‘Ooh – you shouldn’t,’ she gasped. ‘What if Milly saw?’ but this was not her real objection.

‘Why not?’ said Simon, who was obviously much entertained by it. ‘She won’t see it, and if the birds are scared off that’s all that matters.’

‘And,’ Gib went on, smiling at his work, ‘when any of us passes the cherry tree we just give the rope a pull and the arms will fly up and bang down and off go the birds. I tried to do hands at the ends of the arm boards but I couldn’t get the fingers right so I rubbed them off.’

‘Beats me how you got Milly so well,’ said Betsy, still gasping with laughter and very much enjoying her son’s skill. Marion was a little reassured by the family’s easy acceptance of the caricature and wondered at her own fear of it.

‘Seen her often enough – too often,’ said Gib. ‘I can’t help remembering what her face is like.’

‘Is the sluice gate shut properly?’ the Old Man asked loudly, suddenly waking up and looking round.

‘Yes, Father,’ said Simon, ‘tight shut, but the water level’s so low it couldn’t matter.’

‘Low, is it? Well, that won’t last. We’ll have rain before night. I feel it. Help me up, son.’ Simon helped him up and supported his feeble body a few steps outside the holly cave and held him while he peed jerkily into the dry grass.

‘What you got there, Alice?’ asked Ellen, sitting down beside Alice on the ground. Alice held out the stick of purple loosestrife.

‘That’s a long purple, Alice,’ said Ellen, taking Alice on her knee.

‘We used to call them dead men’s fingers when I was a girl,’ said Betsy.

‘Ooh, how horrid,’ Kate remarked.

Gib joined in, ‘I’ve heard the shepherds call them – ’

‘Now you shut up, Gib. She’s only a little girl still, no need to tell her all that. There’s a good girl, Alice. Want another drink of water? Come to Auntie Betsy then.’

The Old Man was eased back to his chair, and Ellen, picking up the trencher, fed him with little bits of the crumb of the bread and tiny pieces of pork. His toothless mouth mumbled over the food and the dropped crumbs bounced in his beard as he ate.

‘Water, Grandpa?’ said Ellen, holding the pitcher to his mouth. He gurgled and blew drops of water about, then lay back tired and pleased. Marion took his hand again.

‘Ah, Elinor,’ he said, stroking her hand, ‘how’s the baby now? We must get a bigger cradle. The sluice gate must be shut before sunset … I’ve told Simon that already – oh, it’s Marion … haven’t seen you for ages … Marion, how’s the baby … ?’ But his voice was getting slower and he relapsed again into sleep.

Betsy left them and went back into the house yard and returned with a small wooden tub in her hands.

‘Here’s something for a good little girl,’ she said, sitting down by Ellen and Alice, ‘a lump of honey on bread?’ She tried with the bread knife to cut into the hard crystalline brown honey in the tub. ‘It’s all that’s left of last year’s,’ she grunted, struggling, ‘hard as a rock now, but I must finish it as next month we’ll be getting the new lot from the hives. Apples were in flower late and beans followed quickly so the bees had plenty. Since the beans there’s been the heather up on the hills, so I’m hoping for a lot of full combs. We’ve five hives now, Marion; here, Alice, try a bit of honey.’ She gave Alice a flake, who dutifully put it into her mouth and then smiled broadly.