Free Red Stefan by Patricia Wentworth

glean to her six daughters-in-law, and all her neighbours. The gleaning would be well garnished.
    The Young Communist was still addressing a completely inattentive room. Stephen thought it was time to make a diversion. He jumped on the bench and began to sing The Red Flag in a fine rolling baritone. At the first note Irina’s expression changed. Exaltation replaced disdain. Springing to the front of the platform, she joined in the song. It was immediately taken up by all the younger part of the audience.
    The trivial nursery-rhyme tune went with a swing. Elizabeth’s fancy gave it its original German words. The deserted lover naïvely addresses a fire-tree:
    â€œO fir-tree, oh, fir-tree,
    How green are your leaves—”
    He contrasts them with his sweetheart’s fickle behaviour:
    â€œO maiden, O maiden,
    How false is your heart!
    You swore to me when I was lucky.
    Now I am poor, you throw me over.
    O maiden, O maiden,
    How false is your heart!”
    It was a far cry from this pastoral simplicity to the angry passions of The Red Flag , yet these had an ugly naïveté of their own.
    She looked up at Stephen towering above her, and thought how strange it was to see him swinging his arms in time to the rhythm and throwing a world of revolutionary fervour into his fine voice.
    When the song was finished, there were cries of “More!” and “Go on, Stefan!” A girl of about seventeen began to sing, but she was hushed down. Stefan was evidently a popular performer, and there were demands for favourite songs. In response to one of these he gave a highly dramatic rendering of a folk-song about a man who was hunted down by a wolf. It was rather a blood-curdling performance, and old Yuri woke up to mutter, and mumble disapproval.
    When the last “Yoi-hoi!” had died away, Stephen jumped down from the bench, to find Irina at his elbow. Elizabeth had seen her leave her place on the platform and make her way towards them with an uneasy sense of danger. When she saw her standing by Stephen, the thought of how well matched they were passed through her mind like a draught of cold air. She was as finely made for a woman as he for a man. Her head rose above his shoulder, while her dark hair and eyes and warm, vivid pallor were in perfect contrast to his blue eyes and ruddy colouring.
    Irina addressed him at once with an air of intimacy.
    â€œThat was well sung! We have missed you here—I have missed you. There are many things which I would like to discuss with you. You have not been in Moscow?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œOh no. Have you?”
    Irina dropped her voice.
    â€œYes—and there is much to tell you. There are great developments coming.” Her eyes glowed as she spoke. “But we can’t speak of that here. We must meet and talk.”
    As she spoke, the schoolmaster came nervously up. At close quarters he was astonishingly like an ant. His hands moved continually like antennae. His long bony neck would have looked better in a collar. He had with him a female ant, whom Elizabeth immediately guessed to be his wife. They wore the same large convex glasses and cut their hair in exactly the same way, but the eyes behind the female glasses were less worried and more watchful. They shook hands with Stephen, and next moment Elizabeth was being presented as Varvara Ivanovna and his wife. Behind his fatuous smile of the new-made husband, Stephen watched her with apprehension. Would she pass? Or would there be something which would set Irina’s keen wits to work—guessing?
    He looked, and saw a pale mask with vacant eyes and a mouth that dropped at the corners. When the schoolmaster and his wife spoke to her, she fingered her skirts and looked down.
    Stephen nudged her.
    â€œWhere are your manners? You should say how-do-you-do to my good friends Anton Ilyitch and Anna Stefanovna.” Then, over her head, he explained, “She has never seen so much company