Mma Kentse, the housemother, greeted them at the entrance and led them into the living room. A table had been laid for six, three places for the adults and three at the end for the older children, the younger children having already been fed. Once they were seated, one of the children, a girl of ten, fetched a pot from the kitchen and placed it on the table. Mma Ramotswe sniffed appreciatively at the aroma of the stew. Goat was one of her favourites, but it was not a dish that they had very often at Zebra Dive, as Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was indifferent to it, preferring chicken, even if it were served every day for an entire week.

They joined hands as Mma Potokwane said grace, their eyes lowered.

“This good food is given to us by the land,” she said. “There are many who do not have this and we think of them now. And we think, too, of the mothers and fathers of these children who are gathered to the Lord and who are at his table today. They are looking down on their children here, and they are pleased that their children have a full plate. So we give thanks.”

Mma Ramotswe glanced at the girl who had brought the pot to the table. She was seated next to her and she saw that she was wearing a thin bracelet of knotted wool, home-made. Her heart went out to her. She knew what it was not to have a mother, but she, at least, had had her father; how could any child bear the loss of both? The girl was staring at her plate; now, she raised her eyes, and for a moment looked directly at Mma Ramotswe, who smiled and gently took her hand under the table, squeezing it in encouragement.

The three children at the table had been told to speak to Mma Ramotswe about their schoolwork. She heard of how they were drawing a map of Botswana with all the roads outlined in red and with contour lines to show the heights of hills. They were learning cookery and carpentry; they had been taught all about birds and their habitats.

“You are learning all the things you need to know,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You will know a lot by this time next year.”

“There is always more to learn,” said Mma Potokwane. “I am still learning things.”

“But you must know everything, Mma,” said one of the children.

“I wish that were true,” said Mma Potokwane, smiling. “I shall be happy if I eventually know as much as Mma Ramotswe.”

The goat was every bit as delicious as Mma Ramotswe had expected; pressed to do so by the combined forces of Mma Potokwane and Mma Kentse, she had three helpings before the pot was carried back to the kitchen.

“Three helpings is not too much,” said Mma Potokwane. “It is a vote of confidence in the cook. It is a compliment.”