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Moira said, `But isn't that nice of her? Isn't she the kindest body in the world?Ànd when he opened the parcel from Moira and saw the pipe, the pouch and the tobacco, at first he made no remark on it, but went straight to her and kissed her, then said, `You forgot something.`

`What is that, Daniel?` She seemed concerned.

`The smoking cap and the velvet jacket.`

There was laughter all round, because even the younger children couldn't see their wonderful Daniel sitting smoking in a cap and velvet jacket.

One person was missing from the celebrations; but then he had never once stepped into Maggie Ann's room. And on this, no-one remarked, not to Maggie Ann nor to each other.

When, earlier that morning, Moira had handed her husband an unwrapped woollen scarf, saying quietly, `With Christmas wishes 309 to you, Hector,` she had not added the word `happy`. He had looked at the scarf for some seconds, before he said, `Thank you. It's ... it's what's needed this weather

... Thank you.` Then he had looked at her and for the first time in their acquaintance he admitted his failure, for now he said, Ì've made a hash of things, haven't I?`

She had come back with no apology for him. Perhaps if he had said, I'm sorry, Moira; but no; he had simply made a statement which was true, and she hadn't been aware of any deep regret in it, and she knew that if the conversation had gone on he would have blamed circumstances, fate and the weather.

Oh yes, the weather. He had said, Ì've made a hash of things,àt the same time almost adding, But it wasn't my fault. Oh, she knew this man. Ten years spent in his bed and out of it, there was nothing about him she didn't know. She had said, Ìf you would join us in the drawing-room this night and have a game with the children t'wd make them happy,ànd to this he had answered, Ì'll see. I'll see how things go,`

which meant that if he wasn't in the inn, or

if he was sober enough; and she had left it at that.

So Christmas had passed and in the days before the New Year it appeared that Maggie Ann seemed to be fading. She still smiled, she still talked, but not so often. What was noticeable to the whole family, however, was that Sean would sit by her side for hours, his hand in hers and with neither of them uttering a word.

This morning they were sitting like this when Maggie Ann said, `What is it like outside, Sean?`

`'Tis very cold, Maggie Ann. The ground is like iron; it's been freezing for days. But I think snow is near.

I saw a flake come down early on.`

`Just one?`

`Yes, Maggie Ann, just one. I waited for others but none came.`

`'Tis a sign, that, the same as a falling star. The falling star means another soul has just gone into heaven, and one single flake of snow means a soul is waiting to be born.`

Ìs that a fact, Maggie Ann?`

`'Tis, Sean, 'tis.`

Moira, coming into the room at that moment, said, `You, Sean, sitting there like a stook and the fire low, what d'you mean by it? You'll have Maggie

Ann freezing. Look, her nose is 311 red.`

`My nose has always been red,` Maggie Ann responded, Ànd the room's like an oven. But go on, boy, get some more coal in; your mama wants to roast us alive.`

Sean rose from his seat and looked at his mother. There was a half-smile on the women's faces as he picked up the scuttle and left the room, with Moira following him as far as the kitchen.

He was lifting the latch of the coalhouse when he saw his father coming out of the stable. As usual, he was riding Rustler and the horse neighed loudly when his nostrils met the cold air. Sean stood stiffly, looking up at his father as he passed, and although his father knew he was there, he did not turn his head and look down on his son, but put his horse into a trot and went from the yard.

The boy left the scuttle in the coalhouse, then ran back to the kitchen door, and pushing it open, said, Ì

think I'll chop some wood first, Mama.`

`Good. But come in and wrap up well. Where's Patrick?`

`He's down at the farm. They didn't need

me; there's nothing much that can be done.`

Ànd there'll be less if it snows.`

`Yes, Mama.`

Sean went out and into the corridor, and from there into a room on the left that had at one time been the butler's pantry and was now used as a cloakroom for the children's clothes. And there, taking an old coat from a peg, he put it on, then pulled a flap-eared cap on to his head. Lastly, he wound a muffler around his neck; but he took no gloves.

