December came and Christmas. Jim kept house that day while the others drove to Stanley and attended the Christmas service in the church on the top of the long hill. A week later a man in a coonskin coat drove up to the kitchen door. Jim recognized him through the window as the postmaster of Stanley and retired up the back stairs. John Starkley, who had just come in from the barns, opened the door. "A cablegram for you, Mr. Starkley," said the postmaster. "It was wired through from Fredericton." He held out the thin envelope. Mr. Starkley stared at it, but did not move. His eyes narrowed, and his face looked suddenly old. "No call to be afraid of it," said the postmaster, who was also the telegraph operator. "I received it and know what's in it." Mr. Starkley took it then and tore it open. "Peter wounded. Doing fine. Dick Starkley" is what he read. He sighed with relief and called to Mrs. Starkley and the girls. Then he invited the man from Stanley in to dinner, saying he would see to the horse in a minute. "You can't expect much better news than that from men in France," John Starkley said to his wife. "Wounded and doing fine--why, that's better than no news, by a long shot. He will be safe out of the line now for weeks, perhaps for months. Perhaps he will even get to England. He is safe at this very minute, anyway." He excused himself, went upstairs and told Jim Hammond the news. "That is twice for Peter already," he said, "once right at home and once in Flanders. If this one isn't any worse than the first, we have nothing to worry about." "I hope it is just bad enough to give him a good long rest," said Jim in a low voice. The postmaster stayed to dinner, and Emma smuggled roast beef and pudding up to Jim in his bedroom. No sooner had that visitor gone than another drove up. This other was Vivia Hammond; and once more Jim retired to his room. Vivia had heard of the cablegram, but nothing of its import. Her face was white with anxiety. "What is it?" she cried. "The cable--what is it about?" "Peter is right as rain--wounded but doing fine," said John. Vivia cried and then laughed. "I love Peter, and I don't care who knows it!" she exclaimed. "I hope he has lost a leg, so they'll have to send him home. That sounds dreadful--but I love him so--and what does a leg matter?" She turned to Mrs. Starkley. "Did he ever tell you he loved me?" she asked. "He didn't have to tell us," answered Mrs. Starkley, smiling. "He does! He does!" exclaimed the girl, and then began to cry again; and Jim, imprisoned upstairs, wished she would go home. CHAPTER VI DAVE HAMMER GETS HIS COMMISSION BY the middle of January, 1916, Peter was in London again, now minus one leg but otherwise in the pink of condition. Davenport, with his crutch and stick and shadowing valet, visited him daily in hospital. He and Peter wrote letters to Beaver Dam--and Peter wrote a dozen to Stanley.