"You're a godsend to us," Elizabeth told him, "for you remain normal. People here are all unstrung. The neighbours arrive in excited motorfuls, children and dogs and all, and we sit and knit, and drink tea and tell each other the most absurd tales. And rumours leap from end to end of the county, and we imagine we hear guns on the Forth--which isn't humanly possible--and people who have boys in the Navy are tortured with silly lies about sea-battles and the sinking of warships." Before luncheon, Arthur was dragged out by the boys to admire their pets; but though they looked at such peaceful objects as rabbits, a jackdaw with a wooden leg, and the giant trout that lived in Prince Charlie's Well, all their talk was of battles. They wore sacking round their legs to look like putties, their belts were stuck full of weapons, and they yearned to shed blood. No one would have thought, to hear their bloodthirsty talk, that only that morning they had, all three, wept bitter tears because the sandy cat from the stables had killed a swallow. Billy, who had got mixed in his small mind between friend and foe, announced that he had, a few minutes ago, killed seven Russians whom he had found lurking among the gooseberry bushes in the kitchen garden, and was instantly suppressed by Thomas, who hissed at him, "You don't kill _allies_, silly. You inter them." In the afternoon, while Mr. Seton took his reluctant daily rest, and the boys were busy with some plot of their own in the stockyard, Elizabeth and Arthur wandered out together. They went first to see the walled garden, now ablaze with autumn flowers; but beautiful though it was it did not keep them long, for something in the day and something in themselves seemed to demand the uplands, and they turned their steps to the hills. It was an easy climb, and they walked quickly, and soon stood at the cairn of stones that marked the top of the hill behind the house, stood breathless and glad of a rest, looking at the countryside spread out beneath them. In most of the fields the corn stood in "stooks"; the last field was being cut this golden afternoon, and the hum of the reaping-machine was loud in the still air. Far away a wisp of white smoke told that the little branch-line train was making its leisurely journey from one small flower-scented station to another. Soon the workers would gather up their things and go home, the day's work finished. All was peace. And there was no peace. The tears came into Elizabeth's eyes as she looked, and Arthur answered the thought that brought the tears. "It's worth dying for," he said. Elizabeth nodded, not trusting her voice. They turned away and talked on trivial matters, and laughed, and presently fell silent again. "Elizabeth," said Arthur suddenly, "I wish you didn't scare me so." "_Do_ I? I'm very much gratified to hear it. I had no idea I inspired awe in any mortal."