"I wish you would remember one thing. No Germans are 'different.' All Germans are the same Germans at bottom when you come to it! All Germans are—Germans!"
He took up the reins.
Elizabeth's Falconer (jumping up behind as lightly as any jockey) gave me a smile, an ineffable gesture that was to spell "Pro-German, eh? She's in for a good strafing from old Dick; breakers ahead, cheerio!"
And off they drove.
Mr. Price and I, leaving the cornfield, went on to that meadow where the cow and her calf were that had to be brought up to the farm.
"Dear me, Captain Holiday was very hard about letting Miss Elvey say a word to those boys," remarked the farmer to me as we walked along. "There is no harm in this lot of Germans. No harm, I am sure."
For the generous-hearted Welshman judges as he would be judged himself. Void of guile, he could not see guile where it lurked. He was like the best and shrewdest of our own soldiers; clean fighters, they were incredibly slow to believe what dirty fighters these others were. It has taken months and years of bitter experience to show Britain that; Britain with her obstinate dislike to believing anything really bad of the nation with whom she fights!
Even now she does not believe they are as black as they are painted!
Do we not hear that about us every day, and isn't it the trait that our enemy builds on and takes advantage of, to our own sorrow?
Now Mr. Price, of Holiday's Farm, Careg, was of that lovable and broadminded type that believes the best of all men, even Germans! until the very last moment.