‘Aye, well, there you have it. Mum reckons Mrs Stellion just likes to have someone about the place to talk to. Apparently she had a baby that died and this child would have been about Gina’s age by now. Mebbe she likes to have a young person around now James and Diana aren’t living at home and she thought she’d bring Gina more … kind of into the limelight, if you know what I mean.’

‘Goodness, that’s very sad. Poor Mrs S. She must be lonely, I suppose, with Mr S out quite a bit and her children not there much, and her feeling poorly. Well, I think it’s nice for Gina to be appreciated … so long as she behaves herself.’

They both rolled their eyes, remembering numerous occasions when Gina had very definitely not done so.

Great Grindle came into sight and the girls were relieved it was a downhill walk all the way to the little town. Clouds were gathering on the fells and Sally’s curly hair was forming increasingly tight corkscrews on her fair head.

‘I think I’ll be glad of this umbrella,’ she said. ‘Now, where does Mr Shepherd live? Don’t tell me you don’t know?’

‘Uncle Tom gave me the address. Bookworm Cottage, would you believe? It’s on Main Street, so I reckon we’ll find it easily enough.’

They walked along past shops until the street became residential and they found the right name on a little wooden gate leading to a tiny front garden and a neat and very old-looking little house.

Ellen knocked, they waited, and then the door opened and there was Mr Shepherd. His face lit up when he saw his visitors.

‘Ellen, Sally, come in, come in. Oh, it’s so good to see some young and friendly faces.’

The door opened into a very low-ceilinged sitting room, the beams visible, bookcases lining the walls. Mr Shepherd showed them in, then hobbled over to an armchair, relying heavily on his walking stick.

‘Sit down, ladies.’ He indicated the sofa with his stick.

‘These are for you, Mr Shepherd,’ said Ellen, handing over the flowers wrapped in newspaper. ‘Oh, perhaps you’d like me to put them in water for you?’ Feeling silly, she took them back.

‘Thank you, Ellen. So kind. There’s a vase on the windowsill in the kitchen.’ He pointed to a door at the back.

When she returned with the flowers in a vase, Sally and Mr Shepherd were laughing about something. Ellen now noticed there was a kind of bunting along the low central beam of the ceiling, made of old book jackets stuck up with drawing pins.

‘I was just telling Sally,’ Mr Shepherd said, seeing where she was looking, ‘it’s to remind visitors to duck their heads.’

‘Duck or grouse,’ giggled Sally, and the other two groaned at the old pun.

‘My, but those flowers are grand,’ said Mr Shepherd. ‘Thank you.’