"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.