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had no time to keep them clean. Caroline and Mrs. Davis had polished some of them and set them on the kitchen dresser to catch and reflect the sunlight and firelight. A few early spring flowers were in a vase in the middle of the tea table, and there were scones fresh from the oven, thickly spread with the farm butter.
    There came a knock at the back door, followed so quickly by a tap on the door of the kitchen itself that Caroline knew the person had not waited outside for an answer.
    “May I come in?” called a voice, and before Caroline could rise, the door had opened and an elderly woman appeared in the doorway. She came in without being invited, closed the door behind her, and advanced into the room.
    “I saw the light in here,” she said, “so I came round to the back. I know the back door is unlocked, and I didn’t want to trouble you by knocking at the front . The children and I are old friends.” She smiled at the children, but the children did not smil e in return. She leaned over Babs and kissed her cheek. She smiled at Wendy, saying: “Now, Wendy’s got a kiss for me, I know,” and was politely kissed. She knew better than to attempt such a thing with Terence, apparently, for she patted him on the shoulder, saying: “And how’s my little man?” He did not bother to answer, and she turned back to Caroline.
    “Now we must get acquainted,” she said, and her smile was so shallow, so obviously insincere, that Caroline felt no desire to become acquainted with her. “My name is Weedon—Miss Myrtle Weedon—but then you probably know that already, for, although I say it myself, I think everybody in these parts knows me. And I thought I couldn’t let another day go by without coming to see you, and to tell you how glad I am that the dear children have somebody nice to look after them, after all this time. And I can tell just by looking at you, my dear, how very suitable you will be.” All this time, her eyes were furtively taking in all the details of the room, going from this point to that, lingering on the shining copper, the flowers on the table, the gleaming range, the fresh curtains, the polished floor. “But then,” she went on, “you were with Mrs. Webster for years, weren’t you? Such a charming woman. So gracious. To have been with Mrs. Webster is a recommendation in itself. I was very fond of her.” Caroline had never seen her at Mrs. Webster’s house, and she began to distrust so much gush and volubility. “It is a great relief to me that you are here, and I must congratulate David on having got you; for really, between ourselves, Miss Hearst, your predecessors were appalling. It quite worried me that these little dears were left to her mercies.” (At least one o f the “little dears” was scowling at Miss Weedon unmistakably.) “That Miss Church, I mean. Don’t tell me she wasn’t feathering her nest at Mr. Gerald’s expense...”
    Caroli ne interrupted her, and there was a coldness in her voice which her friends would hardly have recognized.
    “May I g i ve you a cup of tea, Miss Weedon?”
    “Well, that would be nice. I’ll draw up a chair, shall I? And just one of these delicious little scones. Do you make them yourself? I wonder how you find the time with everything else to do. Or do you have somebody to help you?”
    “Mrs. Davis comes in every morning for a while. I expect you know Mrs. Davis.”
    “Indeed yes. Quite a good woman, I believe.” This was said patronizingly, and Caroline thought she could not get rid of this person soon enough, But it seemed to be impossible to make her go, until, at the end of the meal, Caroline had to ask point-blank to be excused as she was so busy.
    “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Hearst, to see you, and to know that the girlies and our little man here are in such good hands. I shall look forward to popping in again.”
    Caroline asked Mrs. Davis the next morning how well Miss Weedon kn ew the children.
    “Miss Weedon?” Mrs.