blue jerseys and knickers; their brown legs were bare, and each had her hair plaited and pinned up in what was called a horse’s tail. Behind them came Mrs. Fairfield with the tray.
“Carefully, children,” she warned. But they were taking the very greatest care. They loved being allowed to carry things. “Have you said good morning to your father?”
“Yes, grandma.” They settled themselves on the bench opposite Stanley and Beryl.
“Good morning, Stanley!” Old Mrs. Fairfield gave him his plate.
“Morning, mother! How’s the boy?”
“Splendid! He only woke up once last night. What a perfect morning!” The old woman paused, her hand on the loaf of bread, to gaze out of the open door into the garden. The sea sounded. Through the wide-open window streamed the sun on to the yellow varnished walls and bare floor. Everything on the table flashed and glittered. In the middle there was an old salad bowl filled with yellow and red nasturtiums. She smiled, and a look of deep content shone in her eyes.
“You might cut me a slice of that bread, mother,” said Stanley. “I’ve only twelve and a half minutes before the coach passes. Has anyone given my shoes to the servant girl?”
“Yes, they’re ready for you.” Mrs. Fairfield was quite unruffled.
