Tatterdemalion

im eighteen years in humble happiness and the district of Pu

d dwelt those eighteen years, without perhaps ever having had time to move, though they had often had the intention of doing so for the sake of the children, of whom they had three, a boy and two girls. Mrs. Gerhardt-she shall be called, for her husband had a very German name, and there is more in a name than Shakespeare dreamed of-Mrs. Gerhardt was a little woman with large hazel eyes and dark crinkled hair in which there were already a few threads of grey when the war broke out. Her boy David, the eldest, was fourteen at that date, and her girls, Minnie and Violet, were eight and five, rather pretty children, especially the little one. Gerhardt, perhaps because he was so handy, had never risen. His firm regarded him as indispensable and paid him fair wages, but he had no "push," having the craftsman's temperament, and employing his spare time in little neat jobs for his house and his neighbours, which brought him no retur

urprise that they began to find these papers talking of "the Huns at large in our midst," of "spies," and the national danger of "nourishing such vipers." They were deeply conscious of not being "vipers," and such sayings began to awaken in both their breasts a humble sense of injustice as it were. This was more acute in the breast of little Mrs. Gerhardt, because, of course, the shafts were directed not at her but at her husband. She knew her husband so well, knew him incapable of anything but homely, kindly busyness, and that he should be lumped into the category of "Huns" and "spies" and tarred with the brush of mass hatred amazed and stirred her indignation, or would have, if her Cockney temperament had allowed her to take it very seriously. As for Gerhardt, he became extremely silent, so that it was ever more and more difficult to tell what he was feeling. The patriotism of the newspapers took a considerable time to affect the charity of the citizens of Putney, and so long as no neighbour showed signs of thinking that little Gerhardt was a monster and a spy it was fairly easy for Mrs. Gerhardt to sleep at night, and to read her papers with the feeling that the remarks in

? They've sunk the Loositania! Has

soap-suds, answered: "What a dreadful thin

! I'd shoot the

erhardt echoed: "That was

o'clock, white as a sheet, that she perceived

e the first words he uttered; "Dol

e, my dear," sai

They will have me. They will take me away from you all. Already the papers have: 'Intern all the Huns.'" He sat down at the kitch

t has it to do with you?

broad in the brow and tapering to

erhardt? What do they care if I hate the war?

. Gerhardt, "they

hand, and for a moment those two pairs of eyes

shall I do away from you and the child

eeling of terror and a

I'll make you a nice cup of tea. Cheer

the silence which of la

. Gerhardt went to his work as usual, and their laborious and quiet existence remained undisturbed; nor could Mrs. Gerhardt tell whether her man's ever-deepening silence was due to his "fancying things" or to the demeanour of his neighbours and fellow workmen. One would hav

he was gone, taking all she could hurriedly get together for him, she hastened to the police station. They were friendly to her there: She must cheer up, Missis, 'e'd be all right, she needn't worry. Ah! she could go down to the 'Ome Office, if she liked, and see what could be done. But they 'eld out no 'ope! Mrs. Gerhardt waited till the morrow, having the little Violet in bed with her, and crying quietly into her pillow; then, putting on her Sunday best she went d

! dear"-she thought, while her heart fluttered like a bird-"he'll never understand; I'll never be able to make him." She saw her husband buried under the leaves of despair; she saw h

s a very good man and a good workman; and I thought perhaps they didn't understand that; and we've got three children and a relation that's bedridden. And of course, we understand th

ng past her at the w

it. We have to do very ha

rting out of her head, for she was no fool, an

; but the people in our street don't mind 'im, sir. He's always done little t

ips tightened at the word outcry,

Committee no doubt; but I

troublesome, rose; a tear rolled down h

, I'm sure. Goo

is?" she answered: "I don't know. I must look on the bright side. Good-bye, and thank

t even for a night, she should now be compelled to work twice as hard and eat half as much because that husband had paid her country the compliment of preferring it to his own. But, after all, many other people had much worse trouble to grieve over, so she looked on the bright side of all this, especially on those days once a week when alone, or accompanied by the little Violet, she visited that Palace where she had read in her favourite journals to her great comfort that her husband was treated like a prince. Since he had no money he was in what they called "the battalion," and their meetings were held in the bazaar, where things which "the princes" made were exposed for sale. Here Mr. and Mrs. Gerhardt would stan

ad kissed little Violet, they would be quite silent, looking at each other. An

go now. Good

e wou

, Dollee.

ar, eighteen months, two years, and still she went weekly to see her "prince" in his Palace, that visit became for her the hardest experience of all her hard week's doings. For she was a realist, as well as a heroine, and

isy-never a quiet moment-never alone-never-never-never-ne

properly; the completely bedridden nature of auntie; and worse than these, the growing coldness and unkindness of her neighbours. Perhaps they did not mean to be unkind, perhaps they did, for it was not in their nature to withstand the pressure of mass sentiment, the continual personal discomfort of having to stand in queues, the fear of air raids, the cumulative indignation caused by stories of atrocities true and untrue. In spite of her record of kindliness towards them she became tarred with the brush at last, for her nerves had given way once or twice, and she had said it was a shame to keep her man like that, gettin' iller and iller, who had never done a thing. Even her reasonableness-and she was very reasonable-succumbed to the strain of that weekly sight of him, till she could no longer allow for the difficulties which Mrs. Clirehugh assured her the Government had to deal with. Then one da

ed: "Yes, my d

y remained unconvinced

that which so upset the applecart in Mrs. Gerhardt t

dangerous Hun year after year like that; and then they take his boy for th

was Scotch, with a Glouce

such a wicked lot. I daresay it's 'ar

's wicked. We never wanted the war; it's nothing but ruin to him.

