‘New church?’ said Mary, with a sinking heart. ‘But Newchurch is miles and miles away from us! I drove here once with father. Are you sure it’s the right road?’
‘It’s right by what I heard at the Pound House, when Mick talked of walking over to Bron. It’s right enough . . . only the hills make it seem longer.’
A little later she asked him anxiously what the time was.
‘Don’t you know my watch is gone?’ he replied irritably. ‘By what it was in Newchurch I reckon we’ve a good four hour before dark. And then there’s a moon.’
They crossed another ridge of hills. Half-way up the slope Morgan said that he was tired, and asked his mother to carry him. She took him up in her arms without a word and dragged along behind Abner. He looked back at her, questioning, for the slowness of her pace impeded him. She knew what he was thinking.
‘I can’t go faster,’ she said, trying to smile; but at the next brow she had to stop to fetch her breath, putting Morgan down on the bank beside her under a bush of green broom.
‘I want to walk again now, mam,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Are we nearly there?’
He had pestered her so often with this question that for a moment her strained temper gave way.
‘Don’t worry, Morgan!’ she said sharply. ‘I’ll tell you when we’re there.’
Abner laughed, and she turned on him with annoyance. She thought he was laughing at her irritability, but found that his eyes were kindly.