her head away and looked fixedly out of the window.
About a quarter of a mile from the village, a small boy suddenly burst through the hedgerow ahead of them and made frantic stop signals.
‘It’s Billy Hunter,’ said Jenny, as her companion brought the car to a standstill. She wound down the window.
‘What’s the matter, Billy?’
‘Oh, miss, come quick. Bert’s fell down the cliff and I think he’s dead!’ The boy began to sob with shock and terror.
From the brink of the small disused quarry which was a favourite play place for the local children, they saw Bert lying motionless below them.
Simon Gilchrist was the first to reach him. He was already kneeling by the boy when she and Billy scrambled down beside him.
‘Don’t worry, Billy. He certainly isn’t dead,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Look, he’s coming round.’
It seemed that Bert’s only injury had been the blow on the head which had knocked him out. He did not appear to have any broken bones.
With an ease which surprised Jenny - Bert was a solidly-built lad of ten - Simon carried him up to the top of the quarry, and across the field to the road.
‘I doubt if Mrs. Bagley will be home yet. She’s a widow and she works at the chocolate factory in the city,’ Jenny said, as they drove Bert home.
At Willow Cottage, Simon sent Billy to fetch the doctor or, if he was out, the district nurse.
‘I think the boy will have to go to hospital to have his head X-rayed,’ he said, after Jenny had found the latch key under a pot of geraniums in the porch, and they had laid Bert down on the front room sofa.
It was only a few minutes before Billy came back with Doctor Mason.
‘Lucky you caught me. I was just starting out to a maternity case, so I can’t spare much time,’ he said briskly.
After a brisk examination of the boy, who was still very dazed and pale, he confirmed the need for an X-ray.
‘I’ll get an ambulance straight away. You’ll stay with him until it arrives, or until his mother gets back, won’t you, Jenny? I’m sorry I can’t stop myself, but Mrs. Barnes is in labour. It’s her first baby, so it may not arrive till midnight, but you can never be sure of these things.’
The nearest hospital was on the coast, six miles west of Farthing Green. It was not long before the ambulance arrived, and Bert was put into it, watched by a small crowd of neighbours and passers-by.
‘There’s no need for you to wait, Mr. Gilchrist,’ Jenny said, when it had driven off.
‘The boy’s mother will want to go to the hospital. I’ll run her over there,’ he said. ‘Let’s make a pot of tea, shall we? I don’t think Mrs. Bagley will mind in the circumstances.
What time does she usually get home?’
‘On the six o’clock bus, I think She’ll be dreadfully upset, poor woman. Bert’s all she’s got now.’
‘Don’t worry. I expect it’s only concussion. He’ll probably be risking his neck again by this time next week.
Where do you suppose she keeps the tea?’ he said, looking round the cramped, ill-lit cottage kitchen.
Jenny found the tea caddy and put the kettle on. ‘Now this place looks very picturesque from outside, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want to live in it,’ he remarked, as they waited for the water to boil.
‘No, it is pretty grim,’ she admitted.
‘And I expect most of the houses that make up your
“lovely unspoilt village” are not much better as far as comfort and convenience go,’ he went on. ‘Even the Rectory only looks attractive. I’ll bet it’s like an icehouse in the winter, and the kitchen is pure nineteenth-century.’
‘Not quite. We do have a modern gas cooker. But it is a cold house, and not very well planned for easy running,’
Jenny conceded reluctantly.
‘Yet you’re up in arms because I’m building a house which really is geared to modern life,’ he said, with a quizzically raised eyebrow.
‘Because modern houses may be ideal inside, but they always look so ghastly
About a quarter of a mile from the village, a small boy suddenly burst through the hedgerow ahead of them and made frantic stop signals.
‘It’s Billy Hunter,’ said Jenny, as her companion brought the car to a standstill. She wound down the window.
‘What’s the matter, Billy?’
‘Oh, miss, come quick. Bert’s fell down the cliff and I think he’s dead!’ The boy began to sob with shock and terror.
From the brink of the small disused quarry which was a favourite play place for the local children, they saw Bert lying motionless below them.
Simon Gilchrist was the first to reach him. He was already kneeling by the boy when she and Billy scrambled down beside him.
‘Don’t worry, Billy. He certainly isn’t dead,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Look, he’s coming round.’
It seemed that Bert’s only injury had been the blow on the head which had knocked him out. He did not appear to have any broken bones.
With an ease which surprised Jenny - Bert was a solidly-built lad of ten - Simon carried him up to the top of the quarry, and across the field to the road.
‘I doubt if Mrs. Bagley will be home yet. She’s a widow and she works at the chocolate factory in the city,’ Jenny said, as they drove Bert home.
At Willow Cottage, Simon sent Billy to fetch the doctor or, if he was out, the district nurse.
‘I think the boy will have to go to hospital to have his head X-rayed,’ he said, after Jenny had found the latch key under a pot of geraniums in the porch, and they had laid Bert down on the front room sofa.
It was only a few minutes before Billy came back with Doctor Mason.
‘Lucky you caught me. I was just starting out to a maternity case, so I can’t spare much time,’ he said briskly.
After a brisk examination of the boy, who was still very dazed and pale, he confirmed the need for an X-ray.
‘I’ll get an ambulance straight away. You’ll stay with him until it arrives, or until his mother gets back, won’t you, Jenny? I’m sorry I can’t stop myself, but Mrs. Barnes is in labour. It’s her first baby, so it may not arrive till midnight, but you can never be sure of these things.’
The nearest hospital was on the coast, six miles west of Farthing Green. It was not long before the ambulance arrived, and Bert was put into it, watched by a small crowd of neighbours and passers-by.
‘There’s no need for you to wait, Mr. Gilchrist,’ Jenny said, when it had driven off.
‘The boy’s mother will want to go to the hospital. I’ll run her over there,’ he said. ‘Let’s make a pot of tea, shall we? I don’t think Mrs. Bagley will mind in the circumstances.
What time does she usually get home?’
‘On the six o’clock bus, I think She’ll be dreadfully upset, poor woman. Bert’s all she’s got now.’
‘Don’t worry. I expect it’s only concussion. He’ll probably be risking his neck again by this time next week.
Where do you suppose she keeps the tea?’ he said, looking round the cramped, ill-lit cottage kitchen.
Jenny found the tea caddy and put the kettle on. ‘Now this place looks very picturesque from outside, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want to live in it,’ he remarked, as they waited for the water to boil.
‘No, it is pretty grim,’ she admitted.
‘And I expect most of the houses that make up your
“lovely unspoilt village” are not much better as far as comfort and convenience go,’ he went on. ‘Even the Rectory only looks attractive. I’ll bet it’s like an icehouse in the winter, and the kitchen is pure nineteenth-century.’
‘Not quite. We do have a modern gas cooker. But it is a cold house, and not very well planned for easy running,’
Jenny conceded reluctantly.
‘Yet you’re up in arms because I’m building a house which really is geared to modern life,’ he said, with a quizzically raised eyebrow.
‘Because modern houses may be ideal inside, but they always look so ghastly
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