When outside, instead of making for the chopping block behind the stables, he followed the path his father had taken on the horse, which was a short cut to the village. This route bordered the gardens, crossed over the wooden bridge spanning the little stream, went on past the copse, along by the bog field, and from there went through the gate and on to the main road.

Sean reached the wooden bridge, where he stood for a moment looking ahead to where the copse bordered one side of the narrow path, the other side of which gave way to a steep bank leading down to the frozen stream. In the spring the stream would rush and tumble between the banks it had carved out for itself over the

years and squeeze its spume-tipped 313 waters under the wooden bridge. Then it spread out and meandered by the side of the bog fields and through the adjoining estate until it reached the river, by which time it had broadened considerably. But here it was only a strip of ice about ten feet wide, although the drop to it from the path was all of twenty feet.

Sean walked from the bridge until he was standing opposite the copse and looking down to where the bank dropped sheer to the frozen stream. Presently, he turned and looked back to the copse, where the bracken lay in mounds of frozen fronds; and he stepped in among it, his feet breaking the undergrowth as if it were glass. So far in, he turned and saw that he had cleared a path of sorts through the shoulder-high tangle. He retraced his steps, then repeated the process, walking into the bracken and out again.

At last, seeming satisfied, he returned to the bridge, crossed it, and walked back to the chopping block and wood pile. This was made up of lengths of cut branches, some as thick as a man's forearm. These were from a tree that had fallen in a recent storm. It had been a big tree and had provided wood for the fires for some time. Now,

although the pile was still long it was low, and he walked along it until he found a piece measuring two feet or so and of a thickness that he could grip in his hand.

He now looked about for a similar piece, and after finding it he laid it to one side; then with the first piece in his hand, he went and stood some ten feet from the high wall that backed the stables, and for the next fifteen minutes he practised throwing the wood at the wall.

At first, his aim was too low and he had to raise his arm higher, and when he was satisfied as to the position his arm should be in for the wood to hit a certain point on the wall, he continued to practise the throw, until a voice startled him, saying, `What d'you think you're doing?`

He actually jumped round to see Daniel, then gasped and stammered, `Pl ... pl ... playing.`

`Playing? Pelting wood at the wall? I heard the thuds in the yard. You don't usually play with the wood.`

Daniel bent over him now, saying, `What's the matter? Come on, tell me what's the matter.`

`Nothing, Daniel, I just ... just felt like

it.` 315

`Well, when you're feeling like bashing something there's a reason for it. Come on.` Daniel put his arm around Sean's shoulder, guessing the reason: the boy was so fond of Maggie Ann, and she of him. And he was such a sensitive youngster: aloof, in a way, and different. And of late, he had noticed that when the others were playing, generally Sean would stand aside or take a stroll, that is when he wasn't sitting with Maggie Ann.

When he now said to him, `Come on back to the farm with me,` Sean answered, Ì'm going to take wood in for Maggie Ann's fire.`

Òh well, do that. But`--again Daniel bent over the boy--`whatever's got into your head, don't take it out on the wall.Ànd he smiled at Sean now, adding, `You could knock it over; the pointing's gone in places, you know.` He now gently cuffed his brother's ear, then walked away.

Left alone again, Sean picked up the two pieces of wood. The one that was now frayed at the ends through contact with the wall he threw on top of the pile. But the other he examined closely. One end came to a rough point, the other bore the

straight cut of the saw. He now weighed it in his hand. It was heavy, but not too heavy, no heavier than the piece he had been wielding. Walking to the edge of the pile he laid it to the side before chopping up a few lengths from the pile, which he then carried indoors to Maggie Ann's room.

The fire had already been built up, so he laid the logs neatly one on top of the other to the side of the hearth; then he sat down on the chair that was permanently placed by the bed. And when Maggie Ann turned her face slowly towards him and smiled, he smiled gently back at her, then took her white puffed hand in his and held it.

