So far she had enjoyed being "Mäaster" of Little Ansdore. It meant a lot
of work and a lot of thought and a lot of talking and interference, but
Joanna shrank from none of these things. She was healthy and vigorous
and intelligent, and was, moreover, quite unhampered by any diffidence
about teaching their work to people who had been busy at it before she
was born.

Still it was scarcely more than a fortnight since she had taken on the
government, and time had probably much to show her yet. She had a
moment of depression one morning, rising early as she always must, and
pulling aside the flowered curtain that covered her window. The prospect
was certainly not one to cheer; even in sunshine the horizons of the
marsh were discouraging with their gospel of universal flatness, and
this morning the sun was not yet up, and a pale mist was drifting
through the willows, thick and congealed above the watercourses, thinner
on the grazing lands between them, so that one could see the dim shapes
of the sheep moving through it. Even in clear weather only one other
dwelling was visible from Little Ansdore, and that was its fellow of
Great Ansdore, about half a mile away seawards. The sight of it never
failed to make Joanna contemptuous--for Great Ansdore had but fifty
acres of land compared with the three hundred of its Little neighbour.
Its Greatness was merely a matter of name and tradition, and had only
one material aspect in the presentation to the living of
Brodnyx-with-Pedlinge, which had been with Great Ansdore since the
passing of the monks of Canterbury.

To-day Great Ansdore was only a patch of grey rather denser than its
surroundings, and failed to inspire Joanna with her usual sense of
gloating. Her eyes were almost sad as she stared out at it, her chin