Mavis was a little surprised at this piece of information, but she very soon learned that Mrs Trivett’s life was chiefly occupied with the recollection and celebration of anniversaries of any and every event which had occurred in her life.  Custom had cultivated her memory, till now, when nearly every day was the anniversary of something or other, she lived almost wholly in the past, each year being the epitome of her long life.  When Trivett shortly came in from his work, he greeted Mavis with respectful warmth; then, he conducted his guest over the farm.  Under his guidance, she inspected the horses, sheep, pigs and cows, to perceive that her conductor was much more interested in their physical attributes than in their contributive value to the upkeep of the farm.

“Do ’ee look at the roof of that cow barton,” said Trivett presently.

“It is a fine red,” declared Mavis.

“A little Red Riding Hood red, isn’t it?  But it’s nothing to the roof of the granary.  May I ask you to direct your attention to that?”

Mavis walked towards the granary, to see that thatch had been superimposed upon the tiles; this was worn away in places, revealing a roof of every variety of colour.  She looked at it for quite a long time.

“Zomething of an artist, miss?” said Trivett.

“Quite uncreative,” laughed Mavis.

“Then you’re very lucky.  You’re spared the pain artists feel when their work doesn’t meet with zuccess.”

They returned to the kitchen, where Mavis feasted on newly-baked bread smoking hot from the oven, soaked in butter, home-made jam, and cake.

“I’ve eaten so much, you’ll never ask me again,” remarked Mavis.

“I’m glad you’ve a good appetite; it shows you make yourself at home,” replied Mrs Trivett.

After tea, they went into the parlour, where it needed no second request on Mavis’ part to persuade Mr Trivett to play.  He extemporised on the piano for the best part of two hours, during which Mavis listened and dreamed, while Mrs Trivett undisguisedly went to sleep, a proceeding that excited no surprise on the musician’s part.  Supper was served in the kitchen, where Mavis partook of a rabbit and moorhen pie with new potatoes and young mangels mashed.  She had never eaten the latter before; she was surprised to find how palatable the dish was.  Mr and Mrs Trivett drank small beer, but their guest was regaled with cowslip wine, which she drank out of deference to the wishes of her kind host and hostess.

After supper, Mr Trivett solemnly produced a well-thumbed “Book of Jokes,” from which he read pages of venerable stories.  Although Mrs Trivett had heard them a hundred times before, she laughed consumedly at each, as if they were all new to her.  Her appreciation delighted her husband.  When Mavis rose to take her leave, Trivett, despite her protest, insisted upon accompanying her part of the way to Melkbridge.  She bade a warm goodbye to kindly Mrs Trivett, who pressed her to come again and as often as she could spare the time.