‘We ain’t got a ma,’ the younger lad said and got another dig in the ribs.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Harry said sympathetically. ‘So – where are you going for Christmas dinner?’ He saw Ellen’s eyes swivel anxiously towards him, though she needn’t have worried; he hadn’t any intention of inviting them to their house, knowing full well that the beef stew wouldn’t stretch to feed another two growing lads.

‘I’ve got a place,’ Jim growled. ‘We manage.’

‘Right,’ Harry conceded. ‘Well, enjoy ’rest of your day. See you tomorrow, ’he added.

Jim nodded but didn’t reply and the boys walked on. Harry watched them go until they came to the street next to the graveyard and turned right.

‘Who was that?’ Ellen said. ‘He wasn’t very talkative. Poor lads; no mother. What do you think’s happened to her?’

‘No idea. He never talks. He’s Tannerson’s stable lad, and he just does what he has to do. He looks after ’hosses. Do you think that’s his brother?’

‘Bound to be,’ Ellen said. ‘Younger one said they hadn’t got a mother. Do you think there’s somewhere they can go to eat? I felt as if we should’ve asked them to come to us, although there might not be enough for two hungry lads. But still!’

‘Come on,’ Harry urged her. ‘You heard him; he said they managed. And Tannerson gave him a box o’ groceries; I saw him. They’ll probably be all right.’

The beef stew was delicious, and Ellen was pleased to see that if she added more potatoes there would be enough for the next day as well, although for a moment that made her feel guilty again about the two boys. She served the plum pudding with sweet white sauce; she’d been using their milk sparingly, making it last so there was enough left to make the sauce.

‘We’ve still got ’Johnsons’ honey cake,’ she said in satisfaction. ‘We’ll eat that at tea time.’ I seem to be preoccupied with food, she thought. Perhaps that’s because we don’t usually have enough, but today we’ve had a feast and we must be grateful for it.

Edyta brought her mother down late afternoon to see the children and the tree; Harry urged her to sit by the fire and she remarked how cosy the room looked with the bright fire and the Christmas tree decorated with fluffy white cotton like snowflakes, and the flickering oil lamp which they had just lit as the sky beyond the window was darkening into dusk.

‘You are a true homemaker, Ellen,’ she murmured, and then added, ‘On Monday I will be leaving to live with my son, and I don’t know if I will see you again, my dear.’