Flo was tempted to shout after her, but all at once her spirit ended its flare and she felt a return of her choking homesickness, so that instead of running to the door she turned to the window. There the lake was being touched by a peculiar light almost to pure white, as if it were a paper sheet; and in the sallows there was gold, the glow of thousands of open ball-flowers. Instantly Flo forgot all else and a strange solace seemed to come from the beauty. White and gold . . . the combination lasted richly for seconds only. As she stared the whiteness was sullied by shadow till it became grey, and the gold faded and left only the dark mesh of branches. But the effect remained with her. As she gathered the cleaning things she remembered the wild daffodils that Mrs. Mawson had given her . . . white and gold . . . and home, which she had thought so far off, somehow seemed to come nearer again. She went towards the house slowly, laden with strange mixed feelings, dreams and fears, hopes and hesitations, and a faint half-knowledge that she was growing richer with experience of many things.
By night the house appeared to Flo to be stocked enough for a siege. Thirty-two loaves and oven-cakes were stacked in the cellar pantry, on a cloth, at one end of the whitewashed stone bench; beside them were fourteen currant-spotted “bun-loaves”; and spread out along the bench were the tarts and pasties. The house was filled with a tempting crusty smell.
The following morning immediately after porridge Flo was told to go and light the iron stove in the cabin, and to set cups and plates and cutlery for a dozen. There were special pots kept in a cupboard near the door. They were of plain cream ware, substantial. Flo felt better and was curious to know where all these visitors were to come from. It was rather nice being alone in the cabin, like playing at house. The stove was stupid and smoked at first, but then it abruptly began to roar cheerfully and flickered brilliantly through its chinks.
Outside there was mist, particularly dense over the lake, so that she could not see the water, and the sallows were only shadows in the whiteness. Too early for visitors, and yet she was puzzled because Bert had not been in with the rest for porridge. Where could he be? She listened at the door, but the whole valley was still and silent, as if there was no one astir anywhere. She went back to the house slowly. Mrs. Nadin had a pile of bacon rashers nine inches high, and was steadily carving more from the long flitch. Dot was cutting a new loaf, and had three plates already built up with thick rounds. Flo was told to get the marmalade. It was in a seven-pounds stone jar, and she scooped till she had three glass dishes filled. Then she was set to rolling yellow butter into big pats, and this was like play, too, though the pats she made at first were any shape but round.
“Get th’ big tray,” ordered Mrs. Nadin, bustling.
Plates were inverted over the cut bread and Flo was told to leave it on the table just inside, as far from the stove as she could.
“Here’s a damp cloth; cover that over it,” said Mrs. Nadin. “If we give ’em dry tack they’ll, happen, stop layin’ their eggs.”
Flo wanted to ask who “they” were, only there was no time because Mrs. Nadin was halfway to the pantry. The tray measured a yard one way and two feet six inches the other. Flo’s arms ached when she staggered into the cabin and slid it on to the table. She set out everything as neatly as she could, and felt particularly proud of the three conical piles of butter balls, which almost seemed to glow.
When she got back Mrs. Nadin was cutting oatcakes into quarters, and the frying-pan was already busy. Flo was told to have her breakfast and then to put a clean apron on. While she was eating Bert came in. He wore waders which glistened blackly. He looked fresh and pleased. Flo noticed, because she watched him still with slight apprehension that he might ask what she had been crying for in the cabin. He had not mentioned it the previous evening. He dumped down without looking at her and exclaimed, “By God, I’m clemmed; give me summat.”
“How long’ll they be?” demanded Mrs. Nadin.
“Non so long; time’s past. They’ll be more for biting themselves than the’ fish is.”
He began to take his porridge in rapid spoonfuls. On the plate with her bacon Flo found an oatcake quarter crisp-hot and nicely browned. It had a clean, slightly mealy taste, and was so good that she wondered why they had never known anything about them at home. Then there was a rat-tat on the front door, and down the passage came a loud, “Anytime, Ma.”