Clif, twenty-one now and a man, came along slowly, his arm over Alf’s shoulder, his hand gripping the younger boy’s arm affectionately. Chatterbox Richie was close at Alf’s other side; now and again he looked up at him with a curiously affectionate look, then promptly held his lips together as if fearful some secret should burst forth.
Alf was fourteen, short, rather thick-set, cheerfully ugly. But his hair, light-coloured, crisp, went back from his forehead in a lovable sort of wave, and his eyes were blue, soft, merry, mischievous, loving. Even when he was a baby he would give half his biscuit to a dog, and proffer his mug of milk-and-sugar to every one who came near him, with a hearty little “tate some.” And now every one knew they could have whatever was Alf’s, every one knew if Alf had sixpence they could get at least fourpence of it. Phyl went near to worshipping him; her love of him was more motherly than sisterly. The holes in his socks were never mentioned; the biggest tarts always went into his lunch-bag; he had a penwiper, a brush-and-comb-bag, and a very elaborate cricket cap, articles that no one had thought of making for the other boys. And he was a thoughtful little lad, and [200] ]really tried to remember to use the penwiper instead of his coat-sleeve, seeing the labour Phyl had put in it; and a courageous little lad, for he wore the elaborate cap dauntlessly at the school match, and only laughed good-temperedly when his fellows chaffed. Dolly and Ted brought up the rear. Ted, lanky and book-learned; Dolly, very like Phyl, but smaller and rosier. And her blue serge frock was still several inches away from the top of her shoes, seeing she was not yet sixteen, and her light, wavy hair was caught back into a loose curly plait and tied with dark-blue ribbon. She was carrying a strap full of school-books in one hand, and a tennis-racquet and a roll of papers in the other.
Phyl came on to the verandah.
“Wasn’t mother in the train?” she said.
Ted nodded.
“She saw the governor’s bike outside the Rileys’, and waited to walk home with him,” he said.
“Was—was the German mail in?” Phyl’s eyes widened apprehensively as she put the question.
“Yes,” said Ted briefly.
Alf was almost up the steps and on a level with her by this, and she put a sudden arm around his neck and clung to him one moment.
“Don’t be a little donkey,” Ted said gruffly, a warning look in his eyes.