“Yes,” the Young Lord agreed. “It is grand. And yet, perhaps tomorrow we die.
“Come!” He took Brand by the shoulder. “Let’s go out and see the holes those bombs dug for you. I’ve got to report to my C. O. about them.” And so the two of them disappeared into the night.
“Come Peggy. Come Tillie,” Alice called. “Time for a goodnight story. And then to bed.”
“Will you really tell us a spy story?” Peggy begged.
“Perhaps.”
“A real, true spy story!” Tillie was fairly dancing.
“Yes, I guess so.”
At that Alice, the two children, and Flash, the dog, marched into the small dining room to close the door behind them.
“It was the Young Lord who piloted that Tomahawk plane this afternoon,” Jock said in a hoarse whisper. “I have it on good authority, the very best.”
“And he said never a word about it!” Dave marvelled.