The Crowstarver Read Free Page B

miaow rang out, but his mouth had not moved. He was staring down at Spider below.
    â€˜Miaow!’ called Spider again. At this the tomcat leaped down from the wall and ran, tail held high, across the lawn, straight towards the child.
    For a fraction of a second Kathie Sparrow felt a cold chill of fear, but before she could move a muscle, the cat reached Spider and proceeded to rub its big round head against his face, while he in his turn clasped and stroked the animal. It was plain that they were the greatest of friends. Even from the kitchen window the tom’s purrs could be plainly heard.
    At the sight of the woman coming out of the cottage, the ginger cat, accustomed as he was to being chased out of other people’s gardens, ran off and leaped the wall and was gone. Only the purring continued, once again, like the miaow, a perfect imitation.
    That evening Kathie could not keep this news to herself. Once the child had been put to bed, she told Tom, about the owl, about thecuckoo, about the cat. ‘I couldn’t believe my ears,’ she said. ‘He had all those different sounds exactly.’
    â€˜Well I never!’ said the shepherd. I’d sooner he started to talk, said some proper words, he thought. ‘He weren’t frightened of thik old cat then?’ he said.
    â€˜Oh no! He’s ever so fond of animals, I’m sure. You’ve only got to see him with our Molly.’
    For ever since Spider had been a tiny baby, the collie bitch had accorded him a special devotion. To be sure she was first and foremost Tom’s dog, to do his bidding and respect his wishes, but she seemed very attached to the child, lying by his cot when her duties permitted, and later, once he was mobile, delighting in being close to him and being touched and stroked by him. The touching and the stroking were always very gentle, and in return Molly would lick him as though he was her puppy.
    â€˜Just as well he is fond of animals,’ said Tom, ‘if he’s going to work on the farm when he’s older.’
    â€˜He might not,’ Kathie said. ‘You never know, he might learn a trade, go to work in town perhaps. In three or four years he’ll be going to school.’
    There was a short silence. Something told the shepherd that the moment had come when he no longer could or should continue this pretence. ‘Kath love,’ he said. ‘I reckon ’tis time to stop beating about the bush. Let’s be straight with one another, we always have. He’s slow, our Spider, isn’t he now?’
    â€˜He’ll catch up,’ said Kathie hastily. ‘Look how clever he is, making all those noises.’
    â€˜Now Kath,’ said Tom gently,‘I do know and you do know. I been saying it to myself for a long while now.’
    â€˜Oh Tom,’ said his wife. ‘So have I. He’s not normal, is he?’
    The shepherd shook his head. ‘What’s the matter with him we shall never know, I don’t suppose,’ he said. ‘Maybe it was something to do with his birthing or maybe it was the fault of his mother or his father, whoever they were. But we’re his parents now and it’s our job to look on the bright side. The boy may not look all that strong but he’s healthy, so far as we know, and he’s happy.’
    â€˜And you never know, Tom, we might be wrong!’ cried Kathie. ‘We might be imagining it. After all, no-one in the village has said anything to me about him, not even Betty Ogle. Have thefarm men said anything to you?’
    â€˜No,’ said Tom. Not yet, he thought.
    Next day he and Molly were up on the downs with the flock. The ewes were Border Leicesters, white-legged, white-faced, and imperiously Roman-nosed. Tom’s critical gaze swept over them, elegant after shearing. With them was this year’s crop of lambs, part grown now and showing by their colouring that they had been sired by black-faced Suffolk