Mma Ramotswe looked at her assistant. She had a tendency to bossiness, she thought, and she should have a word with her about it at some point. But it was difficult to broach the subject of a person’s failings, particularly if that person was Mma Makutsi, with her ever so slightly prickly nature. Perhaps her shoes would say something; Mma Makutsi had once, jokingly—and she must have been joking—told her that her shoes occasionally gave her advice. Well, perhaps they could tell her not to be so bossy. They must have witnessed it, after all—shoes see everything; there are no secrets we can keep from our shoes.

“I’m sure that Tebogo will be very careful,” said Mma Ramotswe, adding, “and I really don’t think we need to tell him how to look after his money.”

“I will put it in the bank,” said Tebogo. “And then I will spend it later.”

“That sounds very wise,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“There are school fees for my son,” he went on.

Mma Ramotswe nodded her approval. “Yes, that would be a good thing to spend it on.”

“And my mother is very old,” Tebogo continued.

“Then you can make her comfortable,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“And I can buy some cattle for my cattle post.”

Mma Ramotswe thought that a good idea too. “That too. School fees, mother, and cattle. All of these are very fine purposes, Rra.”

Tebogo looked thoughtful. “I have just remembered something,” he said. “I have a letter from a lady in America. I still have it. It may be that lady, that Mma Grant.”

Mighty explained that this was quite common. “People often write to us,” he said. “They write to thank us, or they send us a postcard to show where else they have been.”

“I keep all these things,” said Tebogo. “Would you like to see it? I can go and fetch it from my place. I think I know where it will be.”

Mma Ramotswe said that she would, and Tebogo walked off to the staff quarters to fetch the letter. A few minutes later he returned, clutching a large envelope. From this he drew out a typed letter to which was attached a couple of newspaper cuttings and a photograph.

“This is what she sent me,” he explained. “Those pages from the newspaper are about a man from her home town who was breeding ostriches. I had showed her some ostriches, and she thought I might be interested in that. And there is a photograph of me and her standing together outside the camp. I remember this lady. I had just forgotten that she was called Mma Grant.”