He watched them go over the grass--at least he watched Meg in her cool, summer muslin and pale-blue belt, Meg in her shady chip hat, with the shining fluffy plait hanging to her waist.
Judy's long black legs and crumpled cambric had no element of the picturesque in them.
Mrs.Hassal unfastened the padlock of the store-room.

Such a chorus of "ohs!" and "ahs!" there was from the children! Baby had never seen so much sugar together in her life before; she looked as if she would have liked to have been let loose in the great bin for an hour or two.
And the currants! There was a big wooden box brim full--about forty pounds, Mrs.Hassal thought when questioned.
Bunty whipped up a handful and pocketed them when everyone was looking at the mountain of candles.
"Home-made! my DEAR, why, yes, of course," the old lady said.
"Why, I wouldn't dream of using a bought candle, any more than I would use bought soap." She showed them the great bars of yellow, clean-smelling stuff, with finer, paler-coloured for toilet purposes.
Hams and sides of bacon hung thickly from the rafters.

"Those are mutton hams," she said, pointing to one division.

"I keep those for the stockmen." Pip wanted to know if the stores were meant to serve them all their lives, there seemed enough of them: he was astonished to hear that every six months they were replenished.
"Twenty to thirty men, counting the boundary riders and stockmen at different parts of the place; and double that number at shearing or drafting times, not to mention daily sundowners--it's like feeding an army, my dears," she said; "and then, you see, I had to make preparations for all of you--Bunty especially." Her little grey eyes twinkled merrily as she looked at that small youth.
"You can have them back," Bunty said, half sulkily.

He produced half a dozen currants from his pocket.