"To be frozen and ill-used and shot at, with his bad leg and his delicate skin!" shot out Gheena peevishly.
But though they laughed at the little man in uniform eating ham with appetite, the orders which he had brought made something real of that terrible war across the seas. Germans might come to Ireland—grey-green uniforms, spiked helmets, fierce dull faces might be seen on the edge of the low cliffs. What scurry and flutter there would be if it ever came to pass!
This little man, never quite at his ease, represented the struggle of a mighty nation, pouring out blood and gold for the cause of freedom.
Gheena recovered from depression to see a vision of the flight of the family, with her mother packing carefully, and a string of horses being led off inland.
"I should certainly destroy all the jam," observed Mrs. Freyne, also waking up; "they are so fond of sweets."
"Our navy," said Mr. Freyne pettishly, "is paid to see to things of this class. They will never reach us. But, of course, one must be prepared—and, talking of it, can your cook boil eggs, Keefe?" he asked gloomily.
Mr. Keefe, starting at the change of subject, thought that anyone could—just water and a saucepan.
"And bullets," said Dearest George. "Talking of invasion made me remember the eggs. Bullets—with a delicate digestion."
Keefe picked up an egg and said absently that he liked them hard, because they slipped into a pocket so handily, and with bread and butter one was never at a loss. But when you get a kind of squashy thing— "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Freyne! I'd love to take these two, I've miles to go!"
The master of the house murmured "Savouries" into his empty tea-cup; the desire to economize was strong upon him just then.