Apocalyptic fiction; England -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction
The Marlow schoolmistress had remembered her when the committee had
first faced the daunting task of providing for the future. They had
been more or less capable of organizing a majority of the women,
but no member of the committee knew the secrets of agriculture and
stock-breeding, and in all Marlow and the neighbourhood no woman
had been found who was capable of instructing them in all that was
necessary.
A deputation of three had been sent to Fingest, and had discovered
Miss Oliver in the midst of plenty, cultivating her farm in comfort
now that she had been relieved of her father's unwelcome presence.
She had been covered with confusion when requested to leave her retreat
and take command of a town and the surrounding twenty thousand acres
or so within reach of the new community.
"Oh! I can't," she had said, blushing and ducking her head. "It's
easy enough; I'll tell you if there's anything you want to know."
The deputation had then put the case very clearly before her, pointing
out that in Miss Oliver's hands lay the future of a thousand lives.
"Oh, dear. I dunno. What can I do?" Carrie had said, and when the
deputation had urged that she should return with them and take charge
forthwith, she had replied that that was quite impossible, that there
were the cows to milk, the calves, pigs and chickens to feed, and
goodness knew how many other necessary things to be done before sunset.
The deputation had said that cows, calves, horses, sheep, pigs and
chickens might and should be transferred forthwith to the neighbourhood
of Marlow.
It had taken three days to convince her, Eileen said, and added,
"But she's splendid, now. It's wonderful what a lot she knows; and
she rides about on a horse everywhere and sees to everything. The
difficulty is to stop her getting down and doing the work herself."
Thrale understood that, exceptional male as he was, his position in
Marlow would be subordinate to that of Miss Oliver.
"Does she understand agricultural machinery?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," returned Eileen. "But she hasn't time, you see, to attend
to all that, and it's so jolly difficult to learn. I've been doing a
bit. I'm better at it than most of 'em. But when I saw you it struck
me how ripping it would be if you'd come and take over that side. Men
are so jolly good at machinery. We shouldn't miss them much if it
weren't for that."
5
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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