h the
recollection and celebration of anniversaries of any and every event
which had occurred in her life. Custom had cultivated her memory, till
now, when nearly every day was the anniversary of something or other,
she lived almost wholly in the past, each year being the epitome of her
long life. When Trivett shortly came in from his work, he greeted Mavis
with respectful warmth; then, he conducted his guest over the farm.
Under his guidance, she inspected the horses, sheep, pigs and cows, to
perceive that her conductor was much more interested in their physical
attributes than in their contributive value to the upkeep of the farm.

"Do 'ee look at the roof of that cow barton," said Trivett presently.

"It is a fine red," declared Mavis.

"A little Red Riding Hood red, isn't it? But it's nothing to the roof
of the granary. May I ask you to direct your attention to that?"

Mavis walked towards the granary, to see that thatch had been
superimposed upon the tiles; this was worn away in places, revealing a
roof of every variety of colour. She looked at it for quite a long time.

"Zomething of an artist, miss?" said Trivett.

"Quite uncreative," laughed Mavis.

"Then you're very lucky. You're spared the pain artists feel when their
work doesn't meet with zuccess."

They returned to the kitchen, where Mavis feasted on newly-baked bread
smoking hot from the oven, soaked in butter, home-made jam, and cake.

"I've eaten so much, you'll never ask me again," remarked Mavis.

"I'm glad you've a good appetite; it shows you make yourself at home,"
replied Mrs Trivett.

After tea, they went into the parlour, where it needed no second
request on Mavis' part to persuade Mr Trivett to play. He extemporised
on the piano for the best part of two hours, during which Mavis
listened and dreamed, while Mrs Trivett undisguisedly went to sleep, a
proceeding that excited no surprise on the musician's part. Supper was
served in the kitchen, where Mavis partook of a rabbit and moorhen pie
with new potatoes and young mangels mashed. She had never eaten the
latter before; she was surprised to find how palatable the dish was. Mr
and Mrs Trivett drank small beer, but their guest was regaled with
cowslip wine, which she drank out of deference to the wishes of her
kind host and hostess.

After supper, Mr Trivett solemnly produced a well-thumbed "Book of
Jokes," from which he read pages of venerable stories. Although Mrs
Trivett had heard t