Danny thought the world of his father; he was forever saying, ‘Me dad ses’ or ‘It was summat me dad said’. And that – for Kate – was good enough.

‘Where’s yar mam?’ Mr Eland was asking Kate now.

‘Gone to the Grange. We don’t know how long she’ll be and the cow’s in a bad way . . .’

There was a moment’s pause before he said, ‘All right, then. Off ya go, lad.’

‘Thanks, mester,’ Kate called over her shoulder for already her feet were flying across the grass back the way she had come.

‘Wait for me,’ Danny called after her, but, as always, he arrived at Brumbys’ Farm hot and breathless and a minute or two after Kate.

‘Get me – some hot – soapy water, Katie,’ he commanded, still trying to regain his breath, but having summed up the situation in the barn at a glance. In a few moments Kate was back with hot water from the side boiler in the kitchen range and a scattering of soap flakes from the wash-house dissolving in it.

Danny had taken off his shirt. His braces hung loosely down the sides of his trousers. He looked very thin, his shoulder-blades and ribs sticking out, but Kate knew his slight physique belied a wiry strength. He might not be able to run as fast as she could but he could beat her at arm-wrestling any day of the week.

‘We’ll have to hopple her, Mester Godfrey,’ Danny was saying, ‘else she’ll kick me shins to bits!’

Kate reached for the leather thong from the wall and handed it to Danny.

‘Kate – we’ll need some thin rope. Plough line’d be best, if you can find any.’

Kate screwed up her mouth and wrinkled her smooth brow. Then her thoughtful expression cleared. ‘Wait a bit . . .’

In the stable next to the barn the two cart-horses tried to nuzzle Kate as she squeezed past them. ‘Move over, Boxer. No, I ain’t no sugar – not this time. I’m busy. Oh, move over, do – I need that plough line on the wall.’

She pushed at the huge horse’s flanks and obligingly the animal side-stepped and allowed the girl into his stall to reach the line. Giving him a swift pat on his nose, Kate said, ‘I’m sorry, old feller, I can’t stay. Poor old Samphire needs help.’

Closing the stable door, she ran back to the barn and, stepping inside, saw Danny standing on a box pushing his thin arm, made slippery with the soapy water, into the cow. Samphire lowed and tried to move but because of the thong looped around her back legs she could not kick. Sweat ran down Danny’s forehead and his face was contorted with pain.

‘There – ain’t much – room in here,’ he gasped. ‘If I can – just . . . aaah.’ As he spoke one small back leg of the unborn calf popped out.