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been adamant that it was time for her to retire, and she could not be expected to endorse even Margaret without reservation. Anyway, Captain Woodcock had assured her that Miss Crabbe’s letter was just the final formality. The trustees would act on her appointment as soon as they had it in hand.
    “So we should be hearing something in the next few days, then,” Annie said. She put a spoonful of tea leaves into the blue and white china pot and poured in hot water from the kettle.
    “I truly hope so.” Margaret sighed.
    There shouldn’t really be any suspense, since Captain Woodcock had told her that there were no other candidates for the position. But Margaret had learnt not to count her chickens before they were hatched. Time enough to imagine herself as Sawrey head teacher—head teacher! what a wonderful title!—when the trustees actually made the appointment. It was a temptation, though, to think about it. She had very much enjoyed the challenges of teaching the junior class and doing the work of the head teacher, with all of the increased responsibilities. She bit her lip. It would be very hard for her to step aside in favor of someone else, someone who—
    Annie put the kettle back on the range with a bang. “Do stop dithering, Maggie,” she said decidedly. “You know you have nothing to worry about. Why, the trustees haven’t placed a single advertisement. They certainly mean to promote you to head teacher. It’s only a matter of—”
    “Good evenin’!” shouted a comradely voice at the kitchen door. Margaret turned to see their neighbor, Bertha Stubbs, an ample, untidy woman who lived just around the corner, in one of the Lakefield cottages.
    “Are you two home?” Bertha inquired, unnecessarily, since both Margaret and Annie were standing in front of her. “You’re not sittin’ down to supper reet this verra minute, are you?”
    “Oh, bother,” Annie muttered, turning to take off her apron.
    “Do come in and have a cup of tea, Bertha,” Margaret said, suppressing a sigh. Bertha Stubbs was the daily woman at the school, and Margaret saw more of her during the term than she wanted. Bertha was one of those women who did her best work to the accompaniment of loud and long complaints, and her casual spitefulness—sometimes hidden, sometimes not—wasn’t always easy to tolerate. But one had to be neighborly.
    “Thanks,” Bertha said with satisfaction. “B’lieve I will.”
    Margaret smiled. “We’ve only just put the potatoes on, so supper won’t be ready for—” She caught Annie’s glance and amended her sentence. “For ten minutes or so. They cook quickly, you know, when the oven is hot.”
    Bertha settled her bulk in a chair at the kitchen table and waited whilst Annie poured tea. She put both elbows on the table, dropped three cubes of sugar into her tea, stirred, and drank deeply.
    “Thought there was something y’ should hear,” she said, putting down her cup with a bang. “If y’ haven’t already, that is. Which y’ may have, seein’ that it’s important.”
    “Oh, really?” Margaret asked politely. Bertha’s news, whatever it was, was always important, even when it was only a bit of common gossip that everyone had already heard. “What’s happened?”
    “I’ve just been up to Tower Bank House, havin’ a bit of a chat with Elsa.” Elsa was Bertha’s brother’s widow, and one of Bertha’s closest friends. Bertha leaned forward, narrowed her eyes, and lowered her voice. “She told me that something big came up this afternoon. Name of Dr. Harrison Gainwell.”
    Annie, who had little patience with Bertha, was more direct than Margaret. “Don’t hint, Bertha,” she said in an exasperated tone. “Who is Harrison Gainwell? And if you’ve only just heard about him, how can you think that we might have?”
    “I thought mappen y’ got some advance word.” Bertha leaned back in her chair with a smug look, obviously feeling the significance of what she was about