“There’s a boatload of children going. I’m to take Peggy and Tillie.”
“Oh—o,” Dave breathed softly. “That will be swell.” And so it would, he thought, for Cherry.
“But you, Alice?” The young Lord turned to the older sister. “Shall you be going also?”
“No—o.” Alice spoke slowly. “I’m staying right here. There’s the dairy, you know. Jock will care for the cattle and tend to the milking. I’ll make the butter. It all goes to your mess, I suppose you know? The butter, I mean. Or didn’t you know?”
“I could have guessed,” said the young Lord. “Our butter’s been uncommonly good of late.”
“Thanks a lot.” Alice made a neat bow. “Anyway we’ve all got to carry on. I shall be quite all right here with old Jock and Flash.”
“And we’ll all welcome an opportunity to drop in for a chat now and then.” Dave added with a genuine sigh of satisfaction. “We’ll always be needing someone to listen to our tall tales or to offer us consolation when we’ve met with defeat.”
“All quite true,” said the young Lord. And he did not laugh.
Strange days followed. The R. A. F. in war time is no respecter of persons. Though the young Lord was of noble birth, he must suffer for his breach of discipline. He was grounded for five days. His battered Spitfire was taken down from the balloon cables and repaired. Armor plate was added to his seat and fitted about his motor, so the time out was not all loss.
Every day the two “cubs”, Dave and Brand went up with the Lark as their leader. Their field of patrol was narrow. Since their last battle the Jerrys seemed to avoid that little patch of the sky over England.