Spring comes to Beachbourne as it comes to no other city of earth, however fair; say those of her children who after long sojourning in other lands come home in the evenings of their days to sleep.

The many-treed town that lies between the swell of the hills and the foam and sparkle of the sea sluicing deliciously the roan length of Pevensey Bay unveils her rounded bosom in the dawn of the year to the kind clear gaze of heaven and of those who to-day pass and repass along its windy ways. Birds thrill and twitter in her streets. There earlier than elsewhere the arabis calls the bee, and the hedge-sparrow raises his thin sweet pipe to bid the hearts of men lift up: for winter is passed. Chestnut and laburnum unfold a myriad lovely bannerets on slopes peopled with gardens and gay with crocuses and the laughter of children. The elms in Saffrons Croft, the beeches in Paradise, stir in their sleep and wrap themselves about in dreamy raiment of mauve and emerald. The air is like white wine, the sky of diamonds; and the sea-winds come blowing over banks of tamarisk to purge and exhilarate.

On the afternoon of such a day of such a spring in May, 1914, at Beachbourne station a little group waited outside the barrier that led to the departure platform.

The group consisted of Joe Burt, Ernie, and Ruth.

Ruth was peeping through the bars on to the platform, at the far end of which was a solitary figure, waiting clearly, he too, for the Lewes train, and very smart in a new blue coat with a velvet collar.

"It\'s Alf," she whispered, keen and mischievous to Joe, "Ain\'t arf smart and all."

Joe peered with her.

"He\'s the proper little Fat," said the engineer. "I\'ll get Will Dyson draw a special cartoon of him for the Leader."

Ruth preened an imaginary moustache in mockery of her brother-in-law.

"I\'m the Managing Director of Caspar\'s Touring Syndicate, I am, and don\'t you forget it!" she said with a smirk.

"Where\'s he off to now?"

"Brighton, I believe, with the Colonel. Some meeting of the League," replied Ernie dully.

Just then Mr. Geddes joined them, and the four moved on to the platform.

The train came in and Alf disappeared into it.

A few minutes later the Colonel passed the barrier. He marked the little group on the platform and at once approached them.

Something unusual about the men struck him at once. All three had about them the generally degagé air of those on holiday bent. The minister wore a cap instead of the habitual wide-awake; and carried a rucksack on his back. Joe swung a parcel by a string, and Ernie had an old kit-bag slung across his shoulder. Rucksack, parcel, and kit-bag were all distinguished by a red label. The Colonel stalked the party from the rear and with manifold contortions of a giraffe-like neck contrived to read on the labels printed in large black letters, ADULT SCHOOL PEACE PARTY. Then he speared the engineer under the fifth rib with the point of his stick.

"Well, what y\'up to now?" he asked sepulchrally.

"Just off to Berlin, Colonel," cried the other with aggressive cheerfullness, "Mr. Geddes and I and this young gentleman"—thrusting the reluctant Ernie forward—"one o your soldiers, who knows better now."

The Colonel began to shake hands all round with elaborate solemnity.

"Returning to your spiritual home while there is yet time, Mr. Geddes," he said gravely. "Very wise, I think. You\'ll be happier there than in our militarist land, you pacifist gentlemen."

The minister, who was in the best of spirits, laughed. The two men had not met since the affair of St. Andrew\'s Hall: and each was relieved at the open and friendly attitude of the other.

"Cheer up, Colonel," he said. "It\'s only a ten-days\' trip." They moved towards the train and Ernie got in.

Mr. Geddes was telling the Colonel something of the origin and aims of the Adult School union in general and of the Peace Party in particular.

"How many of you are going?" asked the Colonel.

"Round about a hundred," his informant answered—"working men and women mostly, from every county in England. Most trades will be represented." They would be billeted in Hamburg and Berlin on people of their own class and their own ideals. And next year their visit would be returned in strength by their hosts of this year.

"Interesting," said the Colonel. "But may I ask one question?—What good do you think you\'ll do?"

"We hope it will do ourselves some good anyhow," Joe answered in fine fighting mood. "Get to know each other. Draw the two peoples together.

Nation to nation, land to land.

"Stand oop on the seat, Ernie, and sing em your little Red-Flag piece.—He sings that nice he do.—And I\'ll give you a bit of chocolate."

Ernie did not respond and the Colonel came to his rescue.

"Well, I wish you luck," he sighed. "I wish all well-meaning idealists luck. But the facts of life are hard; and the idealists usually break their teeth on them.—Now I must join my colleague."

He moved on, catching up Ruth who had prowled along the platform to see if Alf was tucked safely away. The Colonel had not seen his companion since her husband had been up before the Bench.

"Well, how\'s he getting on?" he asked; and turned shrewdly to Ruth. "Have you been doing him down at home?" Something suppressed about Ernie had struck him.

Ruth dropped her eyelids suddenly. For a moment she was silent. Then she flashed up at him swift brown eyes in which the lovely lights danced mischievously.

"See I\'ve hung him on the nail," she murmured warily; and nodded her head with the fierce determination of a child. "And I shan\'t take him off yet a bit. He\'s got to learn, Ern has." She was in delicious mood, sportive, sprightly, as a young hunter mare turned out into May pastures after a hard season.