Mistress of Brown Furrows by Susan Barrie Page A

breakfast alone, without Meg’s curious, watchful, slightly cold blue eyes drifting occasionally in her direction, and studying her, as they had done on the previous evening. And she hurried through her dressing and went downstairs to the small parlor, which was a comfortable little oak-panelled room not far from the green baize door which gave access to the kitchen quarters, and therefore much handier for the staff than the main dining-room. It had at one time no doubt been the housekeeper’ s room, but was much used these days by Meg—and her brother, when at home—and there Carol found her breakfast set forth on a bright yellow and white checked table-cloth, while the sun poured through the window and made a blaze of the silver.
    Ellen James waited upon her, and her handsome dark eyes beamed approvingly at Carol. She was a buxom, obviously robust country girl, and she thought that Carol’ s beautifully tailored slacks and her primrose yellow sweater with the high polo collar looked enchanting on their wearer. Carol herself was not at all certain whether she wouldn’ t have done better to have donned a neat tweed skirt instead of the slacks, in view of the fact that she had no notion at all whether her sister-in-law approved of women in trousers—especially a brother’s wife— and she had a genuine desire to arouse only friendly and certainly no antagonistic feelings in Meg.
    If the antagonistic feelings were there, she hoped they might in time be overcome.
    But for the moment she was interested only in her breakfast, and it was such an excellent breakfast that she devoured it with relish. The honey seemed sweeter and more delicious than any honey she had ever tasted before, and the butter was served in golden curls kept crisp by being interspersed with little blocks of ice. The bacon she guessed was home-cured, and there was a little brown earthenware jug of cream for her coffee.
    She decided that at this rate it was a good thing she had a natural tendency to slimness—in fact, she was a little over-thin—for it would not be long otherwise before she was putting on weight.
    Ellen James said that Agatha thought she might like to see the kitchen and the dairy when she had finished breakfast, and she accepted the invitation with the greatest willingness, being very pleased for one thing that it had been issued. And when she saw Agatha, in her big white kitchen, making pastry on a snowy scrubbed table, while Judson sat shelling peas in the open, sunlit doorway, she thought it was the most attractive picture she had seen for years.
    Judson stood up and saluted her rather awkwardly, spilling peas all over the red-tiled floor, and Carol hastened at once to help him pick them up. They both laughed as they gathered up the shucks and returned them to his bowl, and Agatha watched them with a smile on her own face.
    Miss Meg would never have done that, she thought—she would have rebuked Judson for being clumsy, and perhaps for wasting some of the peas.
    Ellen James—who seemed unable to remove her eyes from her new mistress’ s face, with its delicately lovely coloring— showed her round the dairy, with its rows of shining pans, and its atmosphere of intense cleanliness. Carol lifted the lids and peered into the various receptacles with a great deal of interest, exclaiming at a vast pan of cream for butter making, and another of butter-milk, which she was informed was included in the diet for the pigs. And there was electrical equipment for churning and an enormous refrigerator which intrigued her immensely, and the spick and span condition of everything surprised her more than she could say—although she was not slow to praise.
    “How do you do it?” she said to Ellen James. “You must work more than a forty-eight hour week! ”
    Ellen James revealed her beautiful strong white teeth in a pleased smile.
    “Oh, we manage,” she said. “We manage.”
    “You certainly do,” Carol agreed.
    Although it was not long