“Time we were having tea,” she said firmly, waving Dolly before her through the door. “You’ll be wanting it, I’m sure. As for me, I’m that worn out with all that shoving and siding, I could do with a dozen teas instead of one!” Back in the kitchen, however, she was diverted by still another matter, which kept the tea waiting a little longer. Going to a cupboard in the wall, she opened the door and stood looking at its contents. “I can’t make up my mind what to do about my jam,” she said, as Dolly joined her. “It fair goes to my heart to leave it. Yet it seems silly, doesn’t it, to go hugging jam-pots and such-like across the ocean? I doubt it’ll have to be put in the sale.” “Folks’ll be fighting like cats for it, if it is!” Dolly laughed, peering admiringly round her shoulder. Even at this time of the year the shelves were still half-filled with rows of glistening jars, making, with their white caps topping their coloured bodies, a smart and polished regiment. “It’s a long while back since I first heard tell there was nothing to beat your jam.” Mattie looked pleased, and her voice lost the rather dull tone which had suddenly come into it since her late depression in the parlour. “Well, I’ve always prided myself on getting it just so,” she said, eyeing the glories of the cupboard proudly. “It’s been my hobby, as you might say. Getting the best of everything, that’s the secret,--the best fruit and the best sugar, and making sure of the boiling. Not but what like enough there’s a knack to it as well, same as there is for making butter and setting hens.” She ran her hand fondly over the white paper carpet above which the jams glowed like so many jewels, the raspberries looking like pressed garnets against the prison of their glass, and the red currant and apple jellies gleaming like ruby and yellow topaz. “There’s plenty to go at yet, as you can see, even though we’re well past the turn of the year. I always make a fairish amount, in case we get a bad year after a good one. ’Tisn’t as if my jam wouldn’t keep; in a good season, I reckon, it’d keep till the Day of Judgment!... This shelf’s near all rasps, and that’s apricot and a bit of marrow. There’s some blackberry jelly behind, and a taste of wineberry. We haven’t a deal of gooseberry and rhubarb, but there’s a lot of plum. That pot or two of black currant is just for when Kirkby gets a cough; and here’s where I keep my Best Strawberry.” The red had come into Dolly’s face as she looked, gloating over the housewife’s riches with honest pleasure. Catching her breath a little as Mattie stopped, she broke into quick speech. “Likely you’ll know, Mrs. Kirkby, what we’re hoping’ll come to Len? Mr. Kirkby was right kind when he spoke about it, this morning. It’s early days to be talking, perhaps, but I thought you wouldn’t mind....”