“The good Lord behear!” he exclaimed, stood stock-still for a moment, and waddled off at top speed towards the back door.
“We must tell Aunt at once! She will—why, Anne, where are you going?” She caught my sleeve.
“To the hen-house, to be sure,” said I.
A moment later, with peals of happy laughter, we had taken hands and were running along the garden alleys towards the house. And I remember, as we ran, finding it somewhat singular that this should be the first time I had ever invaded Swanston Cottage by way of the front door.
We came upon Miss Gilchrist in the breakfast room. A pile of linen lay on the horse-hair sofa; and the good lady, with a measuring tape in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other, was walking around Ronald, who stood on the hearthrug in a very manly attitude. She regarded me over her gold-rimmed spectacles, and, shifting the scissors into her left hand, held out her right.
“H’m,” said she; “I give ye good morning, Mosha. And what might you be wanting of us this time?”
“Madam,” I answered, “that, I hope, is fairly evident.”
Ronald came forward. “I congratulate you, St. Ives, with all my heart. And you may congratulate me: I have my commission.”
“Nay, then,” said I, “let me rather congratulate France that the war is over. Seriously, my dear fellow, I wish you joy. What’s the regiment?”
“The 4-th.”