The old woman sighed, whipped the wool twice round her thumb, and drew the bone needle through. She was casting on.
“I was thinking of your Uncle William, darling,” she said quietly.
“My Australian Uncle William?” said Kezia. She had another.
“Yes, of course.”
“The one I never saw?”
“That was the one.”
“Well, what happened to him?” Kezia knew perfectly well, but she wanted to be told again.
“He went to the mines, and he got a sunstroke there and died,” said old Mrs. Fairfield.
Kezia blinked and considered the picture again.... A little man fallen over like a tin soldier by the side of a big black hole.
“Does it make you sad to think about him, grandma?” She hated her grandma to be sad.