‘Sheep,’ said Meg, in a penetrating squeak, and as the human voices died away everyone could hear the distant baaing, anxious and melancholy. The villagers called their dogs to them, tying ropes round their necks. In the general movement Sir Hugh was striding around, clearing people away from the hurdles and shouting to Magda to tie up Trover. Simon and his wife Betsy were on the far side of the Green chatting to Peter, and they waved to Marion.

From where she stood she could see across the Green and down the path that passed near Nick and Martha’s cottage, and it was along this path and through the small sheep field that the procession of the flock arrived.

The villagers gave a cheer as the first sheep appeared and then shouted at their children to keep the path clear. Janty was trotting, high-headed, beside the first sheep, and the boy Ned with his crook over his shoulder was marching along on the other side of the flock as they jostled forward, a grey woolly mass dotted with whiter lambs who ran with awkward jerks. Through the sounds of baaing and barking and cheering came the high penetrating whistle of Dick and Jo’s pipes. Then they came round the corner at the back of the flock with True trotting last of all.

Peterkin, officiously, because his father had put up the hurdles, opened the entrance and with Ned standing by the gap, the sheep started to pour into the compound. By the time Dick had reached the Green all the sheep were safely confined there, and Dick, followed by Jo, neither of whom had stopped playing their pipes for an instant, started marching in a circle round the compound with their two dogs following. Dick’s hood had been pushed back, and his orange hair and beard radiated from his red face so that he looked like a caricature of the sun. It was his day, he was a natural showman and he knew his sheep were worth showing. The sleeves of his short tunic were rolled up, his legs bare, his feet in sheepskin boots, his stride easy, strong, confident. Jo, following, a thin boy with a wide brown face and an almost skipping walk, was playing on his little pipe with a skilful abandon which never missed the rhythm of the song. Both shepherds had bunches of broom of blazing yellow at their necks. As they passed the carpenter’s shop where Peter was standing with Simon and Betsy, Marion heard Betsy’s light high voice joining in the song, and others picked up the tune and joined in as Dick marched round. It was a melody they all knew well, the sheep-shearing song, and Marion put down the scone cutter and lifted Alice up so she could see Dick, and she made Alice wave her arms about in time with the tune.

She looked at Hilda, whom she knew had no voice and never attempted singing. She was standing gazing at her husband, who without seeming to miss a note, smiled as he passed her, and freed one hand from the pipe to wave to his children. Hilda just gazed with shining eyes and smiling mouth.