em
fight it out among themselves, and when it's over we shall come in for a
share of the pickings!"</p>
<p>"Well," said Clarence, as he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed
it away, "we needn't worry ourselves about Armageddon—got something
more serious to think about."</p>
<p>"What do you mean, Clarence?" inquired his mother uneasily.</p>
<p>"Why," he said, "it seems we've been away about four months. We can
explain now why Miss Heritage hasn't come back with us. She's made that
all right by her letter—and a trump she was to think of it! But what
are we going to say when people want to know—and you can bet they
<i>will</i>—where we've been all this time and what we've been doing?"</p>
<p>"We can simply tell them we have been temporarily occupying exalted
positions in a foreign country which we are not at liberty to mention,"
suggested Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson hopefully.</p>
<p>"We <i>could</i>," he said; "and the reply we should get would probably be
'Rats.' They might put it more politely—but that's what it would amount
to. Believe me, you'll never make people here swallow you and the
governor as the late King and Queen of Fairyland—it's a jolly sight too
thick! Besides, there's nothing particular in what we've done there to
brag about—what?"</p>
<p>"<i>I</i> at least have nothing to reproach myself with," said his mother
virtuously. "Still I agree with you, Clarence, that perhaps it <i>would</i>
be better if we could give some account of ourselves which would sound a
little less improbable."</p>
<p>"We shall have to invent one. And as soon as we've done breakfast I vote
we put our heads together and fake something up. But, whatever it is, we
must all remember to stick to it!"</p>
<p>And after long and strenuous cogitation, the Stimpson family managed to
construct a fairly plausible story of an unexpected summons to a remote
part of the world, in which they were obliged by circumstances to remain
without any facilities for informing their friends of their situation.</p>
<p>There was one danger which Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson foresaw. At any time
she might encounter the Duchess of Gleneagles or Lady Muscombe in
Society. However, she decided that the risk was almost negligible. After
all, their respective circles could not be said to intersect and, if she
ever <i>should</i> come across either of these distinguished ladies, it would
be easy to deny all recollection of ever having met them before.</p>
<p>And thus reassured, she was able to support the official version of the
family adventures so whole-heartedly that she ended by accepting it as
the only authentic one.</p>
<p>Ruby, it is true, confided a widely different account in secret to one
or two of her most intimate friends.</p>
<p>But Ruby's story met with the fate that is only too certain to befall
this veracious and absolutely unexaggerated narrative—nobody was ever
found to believe a single word of it!</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><SPAN name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE"></SPAN>EPILOGUE</h2>
<p>The re-appearance of the Wibberley-Stimpsons, coupled with the
circumstantial explanations they gave of their mysterious absence
abroad, provided their friends and neighbours with very nearly the
proverbial nine days' wonder. It might have done so even longer, but for
that fateful beginning of August, when, with appalling suddenness, the
blow was dealt which shattered the peace of Europe and convulsed the
whole world.</p>
<p>Then the Fools' Paradise in which England had so long luxuriated
crumbled beneath her feet, and left her face to face with stern
realities. Nothing was the same, or ever would be the same, again.
Issues, causes, topics, which scarcely a week before had seemed of such
vital and engrossing importance, shrivelled into insignificance or
extinction under the scorching blast of war.</p>
<p>And so it followed that Gablehurst entirely forgot its previous
curiosity concerning the private affairs of the Wibberley-Stimpson
family, thereby relieving them from a strain on their inventive powers
which they had begun to find extremely wearing.</p>
<p>The crisis afforded Mr. Stimpson a long-desired occasion for taking a
spirited part in politics. At the suggestion of his wife, who reasoned
that in so Conservative a neighbourhood it would be popular to condemn
any steps a Radical Government had taken, he summoned a public meeting
to protest against the British Ultimatum to Germany, on the ground that
England's safety and interests alike depended on her preserving the
strictest neutrality under any circumstances whatever. As his sole
supporter on the platform was a recently naturalised British subject
with a pronounced German accent, the result of this patriotic endeavour
was, as he admitted afterwards, "a little unfortunate." Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson herself was compelled to recognise, as she led him
home with two black eyes and only one coat-tail, that she had been less
correct than usual in estimating the local sentiment, though, of course,
she ascribed his treatment entirely to the lack of tact and ability with
which he had handled his subject. However, they have long since
succeeded in living all that down. Mr. Stimpson very soon recognised
that his views of the situation had been mistaken, and made haste to
publish his conviction of the righteousness of our cause. No one now
enlarges with more fervour on the ruin and disgrace that would have
overtaken us if we had been induced to stand aside by persons he refers
to as "those infernal cranks and pacifists."</p>
<p>Moreover, he acquired further merit by his generous contribution of two
thousand pounds to the Prince of Wales' Fund—a contribution which
