There were few matters on which she disagreed with Clovis Andersen’s advice, but this, perhaps, was one of them. She was not sure that it was ever right to read somebody else’s letters or private papers unless you were certain that it was the only way of averting some very serious consequence. Or … and there were other exceptions. Errant husbands, for instance, could hardly complain if a wife, or somebody acting for the wife, read the letters they might write to their mistresses. That was because a wife has a right to read her husband’s letters, in Mma Ramotswe’s view, because he agreed to that in the marriage ceremony; not that those exact words were used, but they were surely implied. Perhaps it might be better to spell it out in the wedding service, where it might be put tactfully, along with the general promise to share. I promise to share all my worldly goods—including letters, parcels, and other items of correspondence, opened or unopened. Perhaps that sounded a bit too formal, but no doubt there were ways of saying the same thing in a warmer, more romantic way.

No, she would not wait in Mma Potokwane’s office but would go in search of her. As she stepped off the verandah into the hot sun, she saw one of the house-mothers standing at the door of one of the small buildings that served as home for eight or so children. These were busy women, who cooked and cleaned all day, and made a home that each child could regard as his or her own. They were not necessarily educated women, but that was not the point; what they had was far more valuable than any formal education, and that thing was love, vast wells of it, enough for ten children, for twenty if need be.

This house-mother, who knew Mma Ramotswe well—having come from Mochudi—greeted her warmly as she approached.

“I am not just standing here,” she said to Mma Ramotswe after the traditional greetings had been exchanged. “Don’t think that I’m being lazy. I’m thinking about what I have to do next.”

Mma Ramotswe laughed. “I would never think you lazy, Mma,” she said. “I know how hard you work.”

The house-mother sighed. “Our work is never done, Mma, but there we are. That is just one of the things that God has said must be. He said: mothers must work hard. That is a firm rule.”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. “But he also wants mothers to have a bit of a rest sometimes. That is why he said: men must not be lazy, and must help ladies.”

The house-mother grinned. “Were men listening when the Lord said that?”

“I think that some were,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But others did not hear too well.”