"There h'isn't any war, Miss!"
"But Peter, what do you mean?"
A fine look of cunning incredulity over-spreads Peter's broad face, as he stops and wipes his forehead, for this October day is warm.
"No, Miss; it is just a scare got up by the 'Ouse of Lords to frighting the common people."
"What for?" I ask stupidly.
"To take their minds off the 'Ouse of Lords; we had threatened their power, 'm, and they wish to keep their seats. It is what you call a roose."
"Peter," I say severely, "day by day we hear through the newspapers of terrible fighting going on all the time; how can you say such a foolish thing?"
"The newspapers, 'm," said Peter, with frightful audacity, "are corrupted, bought by the 'Ouse of Lords. They say what they are hordered to."
"The poor Belgians are pouring into this country," I say in wrath.
"Beg parding, Miss, but I haven't seen a Belgian," answers doubting Peter.