caused a sensation among many who could give a fairly shrewd guess at
the income he drew as a partner in the firm of Cramphorn, Stimpson, &
Thistleton.</p>
<p>But then they did not know that, shortly before, he had disposed of two
exquisitely carved pieces—one diamond, and the other ruby—by private
contract to an American millionaire, for a sum which would have covered
an even more princely donation. He has several more of these
curiosities, but is reserving them for times when they are more likely
to fetch their proper value.</p>
<p>As for his wife and elder daughter, they have already achieved the
distinction of sitting on more War Committees, and talking more at every
one of them, than any other ladies in Gablehurst.</p>
<p>It is unnecessary to say that they have also knitted a prodigious
quantity of garments, or at least did until they were requested to
abandon their colour-schemes for the regulation khaki wool—which
perceptibly cooled their enthusiasm.</p>
<p>But, after all, the greatest exhibition of self-denial was given by
Ruby, who parted with her latest and best-beloved acquisitions—two
tree-frogs and an axolotl—and sent the proceeds of their sale to the
Red Cross Society.</p>
<p>Clarence had made several applications for such vacant berths as he
could hear of in the City which seemed to combine the advantages of
light work and a heavy salary, but somehow the principals he interviewed
could not be brought to share his own conviction that he was exactly the
person to suit them. He had referred them to his previous employers, but
even that had led to no favourable result.</p>
<p>The war had not gone on long, however, when it was forcibly borne in
upon him that, if there was no particular demand in business circles for
his services, they were needed rather urgently just then by his King and
Country.</p>
<p>And so, one evening before dinner, he strolled casually into the
drawing-room at "Inglegarth" and electrified his family by mentioning
that he had offered himself that afternoon to a certain Cavalry
regiment, and been pronounced physically fit after examination.</p>
<p>His mother was naturally the most deeply affected by the news, though,
after the first shock was over, she was sustained by recollecting that
she had caught herself secretly envying a neighbour, whom she had never
looked upon as a social equal, but whose boy had just obtained a
commission in the Territorials.</p>
<p>"You might have prepared us for this, Clarence!" she said, as soon as
she could speak. "It's a heavy blow to me—to us all. Still, if you feel
it your duty to go, I hope your Father and I are not the parents to hold
you back. If I'm not on one of the same committees as Lady Harriet," she
added more brightly, "I really think I must call and let her know. She
would be so interested to hear that you are now a Cavalry officer."</p>
<p>"You might make it a Field-Marshal, Mater, while you're about it!" he
returned. "But, if you want to be accurate, you'd better describe me as
a bally trooper, because that's all I am, or likely to be."</p>
<p>"A trooper!" exclaimed his horrified mother. "Clarence, you <i>can't</i> mean
to tell us you've enlisted as an ordinary common soldier! I couldn't
possibly permit you to throw yourself away like that, nor, I am sure,
will your Father! Sidney, of course you will insist on Clarence's
explaining at once to the Colonel, or whoever accepted him, that he
finds we object so strongly to his joining that he is obliged to
withdraw his offer."</p>
<p>"Certainly," said Mr. Stimpson. "Certainly. It's not too late yet, my
boy. You've only to say that we can't allow it—you're more badly wanted
at home—and they're sure to let you off."</p>
<p>"Can't quite see myself telling 'em that, Guv'nor. Even if I <i>wanted</i> to
be let off—which I don't."</p>
<p>"After the way you've been brought up and everything!" cried Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson. "To sink to <i>this</i>! Has it occurred to you that you
would have to associate entirely with persons of the very lowest class?"</p>
<p>"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen some of the Johnnies who passed the
Vet with me," he replied. "And, as to classes, all that tosh is done
away with now. There's only one class a fellow can't afford to associate
with—the slackers who ought to be in khaki and aren't. I couldn't have
stuck being in that crowd any longer, and I'm jolly lucky to have got
well out of it!"</p>
<p>"All the same, Clarence," lamented his Mother, "you <i>must</i> see what a
terrible come-down it is for <i>you</i>, who not so very long ago were a
Crown Prince!"</p>
<p>"I thought we'd agreed to forget all that, Mater," he said, wincing
slightly. "Anyway, if I don't turn out a better Tommy than I did a
Prince, they won't have me in the regiment long. But I'm not going to
get the push this time, if I can help it. Come, Mater," he concluded,
"don't worry any more over what's done and can't be undone—just try and
make the best of it!"</p>
<p>But this was beyond Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson's philosophy just then. If
he had been leaving his comfortable home with a commission as
sub-lieutenant, she might have been able to find some slight consolation
in announcing the fact to her friends. Now she would have to make the
humiliating admission that he was nothing more than a common
trooper—after which she felt she would never be able to hold up her
head again!</p>
<p>As things turned out, these apprehensions proved unfounded. For it
seemed that other young Gablehurst men belonging to families in as good
a position as her own had enlisted as privates, and, so far from being
considered to have brought discredit on their parentage, were regarded
with general approval.</p>
<p>And the pride with which their mothers spoke of them encouraged Mrs.
