Mother went away.
For many a long month now there was a blank, a void in our hearts and in our home that nothing could fill.
Except Hope.
“Hope springs eternal in the human breast.” Truer words were never spoken. When Hope dies, Life itself is soon extinct.
Auntie Serapheema did all she could now to cheer us. She was far less prim and stern with Jill and me. One o’clock struck no more on his knuckles nor on mine. She even shortened our school hours, and was easier with us in the matter of “ologies” and “ographies.” Letters came frequently and with great regularity, and they were always cheerful. Father was better, and mother would be happy if they could both get home, and they hoped to. Yes, they hoped to, but no letter said when, or how soon that hope might be realised.
But one of the most cheerful letters was from father himself, in which he said he trusted to be able to send us both into the Royal Navy as cadets. To be naval officers had always been our dream of dreams, Jill’s and mine. To wear the grand old uniform of blue and gold, to tread the snowy quarter-deck with swords by our side, and the white flag fluttering in the sunshine overhead—
“The flag that braved a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze—”
to sail the seas, to hear great guns firing, to attack ships and forts, and do all kinds of gallant deeds for our own glory and our country’s good—this constituted our notions of life as it ought to be led.
We would have to pass, though. The examination, however, was not a stiff one. Jill and I were but little over ten, but thanks to auntie we knew most of the subjects already well, if not thoroughly.