‘Still,’ she shouts, ‘I do love men’s company, as a whole, far more than I love women’s, so there is no use complaining. I am a sociable sort and love being happy when there is opportunity for it, but you are here now, and you are my little man, so I need not welcome another one or anyone else into my home.’

She smiles at him.

‘Boy,’ she says, ‘I would give all my knowledge if I had a jug that could pour it in your ear. I have forty-two years on me, now, and they are at me, and my hips are wrecked. I am no longer comely, and sometimes I think to myself if I have already experienced all I have to experience, but having a new, little friend like yourself gives me a great renewal in myself. I am very happy, and very fond of you.’

Conn opens his mouth, stares at the vibrating door and falters. The knocking grows a mite louder and he must stopper his ears with his thumbs. He begins shouting in a stream of almost undistinguishable words, his voice seeming to come from a low, vibrating place within his skull, ‘I just want to thank you for your hospitality, Widow Gertrude, and say that I would not let men hurt you if I was ever able to stop it with my own life, and I also would like to say that, no matter what you say about yourself, I find you very comely and convivial. You are remarkably undiseased and unmarked on your face for one your age, and you have plenty of teeth, and I have had a very pleasant time here, and I’d say these last few days have been the best days of my whole life, because I was often very lonely out on the plains, but not here, and I think you are very young in your spirit and your face, and you are excellent company, and I love your stories, especially the one you told me about how your great-grandmother stole that rich woman’s comb, and how someone else was hanged for it.’

Gertrude blushes, and turns away from him, fanning her face rapidly with both her hands.

‘What is wrong?’ he shouts, his thumbs deep in his ears. ‘I am sure I have said something wrong. I am often very awkward in my speech, because I am unused to talking to things that are not myself or the sheep I mind.’

‘No, not at all,’ she shouts back. ‘You are very sweet. That story you mentioned is also my favourite story, as well, so I do thank you.’

‘You are a very pleasant person,’ Conn shouts, ‘but I cannot stand the noise, and this knocking must stop.’

He stands up, shaking out his stiff limbs, and paces around. Glancing at Gertrude, he sees that all the softness in her face is draining away. He has made a mistake, hurt her somehow.