Wibberley-Stimpson to be even prouder of Clarence, as the only one who
had joined a Cavalry regiment.</p>
<p>When he was undergoing the necessary training with the reserve regiment
and first had to enter the Riding-School, he was prepared, remembering
how suddenly and completely his control of Märchenland horses had left
him, for some highly unpleasant experiences.</p>
<p>Daphne's pendant had been left in safe custody at Inglegarth, and, even
if he had had any idea that it had assisted his horsemanship (which he
was far from suspecting), he would not have brought it with him, lest he
should lose a thing which Daphne had said he would please her by
keeping.</p>
<p>Probably, had he brought and been allowed to wear the token, it would
not have made any impression whatever on the mind of a British
charger—but fortunately no talisman was needed.</p>
<p>All the riding in Märchenland, while his horses continued docile, had
not been without some good result after all. At least he found that he
had quite as good a seat as any of his fellow-recruits, and a very much
better one than most of them.</p>
<p>And the months of training passed, not unhappily. He made friends, not
all of them in his own class; he set himself to learn his job as quickly
and thoroughly as he could, and his sergeant-major spoke of him, though
not in his presence, as a smart young chap who showed more sense than
some he had to do with.</p>
<p>He had not been many weeks in the regiment before he got his first
stripe, and when he came home on furlough he was able to inform his
family that he had just been promoted to be a full-blown Corporal. It
was a farewell visit, as he was being sent out in a day or two with a
draft to his regiment at the Front. He had grown broader across the
chest, and looked extremely brown and fit, while his family noticed that
he no longer ended his remarks with "what?" Once or twice he expressed
his satisfaction at getting the chance at last of having a go at the
Bosches—but he said very little about the future, and seemed more
interested in hearing about Ruby's new school and Edna's ambulance
class.</p>
<p>Then he left them, and for months after that they had to endure the long
strain of constant anxiety and suspense which few British households
have escaped in these dark times. Clarence had always been a poor
correspondent—and his letters, though fairly regular, were short and
wanting in details. But he said the regiment was doing dismounted work
in the trenches; that he was acquiring the habit of sleeping quite
soundly under shell-fire; that he had been much cut up by losing some of
his best pals, but so far had not been hit himself, though he had had
several narrow shaves; he kept pretty fit, but was a bit fed up with
trench work, though he didn't see an earthly of riding in a cavalry
charge at present.</p>
<p>The last letter was dated February. After that came a silence, which was
explained by an official letter stating that he was in a field hospital,
severely wounded. Inglegarth remained for days in helpless misery,
dreading the worst, till they were relieved by the news that he was now
in a base hospital and going on well.</p>
<p>But it was some weeks before he could be moved to London, and longer
still before he was convalescent enough to be taken to his own home,
where the joy of seeing him recover so rapidly was checked by the
knowledge that he would only leave them the sooner.</p>
<p>He was much the same slangy and casual Clarence they had known, though
rather subdued, but he had moods of sombre silence at times which none
of them dared to interrupt, when his eyes seemed to be looking upon
sights they had seen and would fain forget. As to his own doings he said
but little, though he told them something of his experiences during his
last week at the front—how the regiment had been rushed up in
motor-buses from Bleu to Ypres; how they had marched to the Reformatory
which they had defended for five days under heavy fire; how they had
then dug caverns and occupied trenches to the south of the Menin road,
and how the trenches had been mined by the enemy, and five officers
killed and sixty-four casualties, of which latter he was one.</p>
<p>Before he was pronounced fit for active service again he heard that he
