Voices in the room downstairs!  That meant that Janet had gone in to greet the visitor.  Should they ask him to stay for supper?  The vicar was coming, and his pious little sister.  There would be quite enough to eat.  Cold ham, potatoes and salad, with their own butter and bread—­Janet made beautiful bread—­was enough for anybody in war time.  Rachel was in the mood to feel a certain childish exultation in the plenty of the farm, amid the general rationing.  The possession of her seven milch cows, the daily pleasure of the milk, morning and evening, the sight of the rich separated cream, and of the butter as it came fresh from the churn, the growing weight and sleekness of the calves; all these things gave her a warm sense of protection against the difficulties and restrictions of the war.  She and Janet were “self-suppliers.”  No need to bother about ounces of butter, or spoonfuls of cream.  Of course they sold all they could, but they could still feed their few guests well—­better, perhaps, than any of the folk in the villa houses round Millsborough.

“Yes! and no one’s leave to ask!”

She threw out her arms in a vehement gesture as she turned away from the glass.  It was the gesture of a wild bird taking flight.

By which, however, she was not hurling defiance at the gentle but most efficient little lady who represented the Food Control of the neighbourhood, and the mere sight of whom was enough to jog uneasy consciences in the matter of rations.  Rachel was long since on the best of terms with her.

* * * * *

Captain Ellesborough was asked to stay to supper, and gladly accepted.  The vicar and his young sister arrived and were introduced to the American.  Betty and Jenny, alarmed at so much company and the quality of it, hurriedly asked to be allowed to take their meal in the tiny scullery behind the living room.  But the democratic and dissenting Janet would not hear of it.  There was room for everybody, she said, and while she lived in it there should only be one table for all who worked on the farm.  If the vicar and Miss Shenstone objected, she was sorry for them.  But they wouldn’t object.

So the small living room of the farm was soon full of a merry company:  the two mistresses, in their Sunday frocks, the land girls in their uniforms, the young vicar in a short coat and round collar, his little sister of nineteen, who was training to be a missionary, and carried about with her already the sweet and dedicated look of her calling; and Ellesborough, a striking and manly figure in full khaki.  Ellesborough was on Rachel’s right, the vicar on Janet’s; Miss Shenstone sat between the two girls, and was so far from objecting to their company that she no sooner found she was to sit next the daughter of her brother’s handy-man than her childish face flushed with pleasure.  She had seen Jenny already at her brother’s Bible-class, and she had been drawn