AUTUMN SOON TURNED TO winter, with pouring rains, violent winds, piercing cold. They sat comfortably in the living-room or did what there was to do in the house, packing potatoes and other vegetables away in the storeroom to keep them from freezing. When the boy Rurpert Fifer reported for work Mother Marie welcomed him warmly. His excessive enthusiasm for Renni ought to have been enough in itself to put them on their guard. He told how the dog had found him and saved his life, and adorned the tale with most fantastic details. Since there was no other work to be done George set him to chopping wood, but Rupert was slow about it and soon showed himself a lazy rascal. Nobody in the house could really like him, though all had been more than willing at first. Even Renni seemed to feel something in the fellow that kept him from his usual cheerful confidence; he was polite but reserved.
For the time being, they had little time to think of Rupert, for in George’s house, as all over the country, political affairs had begun to attract an attention which they had never before aroused. This interest grew and grew, and the less they understood the political situation, the more violently they all debated it.
Vassili expressed himself very gravely. “It is to be hoped that you will remain at peace. It does not concern me, of course. Thank God, I had my war experience years ago and lived through it. I can tell you it would be a disaster.”
Alarmed and serious, Ludmilla said, “War is a great disaster. There is no greater.” She sighed deeply and made the sign of the cross.
George said, easily, “I know nothing at all about these things. Possibly for that very reason I don’t see any danger.”
Vladimir responded gloomily, “Yes, that’s exactly why you don’t see the danger.” He was scanning the newspapers day by day.
And the language of the papers became more and more violent. Rumours fluttered through the air like moths, and from them all the only possible conclusion was that harmony and good will were hopelessly shattered.
The papers of the neighbouring country were no less inflamed.
“There’s poison in their speech,” wailed Mother Marie, who got her information from Vladimir.
George had apparently no interest in it all. “Just talk,” he said, and he played with Renni or went out with him for a walk in the forest that now lay sleeping under its blanket of snow.
Renni loved the snow. He swallowed great mouthfuls of it, dived into it, scattering flakes in every direction, wallowed and buried himself so deep that he came out all crusted over with ice and snow and scarcely recognisable. Then he would shake himself wildly and George would have a task to get him brushed off clean.
Christmas was drawing near, but a burden of fear lay on all the people—on the working men, on the middle classes, and even on the rich. Many of the well-to-do deposited their money and valuables in foreign lands and exchanged their securities for foreign paper; and this made the national bonds fall disastrously. The palaces in the capital stood empty, guarded only by a few servants, while the families spent the winter at their castles in the country.
Business at Christmas time was poorer than it had been for years. Many factories closed down, so that the labourers were soon going hungry and began to complain bitterly. The government took a hand. A law was passed which set severe penalties for sending money out of the country, and another law which ordered businesses either to open their doors or be confiscated. The whole world was in a state of feverish excitement.
As the cost of food soared to fantastic heights the government fixed maximum prices. Then many important articles of food disappeared from the market and people took to buying and selling them secretly.
The whole huge, intricate and complicated machinery of living together, which as a rule runs so smoothly and steadily, now began to slow down. It threatened to become clogged in the mass of conflicting interests, and to stop altogether. The lessons of the World War called forth one emergency measure after another. But there was no severe distress yet.
George spoke in bitter terms of the rich who fled the country. Not till now was his interest in public affairs awakened. He was firmly convinced that his own nation was entirely in the right, but he knew very little about the points of difference and still could not believe that war was drawing near.
“You do not understand these people,” Vassili said to him when George stormed against the rich who had emigrated. “You judge them too harshly, my friend.” Vassili’s solemn tone carried a trace of hurt feelings.
“You can’t be too harsh!” cried George. “These people got wealthy here and now in its hour of need they desert the land that gave them their money. At the very first hint of danger! That’s worse than cowardice. It’s the blackest ingratitude, the lowest form of selfishness. It’s treason!”
“I suppose you don’t realise that your words might apply to us.” Ludmilla smiled. “We would be beggars this minute if we had not left our country at the right time.”
“That is so, precisely so,” Vassili affirmed.
“But,” said George, “your case is different, quite different. You were in a country in revolution. You saw the coming of the volcanic eruption in time. No revolution is to be feared here. Or are we on a sinking ship; that the rats are in such a hurry to get away?”
“Let’s think about that,” boomed Vassili. “Rats are clever animals. When they leave it is not a question of possible danger. You can be sure that real danger is very near at hand. Rats know more than you and I.”
Ludmilla made the sign of the cross. “Perhaps we ought to leave too. Maybe we should go south.”
