“You won’t, will you?” said Flo on their behalf.
Jack winked and set his left foot in the float and pulled himself up. The whole of the front of the float was filled with dirty-looking plant pots of many different sizes. “Can’t invite you for a ride very well. They’re for the greenhouse . . . when it’s ready,” he said, smiling. “Oh well . . .” He sat back comfortably against the float side dangling the reins negligently, and made a clicking in his throat. The piebald, after appearing to consider, started slowly. “I’ll be seein’ you.”
“Yes,” said Flo, with the three children regarding her solemnly. She wondered why she had come with him to the float. And all at once she remembered and started after him. The float was trundling towards the church, the horse stepping consideringly on the rough old setts.
“A minute,” called Flo, hoping that there was nobody listening or watching. The horse stopped. “I meant to tell you.” She was panting a little. “I thought I’d better, in . . . in case it was you.”
He looked down, half-puzzled, half-amused.
She began again: “I hope you won’t mind.” He dropped to the ground and it was easier for her. “But if it was you last night, Bert says next time he’ll shoot an’ not wait.”
“Eh,” exclaimed Jack. “Shoot! What for?”
He sounded so sincere that Flo lost doubt at once. “It wasn’t you, then. But it did look like you.”
Jack grinned and asked how she meant.
“I . . . I don’t know, but it did, somehow,” said Flo, a little confused by his direct stare. “It was across a field and dark; well, it was in moonlight.”
“What time?”
“It must have been half-past nine,” she answered consideringly.
“I was walking from the library to Border Bridge. I bet it was young Buck Willox. He’s a beggar. Went across, ha, ha, Bert would be mad! I’ll chip him next time.”
“I don’t know,” said Flo quickly. “I don’t know whether I should have told. But I didn’t want . . .”
“Don’t worry,” he broke in, patting her hand in a quick, curious way. “He’ll not know it was you. Thanks for telling me. D’you often go round with him?”
“No, it’s the first time.”
“He’s a good chap; better than Clem. But he can’t stick anyone after his ducks. I bet he would shoot. I’ll keep away. Thanks for warnin’ me. I’ll pull his leg.” He laughed. “Oh well . . . ta, ta!”
Again he gave his curious stiff flip to his forehead. Flo walked away without looking back. She was rather sorry that she had said anything. Why had he asked how often she went round with Bert?
Chapter 15
About ten on Thursday morning Flo was dusting the stairs when a knock sounded on the open back door. Mrs. Nadin was getting dinner in the kitchen. She shouted at once, “Come in. Canna you see door’s oppen?”
Nailed boots entered, but only a few steps, hesitantly. Flo, peeping between the bannister rails, saw in the passage a lanky youth about fourteen with a thick auburn mop and a black patch on the seat of grey whipcord breeches.
“Who are you?” demanded Mrs. Nadin, unseen.
“I’m Mr. Willox’s son. I’ve come . . .”
“Eh!” exclaimed Mrs. Nadin, appearing so suddenly that the lad took a quick pace back. “You’re the young b———r that comes stealing our eggs.”
“Me? No,” stuttered the lad, getting a bit farther back all the time with sideways, twisting movements. “Me? Why . . .?”
“Shut your trap, you young liar,” snapped Mrs. Nadin. “I’ll Willox’s son you. Where’s Bert? He’s going to put some shot inta you where you won’t want it. Come here, you little devil, let me get . . .” She strode out, but he turned and ran. Instead of making for the lane he went towards the field gate, vaulted it and disappeared behind the buildings. “Where are you?” screeched Mrs. Nadin, but no one answered. A minute passed before Mr. Nadin stepped out of the barn-door wicket and asked mildly what was up. “You, you wooden yead,” his wife screeched. He blinked and so obviously hadn’t the least idea of what it was all about that Flo nearly laughed out, and had to tip-toe hurriedly from the landing window to which she had run. Whatever the lad had come for she could not imagine, but she did not think that he looked the sort to be seated even by the threat of a charge of buck shot. She wondered whether she would have been able to stop him when they were after him had he bolted over the field instead of escaping across the water.
After that life went on uneventfully, while the grass in all three meadows lengthened and thickened slowly. Mr. Nadin, helped spasmodically by Bert and Clem, set half an acre of King Edwards, and in a special corner at the point of Lake Field put in beans and peas, cauliflowers and cabbages, carrots and sprouts, beetroots and lettuces enough for the household and their visitors. Here in the extending evenings he dug and hoed; he was very seldom in the house except for meals and sleep. Sometimes Flo, after finishing up from tea, would go to the point and, hoe or weed. There, as he never did indoors, Mr. Nadin would talk, mainly about the things that they were doing.
“Lots o’ chaps says as you should shove broad beans in as early as you can ’cos it’ll keep fly off. I dunna believe it. I know a chap as puts ’em in in November, an’ what happens? Mice eats ’em, or it’s a wet time an’ they go rotten.”
“What’s fly?” asked Flo innocently.
“You’ll see, then you’ll know.”
She liked these quiet conversations; she must have been born with an interest in growing things which she had not found out before. But also she liked being in the little triangular garden plot because of where it was, between the willows. Sometimes the water beyond was so still it was only a silver background for the bushes; but sometimes it talked with the breeze, and Flo could hear the jabble of this talk continually even above the streaming of the willow leaves, which were grey-green and slim. They whispered rather than talked. It was some time before Flo realized that the farmer, while he was working and talking, was also watching all that part of the farm that could be seen from where they were, But one June evening he interrupted the sticking in of the willow rods which they had cut to hold up the Sherwood peas, and said he thought they’d “best go an’ see how Jenny is. Oo went into the willers three-quarters of an hour sin’ an’ oo’s near ’er time.”
Jenny was an excitable red, rather small, which Flo had only gone near once. The moment her stool had been put down out had shot the cow’s near rear leg and away the stool had bounced scaringly.
“Keep away or oo’ll punce you over the boskin,” Mr. Nadin had warned, Flo remembered as they went slowly along behind the western sallows. She was surprised that he knew exactly at which path to turn in, for there were several other cattle among the bushes at different places. But there Jenny lay in a kind of nest among lengthy drawn grass.
“Some folks allus takes ’em in. I reckon as it’s best, if weather is owt like, ta let ’em get through as is natural to ’em,” said the farmer slowly, stopping ten yards from the cow, partly hidden. “Oo’ll be a bit yet,” was his judgment. “We’ll non disturb ’er.”
Flo stared, a strange inquisitiveness setting up a quivering inside her. She wanted eagerly to go nearer, to watch everything, but the farmer turned back with such calm acceptance that she would follow that she could not stay.
“However did you know?” she asked, unwittingly by her tone betraying herself. “I never saw her go.”