this little scene, as an illustration, fresh from the life of my
own village:

Imagine a visitor, on behalf of the food-economy movement, endeavouring
to persuade a village mother to come to some cookery lessons organised
by the local committee.

Mrs. S. is discovered sitting at a table on which are preparations for a
meal. She receives the visitor and the visitor's remarks with an
air--quite unconscious--of tragic meditation; and her honest
labour-stained hand sweeps over the things on the table.

"Cheese!"--she says, at last--"_eightpence_ the 'arf pound!"

A pause. The hand points in another direction.

"_Lard--sevenpence_--that scrubby little piece! _Sugar_! sixpence
'a'penny the pound. The best part of two shillin's gone! Whatever _are_
we comin' to?"

Gloom descends on the little kitchen. The visitor is at a loss--when
suddenly the round, motherly face changes.--"But _there_ now! I'm goin'
to smile, whatever 'appens. I'm not one as is goin' to give in! And we
'ad a letter from Arthur [her son in the trenches] this morning, to say
'is Company's on the list for leave, and 'e's applied.--Oh dear, Miss,
just to _think_ of it!"

Then, with a catch in her voice:

"But it's not the comin' home, Miss--it's _the goin' back again_! Yes,