other, and each other's clothes, and each other's clothes' cost, so
well. She arrived at the Village Hall in a pony-carriage, drawn by
the ugliest little pony that ever sniffed oats. She was very quietly
and very tastefully dressed, and, instead of concentrating on the
well-laden stalls of garden produce or the orderly stacks of knitted
comforts, or the really useful baskets, she went straight to the stall
which even Mrs. Dodd, who had the kindest heart in the countryside,
had been compelled to relegate to a dark corner. There was
woolwork run riot over cushions of incredible hardness; there were
candle-shades guaranteed to catch alight at the mere sight of a match;
there were crochet dressing-table mats, and there was a three-legged
stool on which even a fairy could not have sat without danger of a
break-down.

The youngest Miss Dodd, a severely practical young lady of sixteen,
who was presiding at this stall, jumped up in surprise at the sight of
a customer, and in doing so knocked over a glass box bound with red
and white and blue ribbon, with "Handkerchiefs" painted across the
corner in a design of forget-me-nots. There was very little glass box
left when she picked it up, and the splinters had made a good many
little craters in the surface of a big bowl of clotted cream, labelled
"Positively the last appearance for the Duration of the War," which
was at the corner of the next stall.

The little stranger said that she would take the box and the damaged
cream too; she bought a whole family of crochet mats with centres
of orange woollen loops; three pincushions made of playing cards
discharged as no longer fit for active service; a table-centre with
pen-painting of the Allied flags, and a letter-case with the badges of
the Dominions worked in wool and "Across the sea, A letter from thee,"