Imagine
long windows opening into a garden: rosy lamplight streaming out, silver
moonlight streaming in; music; the wonderful voice of a man (Julian
O'Farrell) singing the "Marseillaise," the "Star-Spangled Banner," and
"Tipperary." Then into the midst of this breaking the tiresome whine of
the siren.
"What? A fourth time to-day?" cries somebody. "These creatures will wear
out their welcome if they're not careful!"
A laugh follows, to drown the bark of shrapnel, and a general shrugging
of the shoulders. But suddenly comes a cry that _la petite_--the baby
daughter of the house, sitting up in our honour--has run into the
garden.
The elder girls are not afraid for themselves, the great bombardments
have given them a quiet contempt of mere Taubes. But for the little
sister!--that is different. Instantly it seems that all the bombs
Germany has ever made may be falling like iron rain on that curly head
out there among the autumn lilies. Everybody rushes to the rescue: and
there is the child, sweet as a cherub and cool as a cucumber, in the
din. She stands on the lawn, chin in air, baby thumb on baby nose for
the Taube caught in a silver web of searchlights.
"_Sale oiseau!_" her defiant cry shrills up. "Just like you, to come on
my grown-up evening! But you shan't spoil it. No, sister, I don't want
to go in. I came out to say good-night to the chickens and rabbits, and
tell them not to be afraid."
Behind the lilies and late roses and laurels is quite a menagerie of
domestic animals, housed among growing potatoes, beans, and tomatoes.
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