After a moment she said, `What's worryin' you, me dear?`

`You are.`

Òh, that's no news to me. I've worried everybody all me life. But here I am now lyin' and not sayin' a wrong word to anybody, not gettin' in anybody's way, and you tell me I'm worryin' you.`

She stopped talking, and he made no remark, and so they sat staring at each other, until at last she said quietly, `Now, we've had all this out: there's nothin' to worry about. You've got a very wise head on your shoulders. You're 317 too old for your years, I would say, but it'll carry you far. Oh, yes, it'll carry you far; and I'll be with you. I've told you that, haven't I? I'll be with you all the way. As I said, there are things you know that I don't know, but there are things I know that you don't know, feelings that don't come from my head, because that has never been very bright, but from my heart. They are like yours. So, what d'you say? Let's sit quiet, eh? for a time and enjoy our feelings.`

She turned her face wearily away from him and, her breath coming in hard gasps, she closed her eyes; but he did not close his; nor was he worried for her at this moment, for he knew that her time to go had not yet come.

How long he had sat on the frozen bracken he did not know, but Sean knew that his father would eventually return from the village this way: when the main road was covered in slush or ice, as it was now, he always used the back way, because the path was sheltered. His time for returning from the village was usually around two o'clock, but it was well past that time now. However, he reasoned that if his father had gone

into Fellburn then he must get back before dark, and the twilight was already beginning, which meant it had turned three o'clock.

He had kept flapping his arms and shuffling his feet to stop them going stiff, and up till now he had resisted getting up and stamping, because then he would crackle the bracken and that could be heard.

But he had also reasoned that a man on a horse wouldn't have heard him anyway. No, he wasn't worried about the man on the horse hearing him stamping his feet, but Patrick or Margaret or Annie might take it into their heads to come this way when they couldn't find him about the house.

When he actually heard the horse's hooves he made to spring to his feet, but his legs were so stiff that he almost fell over and he had to grip the ice-bound fronds to steady himself.

Grabbing up the piece of wood by his side, he peered over the bracken and through the bare branches of the trees and saw the horse and rider approaching. And now, taking four steps forward, he waited.

When the sound of the horse neighing came to him he crouched a little, his arm now raised, his hand shaking as it gripped his weapon near the broad, clean-cut

edge. 319

Just before the horse's head came into full view he let fly the piece of wood, and with his eyes almost staring out of his head, he followed its arc. But it failed to hit the target, which was the rider. Instead, it struck the horse on the side of the neck, causing the animal to rear up, its forelegs pawing the air. His father, too, reared up from the saddle before turning a somersault in the air, and, with a smothered cry, dropped out of view.

Sean now watched the horse prance in a complete circle before galloping off.

Time passed before Sean raised himself from his knees and crept slowly on to the path, to look down on the contorted figure lying on the ice; and then he sat on the top of the bank and let himself slide down the icy slope to land within feet of his father.

When he rose from his hands and knees he made no movement towards the still figure lying there; he noted that there was one leg twisted right up behind the other, and that the two arms were wide spread.

But there was no sign of blood coming from his now bare head or face. His father's hat lay some distance away against what would have been the bank of the little stream.

When Sean started to shiver, even though he didn't actually feel cold, he turned and tried to make his way up to the path again. But when with every step he took he slid backwards, he stood for a moment, considering what he should do. He looked to where the bank rose steeply and right to the beams of the bridge itself, and it was to this he made his way, although not without slithering and falling several times.

The cross trusses of the bridge he used as a ladder by pulling himself from one to the other. And when at last he could stand upright, he set off at a shambling run, and started to look for the horse.

Within minutes he found Rustler standing pawing the frozen ground, for the slack reins had caught on the jagged broken branch of a tree and so had brought it to a standstill.

On the sight of him, the horse neighed loudly. Sean stroked its nose and spoke quietly to it, then he looked at the shoulder where the piece of wood had struck it. The skin was grazed and blood was oozing from it.

He now brought the horse back on to the path; then leading it by a roundabout way, he eventually came to the wood pile. There, he drew it to a