"And I have worked pretty hard for the last two years, Bob; and
it hasn't hurt me."
"It has made you older--and you ought to be only a kid yet," said Bob
wistfully. "You haven't had any of the fun girls naturally ought to
have. I don't want you to slave all your time, Tommy."
"Bless you!" said his sister. "But I wouldn't care a bit, as long as it
was near you--and not in Lancaster Gate."
They had turned across Hyde Park, where a big company of girl guides
was drilling, watched by a crowd of curious on-lookers. Across a belt of
grass some boy scouts were performing similar evolutions, marching with
all the extra polish and swagger they could command, just to show the
guides that girls were all very well in their way, but that no one with
skirts could really hope to do credit to a uniform. Cecilia paused to
watch them.
"Thank goodness, the children can come and drill in the park again!" she
said. "I hated to come here before the armistice--soldiers, soldiers,
drilling everywhere, and guns and searchlight fixings. Whenever I saw a
squad drilling it made me think of you, and of course I felt sure you'd
be killed!"
"I do like people who look on the bright side of life!" said Bob
laughing. "And whenever you saw an aeroplane I suppose you made sure I
was crashing somewhere?"
"Certainly I did," said his sister with dignity.
"Women are queer things," Bob remarked.
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