They strolled along slowly in the July afternoon, exchanging news. Edward had got a new young sheepdog of his own to train up and his father had promised him a little flock of Herdwick sheep once the dog was ready.

‘It’s the first step towards making the farm my own, Dad says. He’s not ready to hang up his boots for a few years yet, but he wants everything to be ready for when he does. He’s generous enough to let me have my own way about where the farm’s going, what we’ll be doing in the future, but he’s seen a lot over the years and he always puts me right if he thinks I’m moving owt in the wrong direction.’

‘That’s lovely for you, Ed. I’m right glad. You’re on your way, so to speak.’

‘On my way but stopping here,’ Edward laughed. ‘What about you?’

‘Same. I feel quite at home in the Hall garden these days, and that’s down to Uncle Tom’s generosity. He takes the time to show me and explain things.’

‘Not still thinking of moving on to a garden of your own, then?’

Ellen blushed. ‘Oh, I was being a bit silly, I reckon. I’d hardly started at the Hall when I said that and I didn’t realise how much there was to learn. The more I know, the more I see there is to know. It was daft to think of going anywhere else – not for years, anyway.’

They had turned off the road into the lane to the cottage and the farm, enjoying the cool breeze and the sound of a few birds singing in the hedges. Already hawthorn berries were forming, hard and green. It would be autumn soon enough, then the long, dark northern winter. They both stopped walking, as if they sensed a change of mood, a melancholy in the air. No one else was about.

‘I’m right glad about that, lass,’ said Edward softly. ‘I don’t want you to go away.’ He bent his head and kissed her softly on the mouth. ‘Please don’t ever go away, Nellie.’

Ellen found herself kissing him in return. She reached up and removed his flat cap with one hand, then ruffled his thick straight hair with the other.

‘Too early for promises, Ed,’ she whispered, ‘but I’ll not be going if I’ve a good reason to stay.’

CHAPTER TEN

‘DON’T FORGET YOUR brolly, Nell, love,’ said Dora, as the last of the whist players left Little Grindle village hall and Reggie Travers switched off the lights and locked up.

‘I seem to have needed it so often this summer I think I should tie it to my hand,’ Ellen sighed.

‘Perhaps you could just stand on the leeward side of that lad of yours and he’ll keep any rain off,’ Mrs Fowler said.