"Your King and country need YOU."
That personal appeal drove straight home. Tilda's heart swelled; a flush of excitement invaded her cheeks.
"Bless 'em! They shall 'ave me," she vowed in a fervour of self-immolation.
Tightly clutching the newspaper containing her master's breakfast haddock she scudded off, ablaze with patriotic fire.
"There 'tis, Ma'am," she gasped breathlessly, plumping down her burden on the kitchen table. "An' now I'm goin'."
"Going! Where?"
"To King George, God bless 'im. The poster ses 'e wants me."
Her mistress shook a regretful head.
"No, Tilda. It's not you and I he wants."
Gloom unutterable descended upon Tilda as her mistress expounded the situation.