had been recommended for a commission, and given one in another cavalry
regiment which had very nearly the same <i>prestige</i> and traditions as his
own, though he would have been the last to admit it till then.</p>
<p>Thus was Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson's dearest desire at last attained; she
could now inform her friends and acquaintances that her boy was actually
a subaltern, while, even in conversation with strangers, it was always
possible to lead up to the fact by enlarging on the heavy cost of a
cavalry officer's kit.</p>
<p>And yet, in fairness to her, it may be said that, with all her striving
after social distinction, if she had been required to choose between her
son returning to the front with a commission and keeping him at home
with no higher rank than that of a corporal, she would have chosen the
latter without a moment's hesitation.</p>
<p>But since the choice was not given her, Clarence's promotion did much to
console her for his approaching departure—at least until the day
arrived, when she turned blindly away from the platform with an aching
dread that the train was bearing him out of her life for ever.</p>
<hr style='width: 45%;' />
<p>That was several months ago, and Second-Lieutenant Stimpson (he dropped
the "Wibberley" when he first enlisted) has been at the front ever
since.</p>
<p>There is a certain endless road, bordered by splintered stumps which
once were poplars, and pitted in places with deep shell-holes, that he
knows only too well; having taken his troop along it many a night to
relieve the party in the trenches.</p>
<p>Even now, when he comes to the group of ruined cottages at which he has
to leave the road and strike across country into the danger-zone, he is
unpleasantly conscious of a sinking at his heart at the prospect of
another week or so of that infernal existence of shattering noise,
flying death-splinters, and sickening sights and smells. There he will
have to be constantly on the watch, meals and sleep can only be snatched
at precarious intervals, and seldom without disturbance; if there is
anything more nerve-racking than the scream of shells and the hail of
shrapnel it is the lull that follows, when he waits for the enemy's rush
to begin. And yet, the moment he finds himself back in the trench again,
he becomes acclimatised; his men speak of him as a cool and resourceful
young officer under any difficulties, while on more than one occasion he
has done some daring and very useful reconnoitring work that may even
earn him mention in despatches.</p>
<p>But at present he is enjoying one of his hard-earned rests, being
billeted in a farmhouse well away from the firing-line.</p>
<p>Here, having no duties or responsibilities to fix all his thoughts on
the present, he can allow them to dwell on the future for a while.</p>
<p>This desperate and relentless war will come to an end in time—how soon
he knows no more than anyone, but that it will end in victory for
England and her Allies he has no doubt whatever. He is equally sure,
though he could not account for his certainty, that, unlike many a
better fellow than himself, he will live to see his country at peace
once more. But what is he to do then? Even if an opening in the City
presented itself, he could never stick an office again after this. On
the other hand, even if he gets another step or two, he will find it
difficult to live on his pay in a crack cavalry regiment. However, the
Governor will no doubt give him an allowance that will enable him to
stay in the Service—the Mater can be safely trusted to see to that!</p>
<p>So, this question being satisfactorily disposed of, his thoughts, as
usual on these occasions, drift back to Märchenland, and particularly to
Daphne's parting words on the night he left the Palace.</p>
<p>Would she think, he wonders, that he has done something to justify her
belief in him?</p>
<p>At least she might be pleased if she knew that he could not fairly be
described any longer as a useless rotter.</p>
<p>"Only," he tells himself disconsolately, "she never <i>will</i> know.
England's no country of hers now, and she wouldn't feel enough interest
in it even to send the Baron across in the stork-car for a daily paper.
