But the boy continued to hold on to her arm, looking down into her face with a puzzled expression. ‘But that’s no reason for fighting,’ he said slowly. ‘Look, I’ll walk along with you, so you won’t be late, and you can tell me just exactly what happened.’

Tess shook her head firmly. ‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘It’s none of your business, you know. Don’t boys fight occasionally for stupid reasons? I’m sure they do. When I was at the village school someone was always fighting and it was nearly always boys. So if you’ll please let go of my arm we can both go on our way.’

The boy laughed, but let go of her arm. ‘Awright, but just how are you going to explain that black eye to your gran? And there’s a scratch runnin’ from the corner of your left eye right down into the neck of your blouse. You look as though you’ve been shut in a cage with a wild cat . . . and I’m just hoping the wild cat wasn’t Marilyn, because damn it, queen, you’re half her size.’

Tess chuckled. ‘I don’t know who it was,’ she admitted frankly. ‘Honest to God, Snowy, it could have been anyone. Only not Marilyn.’

The boy looked relieved. ‘That’s all right then. But why are they so agin you? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. You ain’t a local girl – no accent – and you’re bright, which is why you’re in Marilyn’s class. So really it’s you bein’ different which is the trouble. Am I right?’

Tess nodded, feeling considerable relief, and knowing that he wasn’t so far out at that. Had she been in a class with girls her own age she was pretty sure she would have been accepted. She remembered an incident on the Bells’ farm when Mr Bell had come home, triumphant, one market day, bringing with him a pony fourteen hands high to replace the little cob that his son rode. He had let it loose in the meadow where four or five other horses, all known to one another, were grazing, and within ten minutes the new pony was being bullied by its companions. Tess and Jonty, leaning on the gate and watching the goings-on, were worried that the newcomer might be injured, but Mr Bell said that if the bullying persisted he would move the new pony and Rufus, the little cob, into a pasture by themselves. ‘Horses is just like people and rarely take to a newcomer first go off,’ the farmer had observed. ‘But they’ll all settle down in time, just see if they don’t.’

He had been right, and now Tess, much amused, told the remembered story to Snowy White and was rewarded by his spontaneous laughter. ‘I’ve never thought of gals bein’ like ponies, but I reckon you’ve hit the nail on the head,’ he said, grinning down at her. ‘Tell you what, littl’un, you need someone to give you lessons in the Scouse dialect. Want me to take you on? I’ll only charge you tenpence an hour!’