“There are whole china cupboardsful at our house. I’ll have a car full of them down first thing in the morning. “Sure that’s all?” the young Lord asked anxiously. “No, not quite.” Cherry smiled a shy smile as she whispered hoarsely. “I—I’m quite sure that Alice’s dream-robes and mine have gone to grace the Milky Way.” “That also shall be attended to,” said the young Lord, after they had enjoyed a good laugh. The trusty old farm truck was backed out of its shed. Beds, chairs, blankets, pots, pans, and quantities of food were piled on. Then they rattled away up the hill to the Hideout. After building a fire on the wide old hearth they put things in such order as they could for the night. After the others had been made comfortable and were asleep Dave and Cherry still sat by the fire. “We’re always last,” Cherry whispered hoarsely. “It takes time for our nerves to run down. They’re like a cheap old alarm clock, I guess.” She laughed. “That’s it,” Dave agreed. “Brand and I are signing up tomorrow,” he said after a time. “I thought Brand would, after this night. Who wouldn’t?” Her whisper was tense with emotion. “It’s his country. But why you? It’s not yours.” “In America,” Dave replied soberly, “we have a saying, ‘A man’s home is where he hangs his hat’. Your home has been mine. It has been bombed. And so—” He did not finish. Just sat there staring at the fire. “There’s a lot more to it than that,” he went on after a time. “It’s easy enough to say, ‘It’s not my war’, when you’re far away. But when you are here, when you see how this war is being fought, defenseless women and children who never harmed anyone being killed and country homes bombed. Good God! How can you help wanting to fight? “And there’s still more to it,” he added after a moment’s silence. “This flying sort of gets you. I’ve been within its grip since the first time I went up. “And flyer fighting.” He took a long breath. “It’s like our American football. It’s a game. The other fellow has the ball. You go after him. You have the ball. He goes after you. You dodge this way and that. You stiff arm him if he gets close. You lean like the Tower of Pisa, you zigzag and weave like a sapling in the wind. Flyer fighting is like that.” “But the score?” Cherry whispered. “Ah, yes,” Dave murmured. “The score must always be heavy on your side.” They were silent. At last Cherry whispered: “I seem to hear applause, the way you hear it on the radio. Per—perhaps it’s the applause of angels. Perhaps the applause is for you. Anyway, here’s wishing you luck.” She put out a slender hand to seize his in a quick, nervous grip. A quarter hour later the girl was beneath the blankets beside her sister and Dave, rolled in a thick, soft rug before the fire, was fast asleep. _Chapter_ XVI Fiddlin’ Johnny