Then Martin blew eighteen o'clock and said it was six o'clock tomorrow morning. And all the girls clapped their hands for joy--all except Joscelyn, who sat quite by herself in a corner of the orchard, and neither blew nor listened. And so they continued to change the hour and the occupation: now washing, now wringing, now drying; now milking, now baking, now mending; now cooking their meal, now eating it; now strolling in the cool of the evening, now going to market on marketing-day:--till by dinner they had filled the morning with a week of hours, and the air with downy seedlings, as exquisite as crystals of frost. At dinner the maids ate very little, and Jessica said, "I think I'm getting tired of bread." "And apples?" said Martin. "One never gets tired of apples," said Jessica, "but I would like to have them roasted for a change, with cream. Or in a dumpling with brown sugar. And instead of bread I would like plum-cake." "What wouldn't I give for a bowl of curds and whey!" exclaimed Joyce. "Fruit salad and custard is nice," sighed Jennifer. "I could fancy a lemon cheesecake," observed Jane, "or a jam tart." "I should like bread-and-honey," said little Joan. "Bread-and-honey's the best of all." "So it is," said Martin. "You always have to suck your fingers afterwards," said Joan. "That's why," said Martin. "Quince jelly is good too, and treacle because if you're quick you can write your name in it, and picked walnuts, and mushrooms, and strawberries, and green salad, and plovers' eggs, and cherries are ripping especially in earrings, and macaroons, and cheesestraws, and gingerbread, and--" "Stop! stop! stop! stop! stop!" cried the milkmaids. "I can hardly bear it myself," said Martin. "Let's play See-Saw."