"This" was a new swirl of the whirlpool which had sucked us in just at the top of the Hay market. A score of young men in khaki and leather kit, British, Overseas men and a huge American, were dancing round a policeman, good-humored monument of Tolerance.
They opened the ring, crying "Land-girls! Land Army! Put the girls in too; come on, dance round the girls——"
Elizabeth and I, laughing, were borne into the middle of that circle; our men joined hands and whirled around us with the others.
"Dance, man, dance! Dance, Bobby; haven't you heard the news? There's a Peace on ... No! You can't have my stick—some girl's snatched my perfectly good stick! My perfectly good stick that I've had ever since the War! ... The War's over! Come on, dance round the pretty Land-girls! they helped to win it, too!"
We laughed, my chum and I, but in our eyes tears danced with smiles, and in our hearts a thrill of pride was all astir as we murmured to each other, "Did you hear that? It is true, isn't it? We did do our little bit to help!"
THE END