There
was an empty house belonging to the Squire, which she had already
begun, before her absence, with his grudging permission, to get
ready for the purpose. _That_ had to be finished. The war workroom
in the village, which she had started, must have another
Superintendent, the first having turned out a useless chatterbox.
Elizabeth had her successor already in mind. There were three or
four applications waiting for the two other neglected farms. Captain
Dell was hurrying on the repairs; but there was more money
wanted--she must get it out of the Squire. Then as to labour--German
prisoners?--or women?
Her brain began to teem with a score of projects. But after lying
awake another hour, she pulled herself up. 'This won't do. I must
have six hours' sleep.' And she resolutely set herself to repeat one
of the nursery poems of her childhood, till, wooed by its silly
monotony, sleep came.
It was a bright March day in the Mannering woods, where the Squire,
Elizabeth, and Captain Dell were hanging about waiting for Sir Henry
Chicksands.
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