“You go along, dearie, the Labour Exchange won’t take long, and then you can get those stockings you want. I’ll give you my margarine coupons.”

“If you’re going into the town would you look at an art shop, which I hear is near the Town Hall, and see if you can get some things I want for Iris?”

Sheila swallowed her coffee. She looked sourly at Janet. “I shan’t have time.” She got up. “If I’m being pushed off like this I’ll have to go hungry.” At the staircase she looked over her shoulder at Janet. “If you want to go to the town ask your friend Barbara to drive you in. She’s often there; petrol never seems to worry her.”

“There!” said Maggie remorsefully. “I’ve driven the poor child out without any food in her. Perhaps she shouldn’t go today as she has a headache.”

Janet cut herself a slice of bread.

“I don’t believe in her headache, and if she’s hungry she can have a cup of something and a bun in the town.” Maggie was too tired after her night to be fair.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so hard, Janet. She’s a frail little thing; you shouldn’t judge everybody by yourself.”

Janet flushed, and was about to retort when her heart contracted. Oh, God! How ill Maggie looked! She got up and leant over the back of her mother’s chair and pressed her cheek close to hers.

“Darling, I’m a cross-patch, but you’re a silly old woman. You know in your inside that Sheila hasn’t a headache, and that she’s only at her old game of stalling for time. But don’t mind me; I’ve got a black dog on my shoulder this morning.”

Maggie patted Janet’s cheek.

“Did you take those salts this morning?” Janet shook her head. “Bad girl; I’ll bring it in to you tomorrow. Nothing like salts for black dogs.”

When Janet reached the farm she found Iris in bed.

“It’s a little tummy upset,” said Gladys. “Bed for twenty-four hours and castor-oil. That’s my cure.”

Janet looked pityingly at Iris. It was a warm morning and the child had on not only a woollen jersey, but Gladys had brought back the winter eiderdown and tucked it firmly round her, and given her two hot-water bottles, “What would you like to do?” Janet asked Iris as the door closed behind Gladys. “Would you like me to read to you?” Iris, who had been looking sorry for herself, had brightened since Janet had arrived.

“No, I’d like to do something. It was a very, very little chill I had, only feeling sick, but I’m much worse since Gladys has done me good. I think castor-oil is a real illness, don’t you? Could I draw?”

Janet considered Gladys’ clean sheets.