"It's a long way."
"Oh, Miss," said Jenny Harberton timidly, "it's not so very far. An' it's lovely when you get there. Father was there last week, drivin' some officers. He says it is interestin'!"
Jenny's father, a plumber in the village, owned a humble open car which was in perpetual request.
"There are a hundred Canadians apparently," said Janet Leighton, looking at her letter, "and German prisoners, quite a good few, and these thirty girls. Mrs. Fergusson begs us to come. Sunday's no good because we couldn't see the work, but—after the harvest? We could get there with the pony quite well."
Rachel said nothing.
Janet Leighton dropped the subject for the moment, but after supper, with her writing-desk on her knee, she returned to it.
"Can't you go without me?" said Rachel, who was standing with her back to the room, looking out of the window.
"Well, I could," said Janet, feeling rather puzzled, "but I thought you were curious to see these new kinds of work for women?"
"So I am. It isn't the women."
"The German prisoners, then?" laughed Janet.