And it was about her contribution to Queen Mary’s Needlework Guild that she came up to consult me. Not that we started there straight away—of course not. We talked about the shortage of sugar, and the high cost of boots, and the scarcity of chicken food, and the price of meat, and the difficulty of knowing how to feed Rehoboam adequately and yet in strict accordance with official regulations, and the colour of the bread, and “what are we coming to,” and other topical matters like that. Then, when I had pressed Miss Primkins several times to stay to our midday meal, and she had as many times assured me that she must not stay another minute, grateful though she was for my kind invitation, as she had put on the potatoes to boil before she came out, she produced (in an undertone) a paper parcel from her bag, and with much hesitation explained that she wanted advice on a private matter. I was all attention. Undoing the paper, she displayed what looked like a round bolster case made of pink and blue striped flannelette. As she held it up for inspection, it “flared” at the top (to use a dressmaker’s term) with merely a small round opening at the bottom. I glanced it over as intelligently as I knew how, and then inquired what it was. “It’s a pyjama for a soldier,” she murmured modestly, in a very low voice. “I’ve cut it exactly by the paper pattern, yet Miss Judson, who saw it yesterday, says she doesn’t believe it’s right. We’ve neither of us ever made one before, so I thought I would run up to you with it; you would be _sure_ to know.” “Er—h’m—ah—yes,” I said, as light dawned. “It’s all right so far as it goes; but where’s the other leg?” “The other leg?” she echoed, “there was only one in the pattern.” “Of course; but you should have cut it out in double material; the garment requires two legs, you know.” “Does it!” she exclaimed in genuine surprise. “Why, I thought it must be intended for a soldier who had had his other leg amputated!” * * * * * Before Virginia put away her “Anthology,” preparatory to having lunch, she added another quotation to her list— “For never anything can be amiss When simpleness and duty tender it,” and against this she scribbled, “one-legged pyjamas”—doubtless for elucidation and amplification at a later date. I hope I haven’t forestalled her. IX Snowdrifts