“There is still plenty of time for that, Millie,” said Vassili. “We shall have to think it over a little.”
“I’m going to stay here no matter what happens,” Tanya declared.
Vladimir felt that same way about it. “I am not going to stir from this spot.”
“Suit yourselves,” said Vassili with ill humour.
And Ludmilla simpered, “Our other children will be only too happy to go with us.”
From that day on George believed in the war.
* * *
Just before Christmas things came to a head with Rupert Fifer. George found the woodshed door standing open one day and heard Kitty crying and Renni growling inside. Then came an agonised howl. George alarmed, rushed in. Renni crept past him, crouching to the floor. Kitty, her back arched and her fur on end, stood on a high rick. As soon as she caught sight of George she made a leap for his breast as though to seek protection.
“What’s going on here?” asked George.
Rupert shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.”
“You haven’t chopped any wood.” George looked around suspiciously.
“I’ve chopped enough. I can’t work like a slave all day.”
“Has anybody asked you to?” George was getting angry. “But you ought to do enough to pay your board.”
“I didn’t come here to chop wood anyway,” Rupert replied insolently.
“I suppose you came to torment the animals,” said George in a stern tone. “Why was the cat crying? Eh?”
He let Kitty slip into the hallway and gave the boy his full attention. “Answer me! The truth! Why was the dog howling? Something pretty bad had happened to him. Out with it now and don’t try to lie.”
Rupert was getting uncomfortable. “Those animals of yours don’t know how to take a joke.”
“All right,” George insisted. “I want to know what your joke was.”
“I didn’t mean any harm. Why did the cat want to make so much fuss about it when I picked her up by the tail? And then Renni snarled at me . . . and . . . ”
“And?” George was trembling with rage.
“And . . . then I gave him one.”
Before the words were out of his mouth George landed a sharp slap on his jaw.
Rupert wailed, “Do you expect me to wait till he bites me?”
But his words were lost in George’s raging. “You struck Renni, you wretch, the dog to whom you owe so much! The dog that nobody’s ever struck in his life. You struck him, you dirty swine!”
He was slapping Rupert from one wall of the narrow woodshed to the other, regardless of his screams of pain. At last, out of breath, he pushed him away.
Mother Marie, Tanya and Bettina were standing in the entry. “Enough, my son,” begged Mother Marie, whose face was pale.
But Bettina said, “That fellow couldn’t possibly get the beating he deserves.”
“Pack your things at once,” roared George, “and get out of here as quick as you can.”
Rupert ran up the stairs at top speed. He soon came down with his bundle, whining, “You’re going to pay for this.”
A well-aimed kick from George’s foot sent him stumbling through the front door. Renni, barking loudly, chased him to the garden gate, and then returned swinging his tail in triumph.
George told what he had caught the boy doing. And now Bettina had something to report. “He’s been making fun of you from the first day on. I don’t know why he confided in me. Whenever I tried to set him right about anything he always laughed. ‘I know that fellow,’ he’d say; ‘he’s no man, he’s a milksop. He’s a sissy that I can wind around my finger. I can make a fool of him whenever I want to.’ He boasted he’d waited till the work in the garden and fields was over before he came here. ‘I’ll have a nice living all winter and won’t have to work myself to death.’ That’s the kind of shirker he was behind your back.”
“And you kept quiet about it all this time. Why?” For the first time George was out of patience with Bettina.
She answered in her determined way, “I don’t like to tell tales. It’s a matter of principle with me. Besides, I knew you’d find out for yourself what your protégé was like. And sure enough it didn’t take long.”
* * *
Several weeks passed without improvement in the political situation. On the contrary the two cabinets, at home and in the neighbouring country, carried on an open war of words. The exchange of diplomatic notes became sharper and finally broke off. There was something disturbing, something fateful in this twofold silence.
“A peaceful solution seems no longer possible,” Vassili intoned solemnly.
“Peaceful?” Ludmilla was not smiling now. During the last few weeks that magic smile of hers had disappeared. “Peaceful, my dear? No one thinks of peace now. On either side. Let’s make arrangements to leave at once.”
Vassili replied gently, “You are always right, Millie.” None of the others said a word.
• • •
A few days later Tanya and Vladimir came over. Vladimir reported: “My parents, my brothers and my sister Manya are ‘rats.’ ” His grin was ashamed and embarrassed. “They sent you their best wishes.”
“Where did they go?” Mother Marie inquired.
“We don’t know for sure,” said Tanya. “I think they’ve gone to Egypt. Before they left we had a terrible row.”
“They wanted us to go with them,” Vladimir explained. He smiled faintly. “Now there is plenty of room in the big house . . . plenty of room.”