“And we must be fed,” his mother replied quietly. “Perhaps later—” She did not finish. She knew a great deal about war, did the brave-hearted English mother. “Wars,” said David, speaking before he thought, “are wrong. There should be no wars.” Instantly the woman’s slow, steady gaze was upon him. “She’s angry with me,” he thought. His lips were parted for the words, “I’m sorry.” But she spoke first. “You are exactly right, David. Wars are terrible. I should know. Wars have cost me those I loved far more than life. Now another war may cost me my son, and perhaps my daughters. “Some of us,” she went on, “did what we could to prevent this war. We failed. Why? Perhaps none of us will ever know for sure. “However,” her voice was steady and sure, “we have a war. We have no choice but to fight it. We must fight or be enslaved. Our enemy has left no room for doubt there. England has always been free.” After that for some time, save for the slow, steady tick—tock—tick—tock of the dependable old English clock in the corner, there was silence in the great room. Later, as they stood outside beneath the stars, Brand told Dave that for more than a year the Young Lord had been training him, teaching him how to become a fighter. “And he’s a real fighter himself, you may be sure of that.” His voice was low and strong. “He’s no braggart like some of those flying Huns. He has a real record all the same. He flew in France during the Blitzkrieg. Sometimes it was ten Messerschmitts to his one Hurricane. He got two of them. That was just one time. There were many others. You just wait!” His voice rose sharply. “I’ll be right up there beside him in a Tomahawk one of these days!” Would he? Dave wondered. _Chapter_ X First Blood Next day, just after lunch, feeling very much like a small boy slipping away to go fishing, Dave made his way toward the airdrome. He wanted, he told himself, to study a Spitfire. He had seen that one in action over the farm on the day of that air battle. It had fascinated him. Truth was, he hoped to run across the Young Lord and perhaps to be invited for one more ride in that two-seater. There was, he realized, a slight element of danger in such an excursion, just enough to give it tang, like a frosty morning. He was not to be disappointed. Lieutenant Applegate was just having the machine rolled out. “Greetings!” he cried. “Just in time! But then,” his voice changed. “I must not tempt you too much. This, you will understand, is our life. It is easy to ask too much of one who is not in on the great game.” “I’ll be glad to go up again,” Dave said quietly. “To tell you the truth, that’s what I had hoped to do.”