g for the Government, Dora;

quivering face, had

hich implanted in Mrs. Clirehugh's hea

t was a blow to Mrs. Gerhardt, who had now no friends, except the deaf and bedridden aunt, to

eeply. And one day, in the bazaar, passing an open doorway, Mrs. Gerhardt had a glimpse of why. There, stretching before her astonished eyes, was a great, as it were, encampment of brown blankets, slung and looped up anyhow, dividing from each other countless sordid beds, which were almost touching, and a whiff of huddled humanity came out to her keen nostrils, and a hum of sound to her ears. So that was where her man had dwelt these thirty months, in that d

verflowed then, and, withdrawing hastily, she sat down on a shiny chair in her little empty parlour. Her face crumpled suddenly, the tears came welling forth; she cried and cried, alone in the little cold room. She cried from relief and utter thankfulness. It was over-over at last! The long waiting-the long misery-the yea

, and she was grey; for more than two years her man had not seen her without her hat. What ever would he say? And she rubbed and rubbed her cheeks, trying to smooth them out. Then her conscience smote h

's Peace! Think of

" answered th

ce, Aunti

k-lustre black eyes of her long, leathery face. "You don't say," she said

, and hurried back downstairs with her brain teeming, to ma

gain, letting bygones be bygones. But he did not come. And soon the paper informed her that the English prisoners were returning-many in wretched state, poor things, so that her heart bled for them, and made her fiercely angry with the cruel men who had treated them so; but it informed her too, that if the paper had its way no "Huns" would be tolerated in this country for the future. "Send them all back!" were the words it used. She did not realise at first that this applied to Gerhardt; but when she did, she dropped the journal as if it had been a living coal of fire. Not let him come back to his home, and family, not let him stay, after all they'd done to him, and he never did anything to them! Not let him stay, but send him out to that dreadful country, which he had almost forgotten in these thirty years, and he with an English wife and children! In this new terror of utter dislocation the bright side so slip

an had put there in his old handy days. Under it were one little monthly rose, which still had blossoms, and some straggly small chrysanthemums. She had been keeping them for the feast when he came home; but if he wasn't to come, what should she do? She raised herself. Abov

each week that she went to visit Gerhardt brought solid confirmation to her terror. He was taking it hard, so that sometimes she was afraid that "something" was happening in him. Thi

friend. I haven't a spot to go to. I should be lost. I'm afraid, Dollee. How could you come out t

h those others were not precisely the bright side, the mental picture of their sufferings, all t

ld never se

the children. We'd get on somehow. Bear up, my dearie. It'll soon be over now.

t, came the thought: "But if they do! Auntie! My

et. The lists were hung up the day after Mrs. Gerhardt's weekly visit, but she urged him if his name did appear to appeal against repatriation. It was with the greatest difficulty that she roused

again, because, so far as in her gentle spirit lay, she hated it. It was slowly killing her man, and all her chance of future happiness; she hated it, and read it every morning. To the monthly rose and stra

received no letters save the weekly letters of her boy still in the army, she was spreading margarine on auntie's bread for breakfast, and, moved beyond all control, she spread it thick, wickedly, wastefully thick, then dropped the knife, sobbed, laughed, clasped her hands on her breast, and without rhyme or reason, began singing: "Hark! the herald angels sing." The

p with it and the bread and margarine. The woman's dim long face gleamed greedily when she saw how thick the margarine was spread; but little Mrs. Gerhardt said no word of the reason f

earth and

ist a lit

rops, scillas, "angels' tears," quite two dozen blossoms. She brought them into the little parlour and opened its window wide. The sun was shining, and fell on the flowers strewn on the table, ready to be made into the nosegay of triumphant happiness. While she stood fingering them, d

iza; look at

her hair looser, her eyes bigger. Mrs. Gerhardt saw tears start

's the mat

ugh choked.

d an "angels' tear,"

happened?"

d to-day. I can't-I can't-I can't-" Wild choking stopped her utterance.

irehugh; "I can't find any flower

. "Have them. I'm sure you're welco

ugh, "I 'aven't deserved them." Mr

r little baby. Take them! There, there, he's spared a lo

ugh tossed

and grasping the flowers she hurried out, a litt

set it in a glass of water, where the sunlight fell. She was still gazing at it, pale, slender, lonely in that coarse tumbler, when she heard a knock on the parlour door, and went to open it. There stood her man, with a la

with a sort of qu

ting the door, looked hard into his face. Yes, it was his face

id again, and c

d him to he

l, Dollee,"

ut you'll soon be all right now-home

ell," he s

d, and taking the "angels' tear" fro

othouse. You're home again; home again, my dearie. Auntie's up

ell, Dolle

. There's my man!" and she rocked him to and fro against her, yearning yet fearing to look into his face and see that "somethi

t was like the ghost of a smack. It terri

r close, and r

. They let me come-I'm not well

she murmured over and over again,

be well-soon be well! We must