"Hurrah!" I said, looking over her shoulder at the document. "It says
if you are in doubt as to the name of the district of your Local Food
Office you are to inquire of any policeman or special constable."

"That's all very well," she said, "but how are we to find a policeman
in this remote and peaceful place? I've never seen one. Have you?"

"Yes," I said, "I think I saw one last year on a bicycle."

"Well, he's probably arrived somewhere else by this time. He's no good
to us."

"No, but we might find a special constable."

"I'll tell you what," she said, "old Glumgold is a special constable.
I heard him complaining bitterly of having been hauled out of bed
during the last air-raid on London. 'No nigher to we nor forty mile,'
he said it was. He's sure to be among the cabbages. Be a dear and dash
out and ask him."

So I found Glumgold in among the cabbages and asked him where the
Local Food Office was, and he said he'd be gingered if he knew, he
or his old woman either; and that was the question they was a-going
to arst of us, because to-day was the last day for sending in. So I
advised him to chance it with Nebsbury, which happens to be eight
miles off and possesses a High Street; and then I went back to
Francesca and told her that Glumgold advised Nebsbury--which was
cowardly, but one can't spend a lifetime over a fiddle-headed document
like that. Anyhow, we folded it up and posted it, and we've heard