Janet walked to the farm in a bad temper. It was all very well in an overnight glow of self-sacrifice to assure her mother that ‘it was meant’ she should stay in the country. In the morning she knew that ‘meant’ or not she was going to hate it. To begin with it was pouring with rain. A cottage which is two fields from the farm road is considered in bad weather inconvenient by the country woman. To Janet it seemed an idiotic position. No wonder her mother was ill if she had struggled across those tracks in mid-winter. Her temper was not improved by finding her mother down before her. She gave her a kiss, and spoke in a teasing voice, but her tone was not convincing.

“You are a bad old lady. I told you not to come down until eleven.”

“I’ve been awake since six, and I wanted a cup of tea.”

“Well, take your tea and go and sit down in the sitting-room.” Maggie opened her mouth, then seeing the glint in her daughter’s eye, did as she was told.

The morning went on like that. Janet got Sheila out of bed, and brought her down to help, and had her, grumbling and tousled, laying the breakfast table. After breakfast she still insisted that Maggie rested, and put her on the couch in the sitting-room with her feet up. She dragged Sheila round with her making beds, washing up, dusting and cleaning. At eleven she made a pot of tea and brought it in to Maggie. She put the tray on a chair by the sofa and sat on the floor with her back against her mother’s legs. Maggie looked at her with a loving twinkle.

“Feeling pleased with yourself?”

Janet was at that moment feeling smug. She had made Sheila work, she had made her mother rest, she had slaved uncomplainingly herself, but something in Maggie’s voice made her go carefully.

“Why?”

Maggie poured out the tea.

“You’ve made Sheila do all the things she hates most—”

“It’s good for her, lazy little beast.”

“Where is she now?”

“Lying down. She said she felt too tired to swallow.”

“I dare say it’s true.”

“Well, she must do her share of the work”