It was halfway through the afternoon when she had finished and it was still raining. No one spoke for a long while and no questions were asked. The old couple were thinking deeply and quietly about this strange story which they had just heard while Nab and Beth stared at the dancing flames in the fire and the animals dozed. Jim and Ivy were quite startled to find that they were not really surprised by what Beth had told them. Rather they felt fulfilled and in some strange way, gratified by it in that it seemed to be the inescapable, logical conclusion to the beliefs they had held all their lives and a warm glow of satisfaction spread slowly through them. The dark sky outside was still heavy with the promise of more rain and the heather was dripping with the wet. Ivy looked across at Nab and Beth and she smiled at them with such warmth and love that Beth got up and went across to her and, kneeling down, laid her head on the old lady’s lap, the way she used to with her grandmother. Jim looked at them and saw a little tear come out of the corner of Ivy’s eye and trickle slowly down her cheek. Nab also felt the love in the old lady’s smile and for him it was a strange experience. The only ones of his own race that he had known before, apart from Beth, had been figures of fear or hatred, to be avoided and despised. He had never known any Eldron and so had not experienced the goodness and warmth they were capable of. Now here he was with two of them, in their peculiar dwelling and sitting on their seats, and yet he had rarely felt more secure and safe and contented. He looked down at the rug in front of the range and chuckled to himself. Brock was curled round in a tight little ball, snoring loudly and wheezing in his sleep while Perryfoot was sitting snuggled up against him with his eyes closed, his head down and his ears pressed flat along his back. Turning his head he looked up at Warrigal who was still perched on the back of his chair and saw that he too was sleeping; his great round eyelids closed like shutters over his eyes.
Eventually Ivy broke the silence. ‘You must be starving,’ she said, and then, after gently lifting Beth’s head off her lap, she got up and began opening drawers and getting out pots and pans.
‘Can I help?’ said Beth.
‘Well, you can peel some potatoes if you don’t mind while I get on with the beans,’ replied Ivy. ‘Would you like a glass of wine? I’m sure you would. Jim,’ she called, ‘get out the elderflower and some glasses.’
The old man got up and, opening the doors of a small oak corner cupboard, fetched four glasses and a decanter cut with pictures of barley stalks and wheat around its bowl. He poured the clear light golden wine into the glasses, took one over to Nab and then two across to Beth and Ivy where they were standing by the sink. When he had picked up his own he turned round and said, ‘Let’s drink a toast.’ They all turned to face each other and then when they had lifted their glasses and Beth had explained to Nab what to do, Jim said in a quiet steady voice, ‘Let us drink to every creature, whether human or animal, that has ever suffered at the hands of any other creature.’
They were simple words but they were all deeply affected by them and as they drank the wine and considered them they each became lost in their own thoughts. For Nab, the pain of thinking was almost too much to bear. He thought of all the animals he had seen mutilated and ripped apart because of the Urkku and then into his mind, slowly and clearly, appeared pictures of Rufus, Bruin, Tara and lastly Sam. He saw them as if they were there beside him and he felt a flood of tears begin to well up inside. But then his sorrow turned to anger and his anger into resolve and an iron certainty such as he had never felt before. He lifted his glass again and said quietly to himself:
‘For you. We shall succeed for you,’ and took another mouthful of the wine.
Jim and Ivy thought not only of all the animals they had seen abused and tortured by man but also of all the hungry and the poor and the oppressed of their own race. They thought of those who were dying of illnesses which could be cured but were not and they thought of the stupidity of war and the misery and suffering of its casualties. They thought until they could think no more and then suddenly Jim spoke and his voice trembled slightly with emotion.
‘Nab. Come and give me a hand to milk the goats and get the eggs if in.’
The boy was glad of the opportunity to break free of the cloud of depression which had filled his mind and he got up and followed Jim through the front door and into the dark wet evening.
‘Here; put this over your shoulders,’ said the old man and handed Nab a big blue tattered greatcoat. ‘And put these on your feet,’ he said, handing him a pair of wellingtons. The rain spotted against their faces as they walked along the path at the front of the house until they came to the door into the goats’ shed. Inside it was warm and smelt of hay and Jessie and Amy came rushing across and began nibbling and snuffling at Jim’s hands.
‘Give these to them,’ Jim said to Nab and handed him three thick crusts of bread. The goats immediately turned their attention to him and Nab broke the crusts up and tried to share them equally between the two as they pushed against him and jostled him in their anxiety to get more than their fair share. The bread was gone in an instant, wolfed down greedily, but still they nuzzled and pulled at the pockets of the coat which Jim usually wore.
‘Show them your hands; like this,’ he said, and opened his hands so that the palms were flat to indicate to Nab what he meant. The goats sniffed disconsolately at Nab’s empty hands and then, with a look of crushing disappointment, they turned away and went over to the buckets of bran which Jim had ready for them. As they ate, he milked them and Nab watched fascinated as the old man squeezed the frothy white liquid rhythmically out of the two teats; first one, then the other, then back to the first and so on, and the jets of milk splashed into the bucket underneath. Amy was milked first and then, as Jim moved round to Jessie, he beckoned to Nab to come over and tried to show him how to milk her. It took a little while and a lot of fumbling but eventually the boy succeeded in getting a thin stream of milk out of one of the teats into the bucket. Jim shouted ‘Hooray’ and clapped his hands in applause while Nab laughed.
The old man then took over as it would have taken too long if Nab had carried on and soon he had finished.
‘We’ll take this back to the house,’ he said, picking up the buckets of milk, ‘and then we’ll go and get the eggs in and feed the hens. Goodnight, you two,’ he said to the goats and Nab gave them a stroke and a pat but they were too concerned with finishing off the bran in the bottom of their buckets to pay much attention and they only looked up when the door closed, whereupon they gave a little bleat of farewell and carried on eating.
They dropped the milk off at the house, leaving it just inside the front door, and then, pausing only to get some corn out of a little stone lean-to, they made their way around to the back and walked over to a large hencote which nestled at the side of a stone wall. The rain was still pouring down and the high craggy mountains behind them were shrouded in low cloud. It was too wet for any of the hens to be out and as they opened the door of the shed and went in there was much squawking and fluttering.