“Mrs. Sawyer says she will be proud and pleased to let us use her kitchen for nothing,” Sydney said, “but we must pay her for the fire. She doesn’t have one in the afternoons, as a rule. How much does a fire cost, Miss Osric?”
The girl was puckering her brows over a business-like account book open on the table before her. Miss Osric stood opposite, driving a great pair of squeaking scissors through a double fold of flannel.
“We should want it for about two hours, shouldn’t we?” she said, in answer to Sydney’s question. “It would probably cost about sevenpence a time, but that depends upon the sort of coal Mrs. Sawyer has, and how big a fire you mean to keep.”
“Fourteen pence—one and twopence a week,” Sydney said, noting the fact down in her
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 account book. “And then there is the tea,” she went on. “I wonder how much that will cost? And I don’t suppose the people will be able to pay much at first towards the stuff they use. They are so poor, and one wants to help them.”
“Let them pay something towards it, Sydney,” said Miss Osric; “don’t make paupers of them—that is a mistake. Say they pay half expenses.”
“Well, perhaps,” the girl said. “How many petticoats will that roll of flannel make, do you think?”
“Not very many, and flannel is so dreadfully expensive; you will have to use flannelette, I think.”
“No, it must be flannel,” said Sydney. “I asked Dr. Lorry, and he said rheumatic people should wear flannel. And you know how dreadfully rheumatic they are here.”
There was another anxious calculation of accounts, which lasted until Sydney, pulling out the lovely little gold watch which had been her cousin’s present to her on her birthday, a day or two ago, found that it was time to dress for going out with Lady Frederica.
The girl had lost no time on her return from that Christmas visit at the Deanery in
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 starting on her plans. Miss Osric proved a willing helper, and Lady Frederica, approached judiciously at a favourable moment on the subject, had raised no objection to the projected working-party. “Oh, yes, amuse yourself as you like, my dear,” she said, “as long as you don’t go about alone, or damage your complexion.”
And Sydney had joyfully availed herself of the permission to drive in to Dacreshaw and order such materials as Miss Osric thought would be most useful to the women of the village.
Sydney had no difficulty in persuading them to come, though at first they found it hard to believe that anybody from the Castle was really going to take an interest in their troubles. But Sydney’s bright face, as she brought soup or invalid fare of some kind, coaxed out of Mrs. Fewkes, the Castle cook, had grown familiar already in cottages where there was illness, and they were beginning slowly to realize that the future Lady St. Quentin held very different views from her cousin on the subject of the tenantry who would be hers some day.
“There’ll be a good time coming when that little lady’s mistress here,” they said to one
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 another, and welcomed the idea of the working-parties with enthusiasm.
All was to be as far as possible on the lines of Miss Morrell’s, and Sydney set about buying just the same materials as those used by her friend. But flannel, long-cloth, wool, and serge cost money, and she found the small remains of her quarter’s allowance quite inadequate. Her extensive Christmas purchases had reduced the amount, which had seemed at first so inexhaustible, to a very small remnant by the time she set about the shopping for this new scheme. Hence the anxious discussion with Miss Osric over ways and means.
It never struck Sydney for one moment to apply for help to her cousin. He had said he could do nothing for the cottages; clearly what was done must be done by herself alone.
How did girls in story-books make money? She cast her mind over those that she had read. The heroines of fiction seemed to have a habit of painting the picture of the year, or writing a novel that took all London by storm. Sydney felt quite certain of her inability to follow either example.
Sometimes they were adopted by wealthy old gentlemen or ladies in search of deserving
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 heirs, but Sydney thought she had had enough of changing her home! Sometimes they discovered treasure in places where even newspaper editors would never think of hiding it. “It would be a great deal easier if some of them did little things,” poor Sydney thought.
No solution of the problem had occurred to her by the date fixed for the first working-party; when a plain but plentiful tea was spread on Mrs. Sawyer’s dresser, and a somewhat meagre pile of unmade flannel petticoats adorned the table.
Sydney received her guests a little shyly, but with so much real pleasure in her face that they had no doubt of their welcome. She and Miss Osric helped them to take off their shawls and jackets, which Mrs. Sawyer, a sickly looking woman in a very clean apron, put away in the ill-drained and ill-ventilated cupboard which she called the back kitchen.
Then came the distribution of garments to be made for themselves or their children by the workers, and here poor Sydney found the demand for flannel petticoats far exceeding her supply.
The women were exceedingly polite about it, and assured her that it did not matter, but
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 the girl felt she would have given anything to have had enough for their wants.
Needlework, an accomplishment Lady Frederica had not asked for, was one that Sydney had learnt “at the doctor’s,” and Miss Osric had had plenty of experience in the cutting-out line in old days at her father’s Vicarage. So everything went smoothly: conversation was much easier than Sydney had expected it to be, and the women seemed............