As a girl at the Mill Marion had sometimes wandered up on to these pastures, pretending to look for a lost goat but really to have a look at Dick. As to all the girls of her age, to Marion Dick Shepherd with his golden curls and blue eyes had been a cynosure. She had not known it at the time but Dick’s eyes were already set on that small thin dark freckled Hilda, younger than Marion, and something of a mystery to the rest of the village. Marion had loved Dick very secretly, and then later, her father had encouraged Peter the Carpenter to court her and had told Marion she couldn’t do better than marry a sensible hard-working kindly man like Peter – Peter had at that time just completed a great repair and alteration to the Mill’s workings – so she had married him and never much regretted it, and had forgotten Dick, or so she had told herself. Only sometimes did she look at him and wish he had loved her.

Marion sighed, partly with regret for what might have been and partly to enjoy the sweet smells of summer. ‘Come along, Alice,’ she said, and they went up the path to the Hall.

Tom and Ed-me-boy must have been up before cockcrow, for by this time the logs were burning hot below the bread oven and Joan, standing with her back to it under the shelter was kneading dough on the table. She waved a floury hand at Marion and pushed her cap back from her red sweating face, leaving a splodge of flour on her forehead.

‘Just the first lot,’ she said smiling, and twisting and plaiting a lump of dough till it resembled the plaited tail of a horse. ‘Real yeast in it, and the next lot is rising there.’ She pointed with her elbow to a wide earthenware basin which stood near the oven. ‘Ed-me-boy’s getting the long tables out.’

Ed-me-boy came out backwards from under the porch carrying the end of one of the long planks which made up half of one of the Hall’s tables. Loppy Lambert emerged at length carrying the other end, walking with dragging feet and holding the plank in his lumpy red hands which were covered with smears of blood where the scrofulous skin had broken, but his always open mouth was smiling.

‘Put it down,’ ordered Ed-me-boy, patience in his voice. ‘Now come on, we must get the other plank.’ He pushed Loppy back into the porch and they soon came out with the second plank.

‘Come on now,’ said Ed-me-boy. ‘The trestles, Loppy.’ They finally got both tripodal trestles out, and with much cajoling, Loppy performed his part in getting the planks placed across them. Putting stones under the trestle’s feet so they stood level was beyond Loppy and Ed-me-boy had to do it, jiggling the planks between each adjustment until Joan pronounced it firm.

‘You can’t knead on a wobbly board, nor cut loaves,’ Joan announced. ‘It takes your confidence away.’