If she did, she'd be none the wiser, because he'd be sure to bring <i>The
Poultry-Fancier's Journal</i> or <i>The Financial News</i>, or something of that
sort. And, after all, if she had any idea of the ghastly business that
has been going on in this old world for the last year, she's too much
heart to be happy—even in Märchenland. But now she'll go on being happy
for the rest of her life, bless her! and if she gives me a thought now
and then—well, it will be a jolly sight more than I deserve!"</p>
<h3>THE END</h3>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><SPAN name="Works_by_F_Anstey" id="Works_by_F_Anstey"></SPAN><i>Works by F. Anstey</i></h2>
<h3>Salted Almonds. Second Impression. Crown 8vo. 6s.</h3>
<p><i>ATHENÆUM.</i>—'All the pieces have that rare savour which is the Author's
secret.'</p>
<p>The Brass Bottle. With a Frontispiece. 5th Impression. (<i>Waterloo
Library.</i>) Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
<p><i>SPECTATOR.</i>—'In his logical conduct of an absurd proposition, in his
fantastic handling of the supernatural, in his brisk dialogue and
effective characterisation, Mr. Anstey has once more shown himself to be
an artist and a humourist of uncommon and enviable merit.'</p>
<h3>The Talking Horse and other Tales.</h3>
<p><i>ATHENÆUM.</i>—'The grimmest of mortals, in his most surly mood, could
hardly resist the fun of "The Talking Horse."'</p>
<h3>The Giant's Robe.</h3>
<p><i>PALL MALL GAZETTE.</i>—'We read and cannot cease reading till the puzzle
is solved in a series of exciting situations.'</p>
<h3>The Pariah.</h3>
<p><i>SATURDAY REVIEW.</i>—'Extremely entertaining reading. There is not a dull
page—we might say, not a dull sentence—in it....'</p>
<h3>A Fallen Idol.</h3>
<p><i>TIMES.</i>—'Will delight the multitudinous public that laughed over "Vice
Versa."... The boy who brings the accursed image to Champion's house,
Mr. Bales, the artist's factotum, and above all Mr. Yarker, the
ex-butler who has turned policeman, are figures whom it is as pleasant
to meet as it is impossible to forget.'</p>
<h3>Lyre and Lancet. With 24 Full-page Illustrations.</h3>
<p><i>SPEAKER.</i>—'Mr. Anstey has surpassed himself in "Lyre and Lancet."...
One of the brightest and most entertaining bits of comedy we have had
for many a day.'</p>
<h3>Vice Versa; or, a Lesson to Fathers.</h3>
<p><i>SATURDAY REVIEW.</i>—'If ever there was a book made up from beginning to
end of laughter, and yet not a comic book, or a "merry" book, or a book
of jokes, or a book of pictures, or a jest book, or a tomfool book, but
a perfectly sober and serious book in the reading of which a sober man
may laugh without shame from beginning to end, it is a book called "Vice
Versa; or a Lesson to Fathers."... We close the book, recommending it
very earnestly to all fathers in the first instance, and their sons,
nephews, uncles, and male cousins next.'</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><SPAN name="Also_available_from_publisher" id="Also_available_from_publisher"></SPAN>Also available from publisher</h2>
<h3>CONAN DOYLE'S NEW 'SHERLOCK HOLMES' STORY.</h3>
<h3>The Valley of Fear. With a Frontispiece.</h3>
<h3>By the Author of 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,' 'The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes,'<br/> 'The Lost World,' &c.</h3>
<p><i>Punch</i>.—'As rousing a sensation as the greediest of us could want. I
can only praise the skill with which a most complete surprise is
prepared.'</p>
<p><i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i>—'My Dear Watson! All good "Sherlockians" will
welcome Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's new story with enthusiasm ... it is all
very thrilling and very fine reading.'</p>
<h3>Journeys with Jerry the Jarvey.</h3>
<h3>By the Hon. ALEXIS ROCHE.</h3>
<p><i>Scotsman.</i>—'The stories are so good and the epigrams so quaint that
one is loath to lay it down. A book that can call forth a hearty laugh
on nearly every page.'</p>
<p><i>Field.</i>—'The stories are really irresistible, and there is not a dull
page in the whole book.'</p>
<h3>Oliver. By B. PAUL NEUMAN.</h3>
<h3>Author of 'The Greatness of Josiah Porlick,' 'Chignett Street,' &c.</h3>
<p><i>Westminster Gazette.</i>—'The first hundred pages contain as fine a piece
of restrained realistic writing as our recent literature has put forth.
We laid down this very individual book with a wholesome respect for Mr.
Neuman's literary art.'</p>
<p><i>Punch.</i>—'The thing is remarkably well done, a close and unsparing
treatment of a subject by no means easy ... an original and successful
story.'</p>
<h3>Two Who Declined. By HERBERT TREMAINE.</h3>
<p><i>Evening Standard.</i>—'A striking, even absorbing novel. Its author will
certainly "count" before long.'</p>
<p><i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i>—'A very clever story, and a work of great
promise.'</p>
<h3>Some Elderly People and their Young Friends.</h3>
<h3>By S. MACNAUGHTAN.</h3>
<h3>Author of 'The Fortune of Christina McNab,' 'A Lame Dog's Diary,' &c.</h3>
<p><i>Globe.</i>—'Miss Macnaughtan at her best. All her characters are
charming. Her books are a sovereign remedy for depression and
misanthropy.</p>
<p><i>Daily Telegraph.</i>—'One of the most engaging stories that we have read
for a goodly while—a story full of lively wit and mellow wisdom.
