“We go on kitchen duty for a week at a time,” explained Miss Heald to Winona.  “It’s a part of the course, you know.  We have dairy, gardening and poultry as well.  Which do I like best?  It’s hard to say.  Poultry, I think, because the chickens are such darlings.  I’ll show you all round the place this afternoon, when I’ve finished washing up.  I’m going to lay the table now.  You can help if you like.”

Precisely at one o’clock the seven other students came in from their work.  Each was dressed in her farm uniform, short serge skirt, woolen jersey, blue overall and thick boots.  To judge from their looks, their occupation was both healthy and congenial, in physique they were Hebes, and their spirits seemed at bubbling point.  Apparently they all adored Miss Carson.  The latter made a few inquiries as to the morning’s progress, and the capable answers testified to the knowledge of the learners.  The dinner did credit to Miss Heald’s skill; it was well cooked and daintily served.  Winona was full of admiration; her culinary experience was limited so far to cakes and scones; she felt that she would have been very proud if she had compounded that stew, and baked those custards.  When the meal was finished the students tramped forth again to their outdoor labor, while Miss Heald cleared away.  Winona begged to be allowed to help her, and was initiated into the mysteries of the very latest and most sanitary method of washing up, with the aid of mop, dish-rack, and some patent appliances.  It was so interesting that she quite enjoyed it.  She swept the kitchen, filled kettles at the pump, and did several other odd jobs; then, everything being left in an absolutely immaculate condition, Miss Heald declared that she was ready, and offered to take her companion for a tour of inspection round the farm.

The little holding had been well planned, and was skillfully arranged.  In front was the garden, a large piece of ground stretching down to the hedge that bordered the road.  Miss Carson’s original idea had been the culture of flowers, partly for the sale of their blossoms, and partly for the preservation of their seeds, but the national need of producing food crops during the war had induced her to plant almost the whole of it with fruit and vegetables.  At present it somewhat resembled a village allotment.  Patches of peas and broad beans were coming up well.  Groups of gooseberry bushes were thriving.  Strawberry beds were being carefully weeded, and two of the students were erecting posts round them, over which nets would be hung later on to protect the fruit from the birds.

“Birds are our greatest pest here,” explained Miss Heald.  “One may like them from a natural history point of view, but you get to hate the little wretches when you see them devouring everything wholesale.  They’ve no conscience.  Those small coletits can creep through quite fine meshes, and simply strip the peas, and the blackbirds would guzzle all day if they had the chance.  I want to borrow an air gun and pot at them, but Miss Carson won’t let me.  She’s afraid I might shoot some of the other students.”