"I bain't denying that, Master Lionel. And I did take a glass o' what they calls ale there for the good o' the house. We fell to talkin'. I made bold to tell 'em what me and Lord Roberts felt about that there Kayser. And it miffed 'em. I could see that. And the less they pore souls says the more they thinks. They be chewin' my cud now. But what do 'ee really think, sir?" Lionel laughed, not wholeheartedly. He was a six months' bridegroom. "I think, Uncle, that inside of a fortnight I shall be at my depot in Winchester, drilling recruits." "Lard save us! And you wi' so young and be-utiful a wife!" "Sir Geoffrey thinks as I do. There is going to be a terrific strain on the manhood of this country. Will it stand that strain?" "I thinks it will, Master Lionel, so be as they chin-wobblin' politicians keeps their dirty fingers out o' pie. I'd like to march wi' 'ee to Winchester, and overseas, too, by Jo'!" Lionel nodded. A minute later Uncle strode on his way with the expected half-crown snug in his breeches' pocket. He told himself that he had earned it. When he reached his cottage, he found George, the youngest of his three sons, just back from the woods, where he worked as a hurdler at this time of year. The other sons were married and established in cottages of their own. Jane Mucklow was busy preparing the eight o'clock hot supper. An agreeable odour filled the kitchen. Uncle kicked the dust off his boots and entered the house, with George at his heels. The good smell of baked pork provoked, as usual, a pleasant word. Indeed, Habakkuk Mucklow had discovered very early in life that soft words do butter parsnips. "Well, Mother, you looks very sanitary, and what a colour!" "Got, as you well knows, from stewin' over a fire. Been painting your nose wi' ale, or worse, I reckons." Uncle stroked his nose. "'Tis a very handsome feature, Jane, and allers a true friend to your good cookin'. I met Master Lionel in village street, and let 'un know what a wise man was thinking about the times. Agreed wi' every word, he did. I told 'un he'd be called to jine up again in Winchester inside o' fortnit. Like as not Garge here'll be wearin' out shoe-leather in some barrack-yard afore he's much older." Mrs. Mucklow stared at him, paralysed by astonishment. George, being the most interested party, said heavily: "Not if I knows meself." "I say, Garge, as you'll enlist if they want 'ee." "They won't want the likes o' me." Jane Mucklow said sharply: "Don't you go upsettin' the boy wi' your ridiculous war-talk, Father. He come nigh on leavin' us to freeze to death in Canady. Why should we fight to save they Frenchies?" Uncle grinned and chuckled. "Ah-h-h! I've a notion about that. I told 'un to the old Captain, and he said 'twas a very notable remark. Fight we shall and must to save our own souls and bodies." George opened a wide mouth; his mother laughed scornfully. "Never heard o' the British Fleet, I suppose?"