“There’s rumours of a possible Second Battalion being formed, but nothing definite. We’ve put our names down, and meanwhile we’re getting ourselves into good shape. If they don’t buck up and do something soon we shall try elsewhere. But we’d sooner be London Scottish than anything else.” “You see, the girls there think we’d look so well in kilts,” broke in Noel. “What on earth gave you any such impression as that, my child?” asked Honor. “Oh, we can see it in your eyes.” “Ah,--little boys see what they want to see sometimes.” “When we can. Can’t always, can we, Mac?” “Come along, you hungry ones,” called Mrs Dare from the doorway, and they sped away for a very necessary wash before eating. Alma’s short leave expired at ten o’clock, and as Con had promised to return her safely to the hospital by that hour, they had to set off in such time as would allow a margin for contingencies. Their good-byes were outwardly cheerful enough, and as exuberant as high and hopeful spirits could make them. But, below all the surface confidence and fortitude, not one of their hearts but was saying to itself--“This is the beginning of partings,” and was asking itself--“Shall we ever all meet again?” And the necessity for smothering, as far as might be, the chill possibilities evoked by these importunate voices, made the younger folk but the more outwardly determined on most valiant gaiety. “Meet you across there, maybe, old man,” said Noel. “I’ll be on the look-out for you. Do my best for you in case of need.” “Do be careful not to lose one another on the way home,” begged Vic, with an assumption of anxiety. “You are very young, you see, and naturally somewhat entêtés at the moment.” “I’m inclined to think we really ought to go with them,” said Honor. “They may wander away hand-in-hand, and never be heard of again. Get your hat, Vic, and we’ll go.” “Right-o!” said Noel. “We’re on. We’ll go along too to take care of you.” “Then we’ll stop at home,” said Honor resignedly. “We couldn’t think of taking you out again after your hard day’s play.” “To say nothing of the fact that your southern extremities are inches thick with mud,” said Vic. “Everybody we met would think we’d taken to walking out with the gardener’s boys----” “Or the young butcherlings. Yes, we’re sorry, dears,”--to Con and Alma, “but under the circumstances I’m afraid you’ll have to find your way by yourselves.” “We’ll manage somehow,” said Con, and in their good-byes to the older folk there were suspiciously shining eyes and lingering hand-grips and convulsive kissings which told their own tales. “The beginning of partings!”... “Shall we ever all meet again?” ... and hearts were heavy though faces smiled. “God bless you both and keep you from all harm!” was Mrs. Dare’s last word, and with that in their hearts they ran across to say good-bye to Auntie Mitt, who said exactly the same words and made no assumption of anything but gloomiest forebodings as to the future.