Chapter 44

‘Nought.’ ‘Mum’s the word, then, chicks, or—’ Fringal nodded softly; made his mouth like the slit in a small country letter-box, winked, wheezed, opened the door charily and was gone. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: _The Gifts of Ralph Elmer to Gillian Lovekin_ IN the grey dusk of morning Fringal knelt beside the coop of the white hen, and by the light of a lantern lifted her into a basket. ‘I’ll miss yer,’ he observed to the furious, clucking, pecking white bundle of motherhood. As he placed each chick beneath her calming feath…