“Go h’on!  But there, I nearly forgot!”

The “permanent” left the room, at which Mavis closed her eyes, thankful for a few moments’ peace.

“Take this cornflour,” said a voice at her elbow:  the “permanent” had brought her a basinful of this food.  “I made it meself, ’cause Piggy always burns it, an’ Oscar puts his fingers in it.”

“You’re very kind,” murmured Mavis.

“Hold yer jaw,” remarked the “permanent” with mock roughness.

Mavis gratefully swallowed the stuff, to feel the better for it.  When she had finished the last drop, she lay back to watch the “permanent,” who arranged the room for the night.  Candle, matches, and milk were put handy for Mavis to reach; an old skirt was put down for Jill; bed and pillows were made comfortable.

“If you want me, I’m in the left top front with Mrs Rabbidge.”

“Not alone?” asked Mavis.

“Not me.  Give me company when I ’ave kids.  I’ll bring yer tea in the morning.”

Whatever misfortunes the fates had reserved for Mavis, they had endowed her with a magnificent constitution; consequently, despite the indifferent nursing, the incompetent advice, the ill-cooked food, she quickly recovered strength.  Hourly she felt better, although the nursing of her baby was a continuous tax upon her vitality.  Following the “permanent’s” advice, who was an old hand in such matters, Mavis kept quite still and did not exert herself more than she could possibly help.  But although her body was still, her mind was active.  She fretted because she had received no reply to her last little letter to Perigal.  Morning and evening, which was the time when she had been accustomed to get letters from Wales, she would wait in a fever of anxiety till the post arrived; when it brought no letter for her, she suffered acute distress of mind.

Upon the fifth evening after her baby was born, Mrs Gowler thrust an envelope beneath her door shortly after the postman had knocked.  It was a yellow envelope, on which was printed “On His Majesty’s Service.”  Mavis tore it open, to find her own letter to Perigal enclosed, which was marked “Gone, no address.”  A glance told her that it had been correctly addressed.

When, an hour later, Mrs Gowler came up to see if she wanted anything, she saw that Mavis was far from well.  She took her hand and found it hot and dry.

“Does yer ’ead ache?” she asked of Mavis, whose eyes were wide open and staring.

“It’s awful.”

“If you’re no better in the morning, you’d better ’ave a shillingsworth of Baldock.”

If anything, Mavis was worse on the morrow.  She had passed a restless night, which had been troubled with unpleasantly vivid dreams; moreover, the first post had brought no letter for her.

“Got a shillin’?” asked Mrs Gowler after she had made some pretence of examining her.

“What for?” asked Mavis.

“Doctor’s fee.  You’ll be bad if you don’t see ’im.”