“No, not quite.” Cherry smiled a shy smile as she whispered hoarsely. “I—I’m quite sure that Alice’s dream-robes and mine have gone to grace the Milky Way.”
“That also shall be attended to,” said the young Lord, after they had enjoyed a good laugh.
The trusty old farm truck was backed out of its shed. Beds, chairs, blankets, pots, pans, and quantities of food were piled on. Then they rattled away up the hill to the Hideout.
After building a fire on the wide old hearth they put things in such order as they could for the night.
After the others had been made comfortable and were asleep Dave and Cherry still sat by the fire.
“We’re always last,” Cherry whispered hoarsely. “It takes time for our nerves to run down. They’re like a cheap old alarm clock, I guess.” She laughed.
“That’s it,” Dave agreed.
“Brand and I are signing up tomorrow,” he said after a time.
“I thought Brand would, after this night. Who wouldn’t?” Her whisper was tense with emotion. “It’s his country. But why you? It’s not yours.”
“In America,” Dave replied soberly, “we have a saying, ‘A man’s home is where he hangs his hat’. Your home has been mine. It has been bombed. And so—”