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Barry. Perhaps she could dye her father’s hair gray while he was sleeping or paint all his teeth black.
    It was a pity they didn’t live in the old days when you could poison off people you didn’t like. Life must have been much simpler then. What was the name of the family of Italian poisoners she had read about? Barneo? Borley? Borgia?
    â€œWhat are you muttering about?” asked Gretta, amused.
    Gretta stood watching her. She had a white baby goat under one arm and carried a large hessian bag. Hooper came snuffling over.
    â€œI was thinking if I was a Borgia, I could poison people I didn’t like,” Cindy explained.
    â€œWell, don’t invite me around for a meal” Gretta chuckled. “How did your Irish stew turn out?”
    â€œVery successfully. What are you doing with that gorgeous kid?”
    â€œI need her hand fed until I can find a foster mother,” Gretta explained. “I’ve brought the milk powder with me.”
    â€œNo problems.”
    Cindy found a bowl, and Gretta showed her how to mix the milk. The baby goat, that Cindy named Mayberry, slurped greedily. Gretta left. Cindy put Mayberry into the pen with Amanda, and continued cleaning out the fishpond, stopping to feed Mayberry every few hours.
    It took nearly all day to finish cleaning the pond properly and rake away the rubbish. She filled it with water and tipped the tadpoles into their new home.
    Cindy showered and changed into clean clothes. She mixed up more milk for Mayberry and went outside to feed her.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Prunella asked as she appeared from around the side of the garage.
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    â€œWe’re going the same way, so we may as well walk home together.” Prunella patted at Mayberry. “It’s rather cute.”
    â€œDo you want to feed her while I fix the other animals?” Cindy asked.
    â€œOh yes!” Prunella’s brown eyes opened very wide.
    She tilted the bowl and held it carefully until Mayberry had finished every drop.
    â€œMy father liked pets. I had a goldfish and a canary, but after he died, Mother said they were dirty and unhygienic,” Prunella confided as they walked along the street.
    Cindy ignored her. Prunella veered off the subject of pets.
    â€œIsn’t Jim Plumstead just dreamy? He was really upset about Frazzle trying to tie a can to your cat’s tail. Everybody will be go ape over us dancing with him at the dinner dance. What are you wearing? I’ve never seen you in a dress. Are you getting a new one for the dance?”
    Cindy didn’t bother to reply. She had outgrown all her dresses years ago. Her wardrobe consisted of jeans, tee shirts, and jumpers with a few long sleeved shirts for in-between days.
    Over the dinner of roast lamb and potatoes, baby carrots, and green peas, Prunella brought the subject up again.
    â€œMother, Cindy hasn’t got a dress to wear to the dance. Are you going to buy her a new one when we chose ours?”
    Cindy glowered at Prunella. She hadn’t actually admitted to Prunella that she had nothing to wear.
    â€œWhy not?” Mrs. Barry said.
    â€œDon’t put yourself out,” Cindy snapped. “I wouldn’t wear anything you picked.”
    "Mrs. Barry is trying to be helpful, Cindy.” The professor sounded cross.
    â€œIt’s all right, Godfrey.” Mrs. Barry was all smiles. “Young girls don’t like adults’ taste in clothes. Prunella has plenty of clothes Jacinda can borrow.”
    Cindy was silent. Mrs. Barry had scored again. She didn’t want Prunella’s cast-off dresses either, but it was safer not to say so. After dinner, Mrs. Barry and the professor took their coffee into the lounge room, while the girls washed the dishes.
    â€œI really don’t know why your father is taking you to the dance anyway,” Constance said with a sneer as soon as the kitchen door was shut.
    â€œBut everyone is