a nature to make the new arrivals gasp. The last four
years in England had fairly broken people in to plain living; dainties
and luxuries had disappeared so completely from the table that every one
had ceased to think about them. Therefore, the Linton party blinked in
amazement at the details of what to Melbourne was a very ordinary tea,
and, forgetting its manners, broke into open comment.

"Cakes!" said Wally faintly. "Jean, you might catch me if I swoon."

"What's wrong with the cakes?" said Jean Yorke, bewildered.

"Nothing--except that they are cakes! Jim!"--he caught at his chum's
sleeve--"that substance in enormous layers in that enormous slice is
called cream. Real cream. When did you see cream last, my son?"

"I'm hanged if I know," Jim answered, grinning. "About four years ago, I
suppose. I'd forgotten it existed. And the cakes look as if they didn't
fall to pieces if you touched 'em."

"What, do the English cakes do that?" asked a pained aunt.

"Rather--when there are any. It's something they take out of the war
flour--what is it, Nor?"

"Gluten, I think it's called," said Norah doubtfully. "It's something
that ordinarily makes flour stick together, but they took it all out of
the war flour, and put it into munitions. So everything you made with
war flour was apt to be dry and crumbly. And when you made cakes with
it, and war sugar, which was half full of queer stuff like plaster of
paris, and egg substitute, because eggs--when you could get them--were
eightpence halfpenny, and butter substitute (and very little of
that)--well, they weren't exactly what you would call cakes at all."

"Butter substitute!" said the aunt faintly. "I could not live without
good butter!"

"Bless you, Norah and dad hadn't tasted butter for nearly three years
before they came on board the Nauru," said Jim. "It was affecting to see
Nor greeting a pat of butter for the first time!"

"But you had some butter--we read about it."

"Two ounces per head weekly--but they put all their ration into the
'Tired People's food,'" said Wally.

"It wasn't only dad and I," said Norah quickly. "Every soul we employed
did that--Irish maids, butler, cook-lady and all. And we hadn't to ask
one of them to do it. The Tired People always had butter. They used to
think we had a special allowance from Government, but we hadn't."

"Dear me!" said the aunt. "It's too terrible. And meat?"

"Oh, meat was very short," said Norah, laughing. "Of cou