the cold. One dar'n't trust them with fire, and these cold days!
"But the Crèche?" I suggested, really aghast.
"They're in quarantine, just now, three weeks," responded Mrs. Porter wearily. "A lodger's baby had the measles. I used to take them to the Crèche, but it's a long way for me to go early in the morning, and the carfare and all."
The husband, she hinted rather than said outright, hadn't liked the children's noise. It disturbed him, especially when they couldn't afford more than a couple of rooms. He had been gone seven months now and had written only twice. She had had to appeal to the Social Service Department for help and they were tracing him up as they couldn't do much for her so long as she had a husband. "He won't like it," she remarked briefly. "And he will lay the blame on me, but I couldn't help it." The brown lashes fluttered and then looking straight before her she said, "The children must be fed."
She had a glorious crown of golden-brown hair piled high on her shapely head. Her eyes were golden-brown too, with liquid lights and
