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legs jammed under the broken timbers - ws with their leaded panes, at

  the smooth, freshly-pointed stones. of the partition.

  opened the door to me. She was Miss Tremayne's cook-housekeeper, "I

  think she's sulking, Mr Daggett," I said.

  "She's had a few goes at rising and of my favourite people. Aged about

  fifty, no more than five feet high now she's decided not to try any

  more. Some cows are like that."

  ~und as a ball with short bandy legs sticking out from beneath a tight

  "Maybe you're right," the farmer replied.

  "She's all us been a stupid bitch."

  sAnd she's a big one, too. She'll take a bit of moving." I lifted a

  rope from the ~orning, Elsie," I said, and she burst into a peal of

  laughter. Thi ~byre wall and tied it round the hocks.

  "I'll push the feet from the other side - ~'>er remarkable physical

  appearance, was what delighted me. Sb ~while you and Ned pull the legs

  round."

  t:1 l : : v . ~ "Pull?" Mr Daggett.gave the little man a sour look.

  "He couldn't pull the skin off a rice puddin'."

  Ned said nothing, just gazed dully to his front, arms hanging limp. He

  looked as though he didn't care, wasn't even there with us. His mind

  was certainly elsewhere if his thoughts were mirrored in his eyes

  vacant, unheeding, but as al ways, expectant.

  I went behind the partition and thrust steadily at the feet while the

  men pulled. At least Mr Daggett pulled, mouth open, gasping with

  effort, while Ned leaned languidly on the rope.

  Inch by inch the big animal came round till she was Iying almost in the

  middle of the stall, but as I was about to call a halt the rope broke

  and Mr Daggett flew backwards on to the hard cobbles. Ned of course

  did not fall down because he hand's been trying, and his employer,

  stretched flat, glared up at him with frustrated rage.

  "Ye little bugger, ye let me do that all by myself! Ah don't know why

  ah bother with you, you're bloody useless."

  At that moment the cow, as I had expected, rose to her feet, and the

  farmer gesticulated at the little man.

  "Well, go on, clang ye, get some straw and rub her legs! They'll be

  numb."

  Meekly Ned twisted some straw into a wisp and began to do a bit of

  massage.

  Mr Daggett got up stiffly, felt gingerly along his back then walked up

  beside the cow to make sure the chain hadn't tightened round her neck.

  He was on his way back when the big animal swung round suddenly and

  brought her cloven hoof down solidly on the farmer's toe.

  If he had been wearing heavy boots it wouldn't have been so bad, but

  his feet were encased in ancient cracked welling tons which offered no

  protection.

  "Ow! Ow! Ow!" yelled Mr Daggett, beating on the hairy back with his

  fists.

  "Gerroff, ye awd bitch!" He heaved, pushed and writhed but the ten

  hundredweight of beef ground down inexorably.

  The farmer was only released when the cow slid off his foot, and I know

  from experience that that sliding is the worst part.

  Mr Daggett hopped around on one leg, nursing the bruised extremity in

  his hands.

  "Bloody 'ell," he moaned.

  "Oh, bloody 'elf.

  Just then I happened to glance towards Ned and was amazed to see the

  apathetic little face crinkle suddenly into a wid& grin of unholy glee.

  I couldn't recall him even smiling before, and my astonishment must

  have shown in my face because his boss whipped round suddenly and

  stared at him. As if by magic the sad mask slipped back into place and

  he went on with his rubbing.

  Mr Daggett hobbled out to the car with me and as I was about to leave

  he nudged me.

  "Look at 'im," he whispered.

  Ned, milk pail in hand, was bustling along the byre with unwonted

  energy.

  His employer gave a bitter smile.

  "It's ttonly time 'e ever hurries. Can't wait to get out t'pub."

  "Oh well, you say he doesn't get drunk. There can't be any harm in

  it."

  The deep sunk eyes held me.

  "Don't you believe it. He'll come to a bad end ' -' ~bout the way 'e

  does."

  ~he odd ~lass of beer . . ."

  / tIl~ v~ ~ ~ here's more than that to it." He glanced around him.

  "Thercs I incredulously.

  "Oh come now, Mr Daggett, what women?"

  t'pub," he muttered.

  "Them Bradley lasses."

  dlord's daughters? Oh really, I can't believe . . ."

  ~.

  "All right, ye can say what ye like. He's got 'is eye on 'em. Ah knew

  ah've only been in that pub once but ah've seen for me self."

  I didn't know what to say, but ih any case I had no opportunity because

  he turned and strode into the house.

  Alone in the cold darkness I looked at the gaunt silhouette of the old

  farmhouse above me. In the dying light of the November day the rain

  streamed down the rough stones and the wind caught at the thin tendril

  of smoke from the chimney hurling it in ragged streamers across the

  slate blue pallor of the western sky.

  The fell hung over every thing, a black featureless bulk, oppressive

  and menacing.

  Through the kitchen window I could see the oil lamp casting its dim

  light over the bare table, the cheerless hearth with its tiny flicker

  of fire. In the shadows at the far end the steps rose intoNed loft and

  I could imagine the little figure clambering up to get changed and

  escape to Bris ton.

  Across the valley the single street of the village was a broken grey

  thread in the gloom but in the cottage windows the lamps winked

  faintly. These were Ned Finch's bright lights and I could understand

  how he felt. After Scar Farm Bris ton would be like Monte Carlo.

  The image stayed in my mind so vividly that after two more calls that

  evening I decided to go a few miles out of my way as I returned

  homeward. I cut across the Dale and it was about half past eight when

  I drove into Bris ton. It was difficult to find the Hulton Arms

  because there was no lighted entrance, no attempt to advertise its

  presence, but I persevered because I had to find out what was behind Mr

  Daggett's tale of debauchery.

  I located it at last. Just like the door of an ordinary house with a

  faded wooden sign hanging above it. Inside, the usual domino game was

  in progress, a few farmers sat chatting quietly. The Misses Bradley,

  plain but pleasant-faced women in their forties, sat on either side of

  the fire, and sure enough there was Ned with a half pint glass in front

  of him.

  I sat down by his side.

  "Hello, Ned."

  "Now then, Mr Herriot," he murmured absently, glancing at me with his

  st range expectant eyes.

  One of the Bradley ladies put down her knitting and came over.

  "Pint of bitter, please," I said.

  "What will you have, Ned?"

  "Nay, thank ye, Mr Herriot. This'll do for me. It's me second and

  ah'm not a big drinker, the knows."

  Miss Bradley laughed.

  "Yes, he nob but has 'is two glasses a night, but he enjoys them, don't

  you, Ned?"