"Oh, Miss," said Jenny Harberton timidly, "it's not so very far. An' it's
lovely when you get there. Father was there last week, drivin' some
officers. He says it _is_ interestin'!"

Jenny's father, a plumber in the village, owned a humble open car which
was in perpetual request.

"There are a hundred Canadians apparently," said Janet Leighton, looking
at her letter, "and German prisoners, quite a good few, and these thirty
girls. Mrs. Fergusson begs us to come. Sunday's no good because we
couldn't see the work, but--after the harvest? We could get there with
the pony quite well."

Rachel said nothing.

Janet Leighton dropped the subject for the moment, but after supper, with
her writing-desk on her knee, she returned to it.

"Can't you go without me?" said Rachel, who was standing with her back to
the room, looking out of the window.

"Well, I could," said Janet, feeling rather puzzled, "but I thought you
were curious to see these new kinds of work for women?"

"So I am. It isn't the women."

"The German prisoners, then?" laughed Janet.

"Heavens, no!"