Come and look at them to-morrow. And there are some woods over there
that would be worth examining. The Air Board is still clamouring for
more ash.'
Elizabeth agreed. Her smile was a gleam through the mist.
'And, on the way back, Pamela and I must go and talk to the
village--about pigs and potatoes!'
'Do you really know anything about either?' he asked, incredulously.
'Come and hear us!'
There was silence. The Squire threw the window open to the April
sunset. The low light was shining through the woods, and on the
reddening tops of the beeches. There was a sparkle of leaf here and
there, and already a 'livelier emerald' showed in the grass.
Suddenly a low booming sound--repeated--and repeated.
'Guns?' said the Squire, listening.
Elizabeth reminded him of the new artillery camp beyond Fallerton.
But the sounds had transformed the April evening. The woods, the
grass, the wood-pigeons in the park had disappeared. The thoughts of
both the on-lookers had gone across the sea to that hell of smoke
and fire, in which their race--in which England!--stood at bay.
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