‘Don’t do that,’ Una called down. ‘It wasn’t his fault.’
‘How do you know what I’m beating him for?’ she answered.
‘For not seeing us,’ said Dan. ‘He was standing right in the smoke, and the wind was wrong for his nose, anyhow.’
The girl stopped beating the dog and the old woman fanned faster than ever.
‘You’ve fanned some of your feathers out of the fire,’ said Una. ‘There’s a tail-feather by that chestnut-tot.’
‘What of it?’ said the old woman, as she grabbed it.
‘Oh, nothing!’ said Dan. ‘Only I’ve heard say that tail-feathers are as bad as the whole bird, sometimes.’
That was a saying of Hobden’s about pheasants. Old Hobden always burned all feather and fur before he sat down to eat.
‘Come on, mother,’ the man whispered. The old woman climbed into the van and the horses drew it out of the deep-rutted shaw on to the hard road.
The girl waved her hands and shouted something they could not catch.