Delightful is indeed the word which best sums up the whole book.'</p>
<h3>The Pastor's Wife.</h3>
<h3>By the Author of 'ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN.'</h3>
<p><i>Globe.</i>—'A wonderful portrait of a woman by a woman. The power of this
story is undeniable, and the analysis of feminine feeling almost
uncanny. A very remarkable novel indeed.'</p>
<h3>Spragge's Canyon.</h3>
<h3>By HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL. Author of 'The Hill,' 'The Paladin,' 'Blinds Down,' etc.</h3>
<p><i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i>—'It is a fine story, told with all the art of
which Mr. Vachell is a master.'</p>
<h3>Molly, My Heart's Delight.</h3>
<h3>By KATHARINE TYNAN. Author of 'A Midsummer Rose,' 'John Bulteel's Daughters,' etc.</h3>
<p><i>Globe.</i>—'A charming and altogether captivating heroine. A story to
make one glad o' the reading.'</p>
<h3>The Ways of Miss Barbara.</h3>
<h3>By AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE. Authors of 'Rose of the World,' 'French Nan,' etc.</h3>
<p><i>Liverpool Daily Post.</i>—'This delightful story of old world gallantry
and gaiety bubbles over with comedy and kindness. This should be one of
the most popular novels of the season.'</p>
<h3>A Green Englishman, and other Stories of Canada</h3>
<h3>By S. MACNAUGHTAN. Author of 'The Fortunes of Christina M'Nab,'<br/> 'The Expensive Miss du Cane,' etc.</h3>
<p><i>Observer.</i>—'Miss Macnaughtan has the crispness and sense of rounding
off of the ideal short story writer.'</p>
<h3>A Freelance in Kashmir.</h3>
<h3>By LADY CHARNWOOD.</h3>
<p><i>Times.</i>—'There are a happy few to-day who understand the tradition of
Trollope, and Lady Charnwood must be reckoned among them. There is
insight, reflection, a gift for the invention of natural incident and
the flow of natural dialogue, and humour.'</p>
<h3>A Tale of the Great Anarchy.</h3>
<h3>By Lieut.-Colonel G. F. <span class="smcap">MacMUNN</span>, D.S.O., Author of 'The Armies of India.'</h3>
<p><i>Birmingham Daily Post.</i>—'Colonel MacMunn knows his India and his
history; and for this stirring story he has turned to the inviting
period of the "Great Anarchy."'</p>
<p><i>Scotsman.</i>—'The author may be congratulated on having written so
entertaining and instructive a novel.'</p>
<h3>They Who Question.</h3>
<h3>A Novel by a well-known writer published anonymously.</h3>
<p><i>Daily Telegraph.</i>—'A story which is packed with thought in itself, and
well calculated also to arouse and stimulate thought in others. The book
is one to be recommended.'</p>
<h3>La Belle Alliance.</h3>
<h3>By ROWLAND GREY, Author of 'Green Cliffs,' etc.</h3>
<p><i>Daily Telegraph.</i>—'This is a fresh, human, very sympathetic story,
founded upon close observation of life. It will delight girl-readers,
although it is secretly directed at their parents.'</p>
<h3>The House of the Foxes.</h3>
<h3>By KATHARINE TYNAN. Author of 'Honey, My Honey,' 'Molly, My Heart's Delight,' etc.</h3>
<p><i>Morning Post.</i>—'Mrs. Katharine Tynan brings her superior art to adorn
a legendary tale of the Irish family of the Rosses of Turloughmore.'</p>
<p><i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i>—'There is much genial description of homely Irish
humble life woven through the story. Meg is a charming heroine.'</p>
<h3>Two Sinners.</h3>
<h3>By Mrs. DAVID G. RITCHIE. Author of 'Man and the Cassock,' 'The Truthful Liar,'<br/> 'The Human Cry,' etc.</h3>
<p><i>Spectator.</i>—'An extremely clever and interesting novel. The book is
rich in surprises and, as Sir James Paget once said, surprise in the
great essential in recreation.'</p>
<h3>The Irish Nuns at Ypres: An Episode of the War.</h3>
<h3>By D. M. C., O.S.B. (Member of the Community).</h3>
<h3>Edited by R. BARRY O'BRIEN, Author of 'The Life of Charles Stewart Parnell,' &c.<br/> With an Introduction by JOHN REDMOND, M.P.</h3>
<p><i>Yorkshire Post.</i>—'No more vivid and impressive narrative of what
German frightfulness means to the civilian population has yet been seen.
