"Maybe. I tell 'ee this: we women be fearfully and wonnerfully made--a puzzle to ourselves and all mortal men. That be a fact, my son. I knows this too hard for any man to understand. If you stayed on here wi' me, wi' the whole-souled notion o' comforting an unhappy 'ooman, I should wax peevish wi' 'ee. God forgive us! We be cruel to they we love, when life goes wrong wi' us." Alfred wisely had a squint at his motor-'bus to hearten himself up, and then took the road to the Vicarage. Mrs. Yellam cleared away the dinner-things and washed them up. It was too early, as yet, to expect visitors. She went into the parlour and opened the big Bible, staring at Alfred's name and her own. She had rid herself of him cleverly. Had he stayed, she would have broken down. She wanted to make him swear to remain in Nether-Applewhite. She had made up her mind to do so that very morning. Every word spoken by the Parson seemed to be directed at her; his chance shafts quivered in the heart that was not right. She closed the Bible. CHAPTER X FANCY'S ORDEAL Parson's methods bore fruit. Within the week several young men came forward, and certain young women, on their own initiative, formed a small society to encourage enlistment. Uncle claimed two or three half-sovereigns from Captain Davenant to which, possibly, he was not entitled. The Captain raised a protest against one case, having specific information that female influence had been diligently at work. Uncle laughed. "Ah-h-h! That be true, Captain. But 'twas me as talked first to the young 'ooman, training her, so to speak, and puttin' my brave words into her pretty mouth. But I bain't one to keer about money. Everybody knows that. I be working as never was for my whole Sovereign, King Garge, not for half 'uns." Captain Davenant paid the extra half-sovereign. Uncle's disarming grin proved irresistible. Ultimately, Nether-Applewhite did better than contiguous villages. In Ocknell, with an impoverished squire and a nonentity for a parson, no young men came forward during the first three months. About Christmas, George Mucklow returned home on leave, hardly recognisable. Nether-Applewhite was impressed by his martial bearing, when he strode down the village street, cocking his head at a much-admired angle, with his buttons shining in the sun. Young Hamlin, with a corporal's stripes upon his arm, had leave at the same time. George and he received an ovation, wandering in and out of the cottages, talking and laughing as if war were the greatest lark in the world. Recruiting was much stimulated. The girls liked to be seen with a "boy" in khaki. Meanwhile, Lionel Pomfret had been with the gallant Seven Divisions, sharing their hardships and glories. He wrote home in good spirits, making light of what he had endured, but a postscript in a letter received in early December was illuminating.