Now, three days later, it was as if Mrs. Black and the White Lodge hotel had never existed. He never thought about them. He lived just as he had as a child. Since leaving Skeffingham he had seen nobody. The farmhouse was empty—perhaps it had been turned into a holiday home. As he had grown more adventurous he had explored first the outbuildings of the farm, then the house itself, breaking in through the kitchen window. Its pantry had been filled with tinned food and now he added tinned meat, cold baked beans and soup to his diet of stolen vegetables. He improved his home by making a roof from a sheet of corrugated iron taken from an outhouse, and by laying an empty fertilizer sack on the floor. He never thought about why he had run away or why he was there.

By the time they reached the place carefully marked on their map, it was too late for there to be any hope of seeing black stork. They had driven Peter’s hire car through a small, grey village, crossed a low bridge over a grey, shallow river and parked. It was not quite dark, but there was little colour left in the landscape. Gentle wooded hills rose out of a wide river valley. Even at the bridge at the base of the valley there was a sense of being high above sea level, a smell of peat and a cold wind. Following the detailed instructions given to Rob they walked along the shingle track which was all that remained of the railway line that had once followed the course of the river. All around it was very quiet—there were no cars on the road from the village—and the sound of their feet on the shingle filled the dusk, allowing no opportunity for speech. They had been told that there was a place to sleep and they found it, an old signal box, stripped now of its brass fittings and levers, but still sound and dry, its steps solid. Like a hide, its big window looked out across the woods and flood meadows. They made tea on a primus, and fried bacon and talked about twitching.

Despite himself Adam was content, carried along by the spirit of the trip. He had been surprised when the others had asked him to go with them and was too eager to get away from Rushy to consider the risk. He knew that he had offended Tina. She had come to Ella’s on her own at first, had tried to be friendly, but had asked too many questions. He had been surprised when she had returned with the others and the news of the black stork. She seemed to realize now that he had nothing to say. Perhaps, when it was all forgotten, they could be friendly again. He sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag and listened to the others, wishing occasionally that he had the confidence to join in.

Tina had been injured by Adam’s attitude to her. Her pride had been hurt. She had come to Rushy because she hoped to see him. She had even dressed up for him. She was determined now not to show that she had cared for him, and directed her conversation towards Rob and Peter. She no longer cared whether Adam thought he had slipped down the well or whether he thought that he had been pushed. He was a silly young boy who had no interest in ringing. She was arguing with Rob and Peter about the relative merits of ringing and twitching.