"What are you doing here?"
"I'm going to London—just as I am—-a telegram from Tom—he's got leave from the front—isn't it glorious—and all so unexpected—couldn't change, or even drop my basket—the messenger met me in the street—hadn't a moment to lose to catch the train." ...
A little group brushes by her with far other emotions. A stalwart soldier, a bronzed, good-looking fellow, with three stripes, who has evidently seen much service, is returning from leave. His wife, neatly dressed and with head down, wheels a perambulator beside him. Inside the perambulator is a child of three years or so. Two other children, of perhaps five and six, walk with the soldier, each clasping a hand. The little procession passes in silence to the end of the platform, full of that misery which seeks to be alone with itself....
Over the wooden bridge that connects the two platforms comes a solitary soldier, laden with his belongings. He has come in from some other village by the local train. He flings himself down on the form and stares gloomily at the elms and the cornfield and the sunshine. A comfortable-looking, elderly man, who has a copy of the London Corn Circular in his hand, turns to him with that amiable desire to be friendly which elderly people have in the presence of soldiers.
"And how long have you been out at the war, sonny?" he asks, much as he might ask how long holiday he had had.
"I'm sick of the bloody war," says the soldier, without even turning his head.
The comfortable, elderly man collapses into silence and the Corn Circular....
A young officer who has been driven up in a dog-cart comes on to the platform accompanied by a dog with tongue lolling from its mouth and with the large, brown, affectionate eyes of the Airedale.
The train thunders in, and the officer opens a carriage door. The dog tries to enter with his master.
"No, no, old chap," says the latter, gently patting him and pulling him back. "Go home. They don't want you where I'm going."