Evangeline, the optimist, was busy scratching up the more or less kindly fruits of the earth for her family and didn't make the slightest sign of recognition, though I coughed twice.
"She's much too busy," said Peggy, "to notice that you've come home. Aren't they darlings?"
"They're certainly a healthy-looking lot. Two of them I recognise as Clara's contribution. Doesn't she mind?"
"I don't think so," said Peggy; "she's busy too. She's been sitting now for nearly a fortnight, and Maud Eliza's on eggs as well."
"I hope none of my golf balls are addled," I said. "I want to have a round to-morrow afternoon."
"Of course not. I've washed them all and put them back again."
"Good egg!" I said.
Suddenly I had an unhappy thought. "Where," I asked, "are the figures relating to this lot of Evangeline's?"
"Here," she said, "under 'E'. Five chickens. I've allowed five to die, though I'm sure they wouldn't if they knew what they're wanted for."
"I'm afraid you'll have to work it all out again."