‘Don’t be daft. They’re dead as doornails – deader, in fact,’ Jonty said. ‘And so are those kittens. Do leave them, Tess, it’ll only upset you . . .’

‘Oh, but surely the pigs won’t eat dead kittens?’ Tess said, horrified, gazing pitifully at two little corpses she had overlooked before. ‘Where’s their mother? And why on earth did she let them leave the stable? They’re too young to wander off by themselves . . . Oh, look, that white one isn’t dead at all! I saw its little head move!’ She knelt down in the mud and managed, not without difficulty, to extract the white kitten and then the tabby, but Jonty shook his head at her.

‘If Tibbs is dead then they’d be better off dead too,’ he observed. ‘Their eyes aren’t properly open yet and they need their mother’s milk. Oh, Tess, don’t go scratchin’ round for the rest of the litter. God knows how they got all the way from the stable, but I’m sure the other six will still be in Sheba’s manger, and safe as houses. Probably Tibbs took fright at the storm and imagined she was carryin’ these two to safety. She wouldn’t have known better; she’s only a young cat, mebbe no more than two or three years old, and I’m sure she’s never seen a storm like the one last night.’ He peered hopefully at Tess as they let themselves out through the gate and headed for the stable. ‘Look, if you’re determined to try and save those kittens you’d best wash the mud off them before you put them back in the manger.’

Tess stared at him. ‘Wash the mud off them?’ she squeaked. ‘How can you be so stupid, Jonty Bell? After all they’ve suffered, cold water would be the final straw. I’m taking them into the kitchen. I’m sure your mother will find up a nice dry piece of blanket and an old shoe box for them. They can lie in front of the fire until the mud has dried. Then it can be brushed off and they can go back to their nest in the manger.’

Jonty heaved a sigh. ‘At least you’re learning that farming isn’t all picking apples, riding ponies and collecting eggs under beautiful blue skies,’ he said resignedly. ‘Poor old Tess! Look, you go into the kitchen and I’ll check that Tibbs and the other kittens are all okay.’

But this Tess refused to do, saying that she would accompany him to the stable first to make sure that the kittens had a mother to go to. She could imagine that Mrs Bell would not be at all pleased if she found her son and her temporary helper spending all their time spoon-feeding two tiny kittens, who might not survive their ghastly ordeal no matter how zealously they were nursed. They entered the stable to find it unusually light, because tiles had blown off the roof. And once they were in Sheba’s stall Tess realised at once why Tibbs had fled. Two of the big heavy tiles had plunged straight into the manger in which she and her kittens had lain. It had killed two of the little things outright, but four still remained, and as Tess bent over the manager Tibbs looked up hopefully, uttering a plaintive little meow which said as clearly as any words: ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you. Please take care of me and my babies!’