"Has anything special," I said, "been happening during my absence?"
"We are up to our chins in work," said Francesca.
"But is it real work?"
"Of course it is. We've formed a General Committee, of which
everybody's a member, including you, and we've formed an Executive
Committee, of which there are about a dozen members. And then there
are some Sub-Committees."
"Yes, I know. The Executive Committee thinks it's going to do all the
work, but it's got to report to the General Committee, and it it'll
be a great piece of luck if the General Committee doesn't insist
on asserting itself by upsetting all the decisions of the Executive
Committee."
"Oh, but our General Committee isn't going to be like that at all.
There won't be any petty jealousy about our General Committee.
Besides, the Executive Committee has power to act, and it doesn't need
to report till the Annual Meeting of the General Committee, which is
to be held a year from now. When that time comes lots of things will
have happened."
"That," I said, "is one of the truest things you've ever said. Even
the War may be over by that time."
"But if it isn't we shall all be living on swedes or pea-soup, or
rice-bread or all three together; and we shall have a food controller
in every village, and our Committees won't be wanted."
"I beg your pardon; they'll be more wanted than ever to keep
the controller straight and act as a buffer between him and the
population."
"But they won't know they're a buffer, and they won't like it when
some tactless person tells them. Anyhow, that's a long way off, and in
the meantime we've got the land."
"Who've got what land?"
"Our Committee," said Francesca, "have got two acres of land from
Mr. Carberry, and we're going to grow a crop of peas on it so that
everybody may have pea-soup in case of a pinch."
"But what about the peas?" I said, "Have you made sure of those?"
"We had a good deal of trouble about them, but we've got a firm
promise of six bushels."
"Capital! But are you quite sure you know how to bring the land and
the peas together?"
"Well, I'm not so much of an expert as I should like to be, but Mr.
Bolton 's a practical farmer, and he's going to do all he can for us."
"Will he plough it?"
"It's been ploughed twice, so he's undertaken to harrow it and scarify
it--doesn't it sound awful?--and then something else is going to
happen to it, but I forget what it's called."
"Wouldn't it be a good thing, at some stage or other, to plant the
peas?"
"Yes, it would; but you can't do it as simply as all that, can you?
Isn't there something highly agricultural that you must do first?"
"I should chuck 'em in and chance it."
"A nice farmer you'd make," she said scornfully. "I'm remembering it
now. It's got something to do with drills."
"Like the Volunteers?"
"No, not a bit like the Volunteers."
"Well, then, like potatoes."
"Yes, more like potatoes, except that they're peas in this case."
"How true," I said.
"Yes. And don't forget that while you were away we formed a League
of Honour in the village and bound ourselves to observe the FOOD
CONTROLLER'S rations."
"Am I a member?"
"Yes, we thought you'd like to be one, so I gave your name in."
"I think a man must pledge his own honour. He can't have it done for
him."
"There's no public ceremony. You can just pledge yourself in your
mind, and then put a pledge card in one of the windows."
"I'll have tea first," I said, "and then I'll choose the window, and
then I'll pledge myself in my mind."
"No, you can do the pledging now."
"I've done it, while you were talking."
"And after all it's only the old rations according to Lord DEVONPORT,
and we've been working under them for some time now."
"So we have," I said; "but of course the card in the window makes all
the difference."