“The very most special thing will be to go back—all together,” Norah said. “And don’t you trouble about me—I’ll find a job. You’ll be a bit—just a little bit—careful about dry socks, won’t you, boys? And send me them to darn every week. Aldershot will be terribly hard on socks.” She looked at the clock, following the direction of Jim’s eyes. “I know it’s time you were off,” she said, straightening her shoulders and looking at them with a little smile.
David Linton watched the tall young forms dive into the throbbing taxi. It darted off among the traffic, and he went back to their sitting-room. There was a hint of age in his face.
“Well, little mate?” he said.
Norah sat on the hearthrug, and leaned her head against his knee. They fought their loneliness together. And since the fight was for each other, they succeeded.
“It’s a big thing,” the father said, presently. “I’m glad they’re not out of it, Norah, whatever comes. Please God we’ll get them back—but if we don’t, we’ll know they did their best. It’s not a bad cause for pride—to do their best, in a big thing.”
He was silent, his hand on Norah’s hair.
“We’ll always have that,” she said.
“Yes—always. Only it’s a bit hard on you, Norah. You have always been such mates.”
Norah found his hand and put her cheek against it.
“We’re all mates—always—no matter what happens,” she said. “Don’t you worry about me, Daddy—I’ve got my job.”