Solomon spared no effort of mind or body in the attempt to assure his mistress that these high matters were apprehended by all dumb animals. Conscious of failure, he became very dejected. A letter from Alfred heartened her a little. "Dear Mother:" (he wrote) "I hope this finds you in the pink, as it leaves me. Don't worry about the old 'bus! _I don't, not a bit._ I have a notion that if you worry much 'twill be bad for Fancy and for Somebody Else, you know who I mean. As for William Saint, I say this--take a squint at his face! I wouldn't have his liver for the best carrying business in the world. If you've set your dear heart on my punching a rascal's head, I'll do it, so soon as I get back, and make a job of it, too. Hard blows hurt them as get them; hard thoughts hurt them as think them. I puzzled that out in the trenches, where we be making very merry again. You'll worry too about the loss of money. I say to that--_Napoo_! That's French. I parleyvoo with the best of them, but when it comes to buying stuff, they do me in a fair treat...." Mrs. Yellam read and re-read the letter. Fancy was at the Court when it came. Then she said to Solomon: "Wherever does that boy o' mine get his Christian principles? Not from me, Solly, not from me. Wag tail, little man, and I'll tell 'ee for why. Willum Saint, next Christmas, maybe, 'll take such a head to Salisbury as never was." Sol barked. Alfred's sentence about merry-making in the trenches provoked much thought. Mrs. Yellam had talked freely with scores of wounded Tommies. They came, they conquered all reserves, they went. Some actually complained that life in Nether-Applewhite seemed "dull" after the "fun" in the dug-outs. At first, she suspected "leg-pulling," but she limped to the slow conclusion that the high spirits of these gallant fellows came _from_ the trenches, and were not, as she had supposed at first, a natural result of finding themselves snug and safe after shell-fire. Possessing the qualities which distinguish a "tufting" hound--a good nose for a scent, staying powers, and tenacity in sticking to her quarry, Mrs. Yellam decided, ultimately, that millions of young men and women were living, like gnats, for the passing hour, buzzing gaily here and there, utterly regardless of past and future. Could she bring herself to so happy a condition of mind? "Take no thought for the morrow." That injunction couldn't be ignored. Nevertheless, she had ignored it all her life. Hence, from a material point of view, her sound economic condition. She was independent of the 'bus. Such thoughts were obsessing, also, the parson of the parish.