The Cone Gatherers by Robin Jenkins

a minute or two left to ask your advice about a different matter altogether.’
    â€˜It would be a mistake,’ she said, in such a low voice he could scarcely hear, ‘to let affection die in you altogether.’
    He stretched out his hand and laid it on hers.
    â€˜Given the circumstances, Effie,’ he whispered, ‘I could blossom again like a gean-tree.’
    With a shudder, she withdrew her hand.
    â€˜What was it you wanted to ask me?’ she murmured.
    â€˜Oh, aye. You’re a Lendrick woman, Effie, and you know all that goes on there.’
    â€˜I like to take an interest in folks’ affairs.’
    â€˜Which is to your credit, surely. Maybe you know we’ve got a couple of men from Ardmore Forest working in our wood here.’
    â€˜I heard about it. They’re gathering cones.’
    â€˜That’s right. Cones are really seed, tree seed. Before the war this country got its supplies from abroad, from Norway and Canada and Corsica, I believe, among other places. You’ll appreciate better than most that our ships have more important cargoes to fetch these days. Yet if we’re to replace the multitude of trees being felled for the war, we must have seed. It’s the same with human beings: after a big war they’ve got to be replaced as well; but in their case the seed’s easily come by.’
    â€˜I don’t think this is what you wanted to talk to me about, John.’
    â€˜No, Effie. To tell you the truth, I’m as tongue-tied as a tree with everybody else; with you I talk, it seems, too much.’
    â€˜I didn’t mean that. I was thinking of the time.’
    â€˜These two men from Ardmore, Effie. I wonder if you can tell me anything about them.’
    â€˜Ardmore’s a good eight miles out of Lendrick,’ she said, ‘though most of the men there come in on Saturdays. But I know the two you mean.’
    â€˜Brothers,’ he murmured, ‘one a hunchback, the other tall and dour.’
    She nodded. ‘Their name’s McPhie. They’re well enough known in Lendrick.’
    â€˜I thought they would be.’
    Something in his tone made her glance up.
    â€˜There’s nothing known to their discredit, if that’s what you mean, John. It’s true the small one’s not as God meant a man to be; but that’s God’s business, not ours.’
    â€˜Maybe it is our business, Effie.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’ She glanced at the clock. ‘I hope you’re watching your time.’
    â€˜How long have they been at Ardmore?’
    â€˜I couldn’t say for certain. About four or five years.’
    â€˜They’re quartered in the wood yonder in a hut as small as a rabbit-hutch, and as filthy.’
    â€˜Is that their fault? Simple men like them, John, aren’t asked where they’d like to live. But what’s all the mystery about? What have they done?’
    â€˜I’ll tell you. But it’s what they might do that worries me.’
    She waited for him to explain. He paused, searching for words that would bind her and him and the imbecile dwarf together in common defilement.
    â€˜The hunchback’s not right in the head,’ he said.
    â€˜He’s a bit simple.’
    â€˜More than that, Effie. Indecency’s not simple. The papers are often full of what such misbegotten beasts have done.’ He smiled, marvelling at the steadiness of his hand holding the tea cup; within him was a roaring, like a storm through a tree. ‘I’m referring, of course, to assaults on wee lassies. There was one reported just the other week.’ He began to describe it, calmly, in the coarsest terms he knew.
    She stopped him. ‘I understand well enough,’ she said.‘I’m not a child. But it’s a serious charge to make against any man, stooped or straight, daft or wise.’
    â€˜I’m making no charge, as yet. But I’ve got to remember that