The story once read will not soon be forgotten.'</p>
<p><i>Court Journal.</i>—'Those who are on the look out for a war book off the
beaten track should get this work. It is one of the most powerful yet
simple narratives that we have seen. It will rank when the war is over
as one of the most damaging pieces of evidence against the Germans and
their methods.'</p>
<h3>Paris Waits: 1914.</h3>
<h3>By Mrs. M. E. CLARKE.</h3>
<p><i>Punch.</i>—'I have seldom met a volume of more pronounced "heart
Interest" than "Paris Waits." Not only are her pen-pictures remarkably
vivid and realistic, but the camera has also helped.'</p>
<p><i>Times.</i>—'It is a very familiar tale that is told in these pages, yet
it gains a new pathos, a deeper significance from the simple yet
eloquent way it is told.'</p>
<p><i>Daily Mail.</i>—'A noteworthy book. It relates in detail the story of
those tragic days.'</p>
<h3>War and Lombard Street.</h3>
<h3>By HARTLEY WITHERS. Author of 'The Meaning of Money,' 'Poverty and Waste,' &c.</h3>
<p><i>Times.</i>—'Carried out with the same happy touch of literary simplicity
and wit, combined with an expert knowledge of his subject, which has
given distinction and popular value to his preceding books. Nothing
could be clearer or more enlightening for the general reader.'</p>
<p><i>Morning Post.</i>—'In brief but most attractive language it deals with
the historic financial events of the past six months. A most fascinating
résumé of the financial events of the crisis up to date.'</p>
<p><i>Daily News.</i>—'Mr. Withers knows all the machinery of the money market,
and he has a lucid style which makes matters plain normally very
mysterious and technical to the layman.'</p>
<h3>The Tollhouse.</h3>
<h3>By EVELYN ST. LEGER, Author of 'The Shape of the World,' 'The Blackberry Pickers.'</h3>
<p><i>Times.</i>—'An appealing and humorous picture of the life of an
old-fashioned English village in war time.'</p>
<p><i>Scotsman.</i>—'This charming short novel.'</p>
<h3>The Spirit of England.</h3>
<h3>A Series of Papers written in 1914 and 1915.</h3>
<h3>By the Right Hon. GEORGE W. E. RUSSELL, Author of 'Collections and Recollections,' &c.</h3>
<p><i>Scotsman.</i>—'An eminently readable book in which many good things come
up by the way. It is always thoughtful and stimulating.'</p>
<p><i>Globe.</i>—'This very Interesting and suggestive book.'</p>
<h3>Life of John Viriamu Jones.</h3>
<h3>By Mrs. VIRIAMU JONES.</h3>
<p><i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i>—'This Life of the first Vice-Chancellor of the
University of Wales is very well done, and gives us an admirable
portrait of a singularly earnest, strenuous, and lovable nature.'</p>
<p><i>Times.</i>—'This fascinating volume.'</p>
<p><i>South Wales Daily News.</i>—'Will be largely read, not only in the
Principality, but far beyond its confines ... deeply interesting.'</p>
<h3>The Minor Horrors of War.</h3>
<h3>By Dr. A. E. SHIPLEY, F.R.S., Master of Christ's College, Cambridge.</h3>
<p>This book deals with various insect and other pests which cause disgust,
discomfort, and often disease amongst our troops now fighting in all
quarters of the globe.</p>
<p><i>Country Life.</i>—'A book which gives a good deal of very necessary
information in an entertaining manner.'</p>
<p><i>Medical Officer.</i>—'It may be studied with advantage in barracks or
billets, in the tropics or the trenches.'</p>
<h3>The System of National Finance.</h3>
<h3>By E. HILTON YOUNG, M.P.</h3>
<p><i>Morning Post.</i>—'The book should become a permanent addition to the
literature of the subject, the more so as there is no other which deals
with the Nation's finance in the same practical manner.'</p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />
1 of 2
2 of 2
Previous
Next
Update Required
To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.