‘What nonsense you children talk. Who told you that? ‘Course they’re not. Think, boy, what do owls eat?’

‘Mice and rats.’

‘Yes, and what do mice and rats eat?’

‘Corn.’

‘Whose corn? Press it in harder.’

‘Ours?’

‘Yes, of course, ours. So rats and mice are our enemies and owls are our friends because they catch and eat our enemies. No, that one’s too short. Think who eats what.’ Peter paused for this lesson to sink in, then he went on. ‘What else is our enemy?’

Peterkin had a ready answer. ‘Rooks,’ he said.

‘Why? Pull it towards you – bit more – yes.’

‘’Cause they eat the corn while we’re sowing it.’

‘Our corn,’ Peter emphasized, ‘yes, and what else?’

‘Don’t know,’ said Peterkin after looking round for inspiration.

‘What do foxes eat?’ asked Peter.

‘Rabbits?’

‘Yes, and … ?’

‘Chickens.’

‘Our chickens, that’s why foxes are our enemies. Think always that those who eat our enemies are our friends. We struggle hard enough for our food and don’t want it wasted or stolen by our enemies – push it down harder – nor by the Devil sending us evil spirits disguised as our enemies – turn it round a bit more – ’

We are all struggling for our food, thought Marion, us and the mice and the owls and the foxes – but such thoughts she never voiced.

Peter went on after a pause, ‘Why did I leave that hole in the top of the wall in the big barn? So that the owls would fly in and out and make their nests in there and catch all the mice for their young ones and so save our corn. Now hold it down firm while I tap them down harder – ah, clumsy boy – hold it, that’s better.’

Marion was still busy in the cottage. Wrapping a bit of old cloth round the handle of the broken jar, she lifted it off, turned the half-cooked loaf round and replaced the jar. She collected a number of ripe apples and one of the round goat cheeses and put them in her wide basket with a bit of hay for packing. The cheese would be her last contribution to the Hall’s stocks this year, and would have to be officially accepted by Rollo. The apples were for Hilda and her little girls. They had always enjoyed these russets when they lived next door.

The cottage darkened as Peter filled the doorway. He was cross.

‘It’s no good,’ he said to Marion, ‘he can’t do it. It’s all over the place – no shape at all.’

‘He’s never done it before,’ Marion pleaded. ‘He’s got to learn how it all goes.’

‘Oh, he’s quick enough in his learning,’ Peter said, ‘he knows how it’s done. After all, he’s seen baskets made all his life, but he just can’t hold it steady.’

Peterkin appeared behind his father with the misshapen basket sprouting withies in all directions. He looked very disconsolate.