Before we could begin cleaning our wee hoosie, a dozen barrels had to be rolled out on their sides, down to the yards, and it was my howl of pain as a splinter drove into my thumb that drew the attention of the cooper boy.

Ee there, lass, let’s see what ye is done ta yeself there.

I held out my hand obediently, then snatched it back when I realised he was just a loon not much older than me.

Ee, c’mon, lass, he said, laughing, I won’t sting nor bite ye.

He grabbed my wrist, and this time I didn’t pull away.

He leaned down and both of us peered at my thumb. Long strands of my fringe brushed his hand and, pffff, he blew them away. I looked around for Kitta, for Clementina, but both of them were down in the yards, rolling barrels to the coopers’ store.

The boy still had me by the hand, his face so close I could hear him breathing. One of the Highland girls, passing by, looked at me in a funny way.

I tried to pull my hand back again. I can fix it, I said. Only a splinter.

But a big one, the boy said. And ye canna take chances.

What d’ye mean, chances? I can get it out easy with my gipper.

Now that’s just what ye shouldn’t do, he said. I’ve a netting needle here, and that’s the thing ta use. Just wait while I burn it clean first.

Off he raced to one of the huts where the girls had their fire already alight.

I looked around, uncertain. Why couldn’t I just dig out the thing myself? I’d done it before, plenty of times. I didn’t like to be obliged to anyone, least of all a boy whose name I didn’t know. Maybe I’d misunderstood him—his words had a strange rolling sound. I looked down to the yards again. Kitta and Clementina were still pushing barrels about.

I was proud of my gipper, my very own, sharp as could be in the pocket of my skirt, tucked into a leather sheath. I was just about to drive the point into my thumb and slit the layer of skin where the splinter was, when the knife was jerked out of my hand.

Ee, what ye are about? Ye be mad, lass? The boy was red and huffing, but then he relaxed a bit and folded his arms. Aah, ye is new, is that it?

Give me back my gipper! That’s for my work, that is.

Aye. And he handed it back to me, offering it by the short wooden handle. But see, give me your hand an’ I’ll show ye.

I narrowed my eyes.

I’ll not hurt. An’ ye’ll thank me tomorrow, lass, I promise ye that.