A Mother’s Gift: Two Classic Novels. Josephine Cox

of chaos she’s been up to now!’

      He waved a hand to let her know he was on his way. ‘I’d best go,’ he grumbled, ‘before the house comes tumbling down round our ears!’ His good-natured laugh told Ben he would probably forgive the housekeeper her latest mishap.

      ‘What about the handbag?’ Ben called after Mike Gray. ‘What if it doesn’t belong to them?’

      ‘Then it will belong to someone else, I suppose,’ the man turned and answered. ‘But we won’t know until you ask, will we? Just take the handbag with you. You can return it to Knudsden House, after you’ve seen to your animals.’

      His wink was meaningful. ‘Besides, I saw you and young Mary chatting, and if you don’t mind me saying, I thought you made a right handsome pair. I’m sure she would be very pleased if you turned up on her front doorstep.’

      Then he was away, rushing down the lane with a sense of urgency, following the small round person tripping on in front, shouting over her shoulder and seeming frantic about something or another.

      Smiling to himself, Ben went on his way. A vicar’s life wasn’t as dull as he’d imagined. Then he thought about Mary, and his mood softened. The vicar was right: he and the girl had got on very well, though whether she really would be pleased to see him turn up on her doorstep was another matter altogether.

      Away from the church-grounds and into open countryside, he set the dog loose. ‘And don’t go splashing through the brook!’ he called after the big animal. ‘I haven’t got time to give you a bath today.’ He had more important things to do. Uppermost in his mind was the proposed visit to Knudsden House.

      Striding across the field, he kept a wary eye on the dog; when the Labrador took off after a rabbit, he called him back. ‘Here, Chuck! Good boy.’

      On his master’s call, Chuck came bounding back, but was soon off again at the sight of another dog being set loose across the field. Seeing the reason for his pet’s excitement, Ben let him have his head, smiling at the sight of Chuck canoodling with the smaller, prettier animal. ‘Casanova! Chase anything in a skirt, so you would,’ he said aloud.

      Covering the ground at a fast pace, he drew his coat tighter about him; the wind was getting up, the skies were darkening and the smell of storm was strong in the air. He called the dog to heel, but by now he was nowhere in sight. ‘Chuck! Here, boy!’ He scoured the landscape, and called again, but the dog was gone.

      Ben was nearly home now. Quickening his steps, he made for the top of the rise. From there he had the world at his feet, and the dog in his sights. ‘C’mon, fella!’ But Chuck was too engrossed in dancing after his fancy piece. With a sterner voice Ben caught his attention. ‘Here, boy!’ he bellowed.

      With ears pricked and head bent to the wind, the dog raced up the hill and was soon close to heel. A few minutes later the two of them were hurrying down the path to the farmhouse.

      ‘I’m off now, Mr Morris.’ The old man came through the field gate and clicked it shut. ‘I shan’t be sorry to get home,’ he told Ben. ‘It’s turned real chilly all of a sudden.’ Taking off his flat cap, he scratched his head and looked up to the skies. ‘I reckon it’s blowing up a real nasty storm.’

      Ben agreed. ‘You’re right,’ he observed. ‘Mind how you go and I’ll see you tomorrow.’

      When Ben bought the farm, old Les had been part and parcel of the place. Ben had never regretted agreeing to keep him on because he was hardworking and reliable, a real treasure; besides which he had a cheery wife to keep, and a lazy good-for-nothing grandson, who showed up from time to time looking for a handout, and though he was more trouble than he was worth, poor old Les never turned him away.

      ‘I’ve stripped the tree-branches and brought them down,’ Les informed him now. ‘You’ll find them all stood up at the back of the barn, ready for chopping. By the time you’ve finished, there’ll be enough to keep the whole of Salford in firewood. Oh, and I’ve levelled that back field just as you asked – though you’ll need a new axle for the tractor. If you ask me it won’t last above another month at best.’

      Quick to agree, Ben put a proposition to the old fella. ‘I think it’s time we had a new tractor altogether. What would you say to that, eh?’

      The old man’s face lit up. ‘I’d say that were a blooming good idea!’

      ‘Right then. We’ll make arrangements to go and look at a few. Now get off home, Les, and take a well-earned rest.’

      ‘I could stay and help you with the animals if you like?’ From the moment he had shaken Ben’s hand, Les had recognised the good in him. His first impressions had proved right, for Ben was fair-minded, caring and generous, and though he had never worked on the land before he bought Far Crest Farm, he had taken to it like a duck to water.

      ‘The missus won’t mind,’ Les persisted. ‘Just say the word and I’ll be right behind you. We’ll have that lot fed in no time at all.’

      Ben shook his head. ‘Thanks all the same, but I can manage well enough on my own.’

      ‘I’m not past it yet, I’ll have you know,’ the old man argued. ‘And it weren’t my fault that the boar took against me.’

      ‘I know you’re not past it. And I also know it wasn’t your fault that the boar took against you. But he did, and you were almost killed, and I’m not prepared to take that chance again.’

      Ben didn’t want to hurt the old man’s feelings, but if he hadn’t managed to distract the boar that day, Les would have been killed for sure. As it was, he suffered a broken leg and had been left with a slight limp. Ben still felt guilty. ‘Look, we’ve gone over all this time and again, and I won’t change my mind,’ he said gently, then: ‘Besides, don’t you think you do enough round here already?’

      ‘I could do more, if only you’d let me.’

      ‘There’s no need, Les. The arrangement we have works very well. We do the ploughing and sowing between us. I keep the hedges down, you bring in the old branches, and I chop them up. With the help of casual work when the harvest is got in, this little farm runs like clockwork, so let’s not spoil a good thing, eh?’

      The old man shrugged. ‘If you say so, Mr Morris.’

      ‘I do, but don’t think I’m not grateful for the offer. I’ll let you into a secret, shall I? I enjoy feeding the animals.’ He grinned. ‘They’ve begun to think I’m their mummy.’

      The old man laughed. ‘You certainly have a way with ’em, I’ll say that for yer.’ He pulled the neb of his cap down over his forehead. ‘If yer sure then, I’d best make tracks. I expect the missus will have the tea on the table and the kettle already singing away.’

      Before they parted, Ben assured him quietly, ‘Les – you do know I could never manage this place without you?’

      That brought a smile to the old farmhand’s face, for he was well aware of how Ben Morris had bypassed younger, stronger men in order to keep him in work. ‘You’re a good man, Mr Morris, God bless you.’ With that he was quickly gone, away down the path, off to the village, and home to his darling woman.

      For the next couple of hours, Ben was kept busy. He had a tried and tested feeding routine; despite this, it was not only a dirty job but a time-consuming one, too. There were two hundred chickens in the hen-house; twenty fat porkers in the pig-pens; the same number of milking cows in the small barn, and a small flock of thirty sheep in the big barn.

      Feeding them all took between two and three hours in the morning and the same at night, and when they were let loose in the fields, all the barns and sheds had to be mucked out, ready for when the weather turned and the animals were brought back in again.

      As he went inside the farmhouse, Ben gave a sigh of relief. He had fallen in love with the place the moment he set foot through the door. It was like a calm after the storm, a haven where he could lick