“Better go and see what they want, P.J.,” Stark nodded to his Adjutant. “Doesn’t look as though we shall get much sleep tonight.”
And as a matter of cold fact, it was 5:0 a. m. on the morning of his return from leave to that “cushy” spot Neuve Eglise, before Peter at last crawled between his Jaeger blankets.
“Wonder if Pat’s awake,” he thought. . . .
§ 2
“Can’t we come too, Mummy?” asked Evelyn.
“You might take us?” pleaded Primula.
The children came running into Heron Baynet’s garage where Patricia—in smock and wash-leather gloves—stood tinkering under the open bonnet of her car.
“No, you can’t. And you’re both very wicked children. How on earth did you manage to get here? Without your hats, too!”
She stood there, the faulty sparking-plug in her hand, half-smiling, half-frowning at the two pinafored figures.
“Well,” said Evelyn proudly. “It was my idea. Miss Merridew left us alone. So I said to Primula, ‘Let’s just rush downstairs, open the front-door, and go to Mummy. It’s only at the end of the road.’ . . .”