"Oh," he said with a brave effort to be cheerful, "I don't count for much. I've no money and no particular ability beyond being able to sail a boat. Still, I have the sea and I'm fond of wandering. It's a pretty good old world, after all, and if you keep an open mind, you make friends wherever you go."
"But it must hurt to leave the old ones."
"Yes," he agreed with a hint of strain; "it hurts very much. But you never leave them altogether. Things change, of course, but you can come back if you are wanted."
He left her rather abruptly, and Elsie dropped her work and sat looking into the fire, a curious, gentle smile on her face. Andrew was true to the core; he would never seek his own advantage when it conflicted with his loyalty to his friends. Now he was willing to sacrifice himself for Dick; though perhaps his poverty influenced him, too. Still, he should see—Elsie resolutely picked up her knitting. She must not indulge in disturbing thoughts like these—and the belts must be finished. Shivering men, worn with stern fighting in Flanders, needed them.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE BUOYED CHANNEL
A bitter east wind was blowing through light mist, though the moon was in the sky, when Andrew came out of a little shop in a lonely village near the Galloway coast. He carried a basket of provisions and wore a thick jersey and oilskins, but he shivered as he looked down the street. It was empty, and dark except for a faint yellow glow here and there in the windows of the small, white houses that rose abruptly from the rough pavement.
"Dick's a long time in getting the eggs," he said to Whitney.
"That's so; we've been 'most half an hour buying the few things you wanted. He's probably talking to somebody. Making friends with strangers is a way he has, particularly when he knows we're waiting."
"I could suggest another explanation," Andrew replied.