"Such talk takes away my appetite for cracklin'. I go my ways, dear, leavin' this mossel o' comfort behind me: they won't be askin' for widows' only sons. Good-night to 'ee." After Uncle's departure Mrs. Yellam busied herself with her work, pausing now and again to sigh deeply. If Sir Geoffrey Pomfret said that England was coming in, why, England was in. A doubtful hypothesis became certainty. And some widows' sons, if she knew her countrymen, would fight for England, tooth and nail, even if they were not directly asked to do so. Presently Alfred appeared, sharp-set after a good day's business. He repeated the gossip of the market-place. Russia was going to surprise the world. England must come in. A greengrocer, on intimate terms with a lady of quality, had told him as a secret that the Guards were already embarking for Belgium. Alfred concluded cheerfully: "In Salisbury, Mother, 'tis agreed that six weeks'll see the end on't." "Captain Davenant be talkin' o' conscription, Alferd." "Let him talk. He's a sour man. I put my faith in God Almighty, not in the likes of him." "Ah-h-h!" "I say to myself, in all Christian humility, that God Almighty in His wisdom is fair fed up with the Proosians. Such talk as they use, all spitting and choking, is quite enough to sicken ordinary folks. 'Tis the swelled head that this Kayser has. However, wiser men prophesy a rare uplifting move in trade." "Alferd--don't talk o' that. 'Tis more than I can bear to hear o' folks makin' money out o' the miseries o' others." He stared at her, noticing at last her drawn expression. "You ain't got the headache, Mother?" "No." "Wouldn't own up to it, if you had. Something's gnawing at you." Very gravely she told him about the young Squire. Alfred's face fell, thinking of Joyce Pomfret, and then of Fancy. What would that pretty dear be feeling, if her Alfred was on the march? The light faded from his rubicund face. Till that moment the possibility of going had never occurred to him. If England did take a hand in the mighty game, surely her Army and Fleet would suffice for all eventualities. Suddenly, he banged the table with his clenched fist, startling his mother. "Alferd--!" she exclaimed irritably. Alfred hastened to apologise. A confounding thought had begotten a thoughtless action. He said earnestly: "Fancy is a oner for telling fortunes with cards." Mrs. Yellam frowned. Cards she held to be playthings of Satan, expressly invented by him together with strong drink and bad women. Alfred continued hastily: "A lady in Salisbury, real quality, Mother, told Fancy's fortune." "Did she? Better be using her needle, I says." "No doubt. 'Tis a very odd thing, and food for sober thought, but the lady did foretell as Fancy'd marry a soldier." "A very foolish, mischievous notion to put i' the maid's head." Alfred nodded. Then he said portentously: "It might come true, Mother, if the pessimists be right." "Pessimists?"