of our volunteers
are equal to the job."

"I can cook," said Norah and Tommy together.

"Can you?" said the little doctor, staring at them as though the heavens
had opened and rained down angels on his head. "Are you sure? You don't
look like it!"

"I can guarantee them," said Mr. Linton, laughing. "Only you'll have to
watch Norah, for the spell of the war is heavy upon her, and she'll boil
your soup bones thirteen times, and feed you all on haricot beans and
lentils if nobody checks her!"

"Dad, you haven't any manners," said Norah severely. "May I cook,
Doctor?"

"You can share the job," said Dr. Anderson thankfully. "I really think
it's more than enough for one of you. This place is getting pretty full.
Of course, I've wired to town for a cook, but goodness knows if we'll
get one; it's unlikely. Come on, now, and I'll introduce you to Sister."

Sister proved to be a tall, capable, quiet woman, with war decorations.
She greeted the volunteers thankfully, and unhesitatingly pronounced
their place to be cooks, rather than nurses.

"I can get girls who will do well enough in the wards," she said, "where
I can direct them. But I can't be in the kitchen too. If you two can
carry on without supervision it will be a godsend."

So the kitchen swallowed up Norah and Tommy, and there they worked
during the weeks that followed, while the influenza scourge raged
round Victoria. The little cottage-hospital became full almost to
bursting-point. Even the rooms for the staff had to be appropriated, and
nurses and helpers slept in a cottage close by. Luckily for the cooks,
Cunjee now boasted a gas supply and its citizens supplied them with
gas-stoves, as Norah said, "in clutches," so that they worked in
comfort. It was hard work, with little time to spare, but the girls had
learned method, and they soon mapped out a routine that prevented their
ever being rushed or flurried. And they blessed the cold weather that
saved constant watching lest supplies should go bad.

From Billabong came daily hampers that greatly relieved their labours.
It was a matter of some amazement to the Lintons that Brownie did not
volunteer for the hospital, and indeed, it had been the first thought of
Brownie herself. But she repressed it firmly, though by no means feeling
comfortable. To Murty she confided her views, and was relieved by his
approval.

"I know I did ought to go," she said, almost tearfully. "There's those
two blessed lambs in the