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children. I don’t want you to recite; I’m not fond of children reciting. Instead you will go outside the door and think out a little story, a fairy story, anything you like, and come back and act it.”
    In the passage outside the children leant against the wall and tried to think what they could act. Sorrel knew right away that Mark would have to be a bear, as he was in that sort of mood, and Holly would have to pretend that she was well dressed, but for the life of her she could not think at first of a story that would fit these characters. Neither Mark nor Holly were any help, for Mark kept suggesting, “Let’s act the animals going into the Ark,” or “Let’s act the children being eaten by bears in the Bible,” and Holly would only say, “I’d like to be a butterfly; no I wouldn’t, I’ll be a queen.” Then suddenly Sorrel thought of something.
    â€œLet’s do a kind of Red Riding Hood. Let’s have a little girl sent out to look for strawberries in the woods because they’re hungry at home, and there’s nothing to eat; and in the wood the little girl meets a bear and she’s terrified and runs home, and the bear follows her and he turns out to be a prince and he marries the little girl’s mother and they live happily ever after.”
    â€œWhere was the little girl’s father?” asked Mark.
    â€œHe died of smallpox,” Sorrel invented, “and that’s why they’re hungry, because there’s no one to work for them.”
    â€œPretty rotten for the bear having to turn into a prince,” Mark argued.
    Sorrel lost her temper.
    â€œAll right then, think of a better story yourself. I’ve made you a bear and Holly can be as dressed up as she likes to think she is, and all I am is just an old mother cleaning the house. I think you’re jolly selfish.”
    â€œKeep your hair on,” said Mark. “We’ll do your story. Only I shouldn’t think you’re as old as all that, otherwise why does the prince marry you? Princes don’t.”
    Sorrel was so thankful to have got a story settled that she did not bother to argue with him.
    â€œCome on,” she said nervously. “Let’s do it just once before we go in.”
    As soon as the door had shut on the children Madame Fidolia went to her desk and picked up a printed list and gave it to Hannah. Hannah was carrying a large brown bag with a zip fastener. She undid it and took out her spectacles. She put them on and read the list. It said across the top: “Children’s Academy of Dancing and Stage Training. Rompers, two (pattern to be obtained from the Academy). Tarlatan dresses, white, two. Knickers, frilled, two. Sandal shoes, white satin. Black patent-leather ankle-strap shoes. White socks, six pairs. Face towels, rough, two. Overalls, two (to be obtained from the Academy).” And at the bottom, in large letters, “Everything must be clearly marked with the child’s name.” Hannah knew just what state the children’s coupon books were in, so she just stared at the list, looking hopeless. Madame did not give her time to worry long.
    â€œThat’s an old list, of course, from before the war. As you probably noticed at the elementary class we’ve just been in to, all the children’s things are made of different colours, and quite a lot of them were wearing shorts. I don’t like shorts myself as they don’t wash so easily as the rompers. Have the children got bathing dresses?”
    â€œThe little girls have, but Mark’s are only a pair of drawers.”
    â€œWell, with their shorts and shirts and their bathing things, I expect they can manage. The other clothes are more difficult. They must have tunics of some sort for ballet. I find that necessary even to-day. It’s hard for a child to be graceful in a bathing dress. I may be old-fashioned. I was myself a pupil from the age of