The Tender Winds of Spring by Joyce Dingwell

understand,’ he nodded. He went to the door. ‘Goodbye.’
    Jo was after him in a flash. ‘Mr. Passant ... Abel ... I didn’t mean you to take it quite like that.’
    ‘Quite like what?’
    ‘Like walking out. I mean—well, I mean please don’t.’
    ‘You really mean touch the edges but don’t come any further.’
    ‘No,’ said Jo, ‘I really meant—’
    He looked at her for a long searching moment. ‘You could have fooled me,’ he shrugged, ‘but I’ll still string along if you say so.’
    ‘I say so.’
    ‘Then the welfare lady will be here tomorrow morning, so see the kids’ noses are wiped.’
    ‘They always are,’ she retorted indignantly.
    ‘Do it extra well. A lot depends on her report.’
    ‘You mean I’ll be given an extra day guardianship?’ Jo’s voice was strained.
    ‘For two of them,’ he reminded her cruelly. ‘The lucky, or unlucky, one, of course, won’t be affected. Really, Miss Millet, you’re making a fuss about nothing. It just comes down to one out of three. That’s no big guns.’
    ‘It is for me. I simply can’t say in a week.’
    ‘Then ask him for longer.’
    ‘No, it wouldn’t work. Gavin is a changed man, he’s really—’
    ‘Really keen? Well, un-keen him.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘Instead of being suddenly desirable, become a case for a second thought. No man wants to hurry a marriage if he has to have second thoughts.’
    ‘But you’re forgetting something,’ Jo said distinctly. ‘I love Gavin.’
    ‘Then that bright idea is off, isn’t it!’ he smiled blandly. He turned and left without another word.
    At dinner that night Jo broke the news about the welfare officer.
    ‘A lady will be calling to see if you’re all right. If you’re not, she’ll take you back with her.’
    No one commented.
    ‘But I think you’d sooner stay, wouldn’t you? Well, for a time, anyway. I mean’ ... desperately ... ‘at least you know us here. I thought it would be nice if we were bright and happy tomorrow, then the lady would know.’ Jo’s last words on the subject were a discouraged: ‘Wouldn’t she?’
    She changed to the second topic. Friends. From this she expected nothing.
    But for the first time there was interest.
    No, they hadn’t said goodbye. Yes, they would like to send some farewell presents. Almost intoxicated at her first success, even though it was really Abel’s success, Jo showed them the money.
    Amanda and Dicky at once took out paper and pencils and began dividing up. It was agreed that they took half the money each, then donated a sum each to Sukey, who was too young to have many friends.
    For the first time Sukey did not agree. ‘I do have some, too,’ she argued.
    But Amanda and Dicky paid no notice in their absorption over their arithmetic. It appeared that Amanda’s amount had to spread over twenty-one friends, Dicky’s over nineteen, though he was desperately trying to think of two more to get level with Amanda.
    Each recipient, it also appeared, must get a present of the exact same value.
    ‘That makes,’ said Amanda, licking her pencil, ‘sixty cents.’
    ‘Mine’s more,’ said Dicky.
    ‘Yes, but you’ve not so many friends.’
    Thrilled with the nearest thing to animation she had seen in them yet, Jo said craftily: ‘We’ll all get dressed nicely tomorrow and as soon as the welfare lady goes, we’ll drive into town.’
    They nodded. They actually nodded.
    Mrs. Featherstone was driven out next morning in an official car, and one look at her made Jo glad. She was plump, motherly, unruffled, and she had the right answers. She did not pay over-attention to Amanda and Dicky, and when Sukey, eyes set on Mrs. Featherstone’s blue rinse, asked: ‘Why is your hair like that?’ answered at once:
    ‘It’s the reflection of the sky, my dear.’
    Mrs. Featherstone assured Jo that nothing would be done at present, then was driven away again. Five minutes later, keeping to her promise, Jo took the children to