wore down the central band, though at a slower pace than the laden wagons. As I walked, I could often lose an hour simply watching the rhythmic plod of the patient beasts and the endless rotation of the great wheels.
My daring offer to take custody of Melchior never got further than my sisterâs ears. None of us set eyes on the dog for the rest of that day, but at nightfall he returned, on his belly, eyes rolling. It was Nam herself who set things right again. Still pale, wincing at any movement of her hand, she yet had the good heartedness to welcome his return.
âHe meant no hurt,â she said quickly to Mr Bricewood, who was watching his dog with narrow eyes. âPlease, sir, he has had punishment enough. It was my own foolish doing that he bit me. He had no notion my hand was inside the muslin.â
My father, who had taken his youngest onto his lap, pulled her to him, resting his bearded chin on her hair. âShe speaks the truth,â he said. âPray spare the dog for her sake. It would add greatly to her pain if he were to suffer on her behalf.â
âAnd am I to feed him the best beefsteak, too?â The words were disputatious, but his face was softening. Since no blame was attaching to his animal, he perhaps saw less need to demonstrate manly resolve in enforcing justice.
âSome scraps would not go amiss,â my father said flatly. After all, the moral balance did weigh in our favour if only because of Namâs injury. There was no certainty that her hand would ever be properly right again.
Mr Bricewoodâs second son, Henry, was close by, attending to their oxen as he always did at the end of each day. He was short in stature, to the point where he was often taken for a child instead of the almost-grown man he actually was. Reuben wasgiven to calling him
the dwarf
, at times. It made me sad to see him, so I did my best to avoid doing so. He had a handsome face, and rich chestnut hair. His shoulders were broad and his strength was never in doubt. But his lack of height was like an invisible burden on his back, loaded onto him through no fault or choice of his own. It was yet another reason for me to question the stark lack of justice in so many peopleâs lives.
Henryâs father and older brother Benjamin generally showed an impatience with him, throwing needless orders and instructions his way, bidding him hurry when he was already working deftly. Their victim would nod and bite his lip with a stoicism that only added to my melancholy feelings towards him. Now, his father called him over to our circle and pointed out the little girlâs damaged hand. âWhat should be done with the dog, think âee?â he asked.
Henry gave his father a slow look, from an unusual vantage of a few inches above him, since Mr Bricewood was sitting on a log and Henry was standing. Reuben, on another log close to our mother, gave a subdued snort, as if to scorn the idea of consulting Henry. My father looked behind him, with an expression I couldnât catch. The effect on Reuben was to make him hang his head, which made me glad.
âShoot him,â said Henry, in a loud ringing voice.
âYes!â echoed Fanny, my treacherous sister.
Mr Bricewood laughed so merrily he almost rolled off his seat. âWell done, boy. Fetch the rifle, and do it without more delay,â he gasped, when his laughter had abated.
âMe, sir?â
âWhyever not?â
âNo!â screamed Nam. âDonât shoot him!â
We all gazed round in the twilight, wondering where the dog might be, some of us hoping he would have the wit to hide, while knowing he would not. One summoning shout from his master and he would appear with absolute obedience.
âCan Henry handle a rifle?â wondered my father.
âThat we will shortly discover,â said Mr Bricewood.
âI cannot,â said Henry. ââTis too dark. And the dog is not here.â
âI
My daring offer to take custody of Melchior never got further than my sisterâs ears. None of us set eyes on the dog for the rest of that day, but at nightfall he returned, on his belly, eyes rolling. It was Nam herself who set things right again. Still pale, wincing at any movement of her hand, she yet had the good heartedness to welcome his return.
âHe meant no hurt,â she said quickly to Mr Bricewood, who was watching his dog with narrow eyes. âPlease, sir, he has had punishment enough. It was my own foolish doing that he bit me. He had no notion my hand was inside the muslin.â
My father, who had taken his youngest onto his lap, pulled her to him, resting his bearded chin on her hair. âShe speaks the truth,â he said. âPray spare the dog for her sake. It would add greatly to her pain if he were to suffer on her behalf.â
âAnd am I to feed him the best beefsteak, too?â The words were disputatious, but his face was softening. Since no blame was attaching to his animal, he perhaps saw less need to demonstrate manly resolve in enforcing justice.
âSome scraps would not go amiss,â my father said flatly. After all, the moral balance did weigh in our favour if only because of Namâs injury. There was no certainty that her hand would ever be properly right again.
Mr Bricewoodâs second son, Henry, was close by, attending to their oxen as he always did at the end of each day. He was short in stature, to the point where he was often taken for a child instead of the almost-grown man he actually was. Reuben wasgiven to calling him
the dwarf
, at times. It made me sad to see him, so I did my best to avoid doing so. He had a handsome face, and rich chestnut hair. His shoulders were broad and his strength was never in doubt. But his lack of height was like an invisible burden on his back, loaded onto him through no fault or choice of his own. It was yet another reason for me to question the stark lack of justice in so many peopleâs lives.
Henryâs father and older brother Benjamin generally showed an impatience with him, throwing needless orders and instructions his way, bidding him hurry when he was already working deftly. Their victim would nod and bite his lip with a stoicism that only added to my melancholy feelings towards him. Now, his father called him over to our circle and pointed out the little girlâs damaged hand. âWhat should be done with the dog, think âee?â he asked.
Henry gave his father a slow look, from an unusual vantage of a few inches above him, since Mr Bricewood was sitting on a log and Henry was standing. Reuben, on another log close to our mother, gave a subdued snort, as if to scorn the idea of consulting Henry. My father looked behind him, with an expression I couldnât catch. The effect on Reuben was to make him hang his head, which made me glad.
âShoot him,â said Henry, in a loud ringing voice.
âYes!â echoed Fanny, my treacherous sister.
Mr Bricewood laughed so merrily he almost rolled off his seat. âWell done, boy. Fetch the rifle, and do it without more delay,â he gasped, when his laughter had abated.
âMe, sir?â
âWhyever not?â
âNo!â screamed Nam. âDonât shoot him!â
We all gazed round in the twilight, wondering where the dog might be, some of us hoping he would have the wit to hide, while knowing he would not. One summoning shout from his master and he would appear with absolute obedience.
âCan Henry handle a rifle?â wondered my father.
âThat we will shortly discover,â said Mr Bricewood.
âI cannot,â said Henry. ââTis too dark. And the dog is not here.â
âI