Jean was undressing Meg and putting her into bed, while Jenny and Louise, with many whispers and grimaces, were moving their pillows and pyjamas into one bed in their room in order that Jean could sleep in the other. Alda was hastily preparing something more solid than the tea that had been awaiting herself and the children for Ronald, who had not eaten since early that morning, while giving him the latest family news. “Is that someone at the front door?” he interrupted her, from beside the kitchen fire where he was warming his numbed feet. “Oh no, darling, no one ever comes here at night. It’s only the children bumping about. Here, drink this while it’s hot.” “Alda, I’m sure that is someone at the door,” he said again in a moment, when he had taken some soup. “I’ll go—it must be someone from the farm with a parcel,” and she was going out of the room when he stopped her, saying: “Better let me go; we’re living in the New Dark Ages, remember,” and he put down the basin and went down the passage, moving slowly because he was weary and stiff from travelling.
