On The Beach

"Well-no. The last lot I bought was sometime back in the winter."

Peter yawned. "Better let her mend them for you, sir. You'll have a job getting any more."

"If that's the way it is," Dwight said, "I'd be very grateful." He turned to the girl. "But you don't have to do it. I can do them for myself." He grinned. "I can, you know. I can do them quite well."

She sniffed audibly. "About as well as I can run your submarine. You'd better make up a parcel of everything you've got that needs mending, and let me have it. That shirt included. Have you got the button?"

"I think I lost that."

"You should be more careful. When a button comes off, you don't just chuck it away."

"If you talk to me like that," he said grimly, "I really will give you everything I've got that needs mending. I'll bury you in the stuff."

"Now we're getting somewhere," she remarked. "I thought you'd been concealing things. You'd better put it all into a cabin trunk, or two cabin trunks, and let me have them."

"There's quite a lot," he said.

"I knew it. If there's too much I'll shove some of it off on to Mummy and she'll probably distribute it all round the district. The First Naval Member lives quite near us; Mummy'll probably give Lady Hartman your underpants to mend."

He looked at her in mock alarm. "Say, Scorpion certainly would need another captain, then."

She said, "This conversation's going round in circles. You let me have everything that you've got that needs mending, anyway, and I'll see if I can't get you dressed up like a naval officer."

"Okay," he said. "Where shall I bring the stuff to?"

She thought for a moment. "You're on leave, aren't you?"

"On and off," he said. "We're giving leave over ten days, but I don't get that much. The captain has to stick around, or thinks he has."

"Probably do the ship a world of good if he didn't," she said. "You'd better bring them down to me at Berwick, and stay a couple of nights. Can you drive a bullock?"

"I've never driven one," he said. "I could try."

She eyed him speculatively. "I suppose you'd be all right. If you can command a submarine you probably can't do much harm to one of our bullocks. Daddy's got a cart horse now called Prince, but I don't suppose he'd let you touch that. He'd probably let you drive one of the bullocks."

"That's all right with me," he said meekly. "What am I supposed to do with the bullock?"

"Spread the dung," she said. "The cow pats. It has a harness that pulls a chain harrow over the grass. You walk beside it, leading it with a halter. You have a stick to tap it with as well. It's a very restful occupation. Good for the nerves."

"I'm sure it is," he said. "What's it for? I mean, why do you do it?"

"It makes a good pasture," she said. "If you just leave the droppings where they are, the grass comes up in rank tufts and the animals won't eat it. Then the pasture isn't half as good next year as if you'd harrowed it. Daddy's very particular about harrowing each pasture after the beasts come out. We used to do it with a tractor. Now we do it with a bullock."

"This is all so that he'd get a better pasture next year?"

"Yes, it is," she said firmly. "All right, you needn't say it. It's good farming to harrow the paddocks, and Daddy's a good farmer."

"I wasn't going to say it. How many acres does he farm?"

"About five hundred. We do Angus beef cattle and sheep."

"You shear the sheep for the wool?"

"That's right."

"When do you do that?" he asked. "I've never seen a shearing."

"Usually we shear in October," she said. "Daddy's a bit worried that if we leave it till October this year it won't get done. He's talking of putting it forward and shearing in August."

"That makes sense," he observed gravely. He bent forward to put on his shoes. "It's a long time since I was on a farm," he said. "I'd like to come and spend a day or two, if you can put up with me. I expect I can make myself useful, one way or another."

"Don't worry about that," she said. "Daddy'll see you make yourself useful. It's going to be a godsend to him, having another man on the place."

He smiled. "And you'd really like me to bring all the mending with me?"

"I'll never forgive you if you just turn up with a couple of pairs of socks and say that your pyjamas are all right. Besides, Lady Hartman's looking forward to doing your pants. She doesn't know it, but she is."

"I'll take your word for it."

She drove him down to the station that evening in the Abbott buggy. As he got down from the vehicle she said, "I'll expect you on Tuesday, at Berwick station, in the afternoon. Give me a ring about the time of your train if you can. Otherwise I'll be there at about four o'clock, and wait."

He nodded. "I'll call you. You really mean that about bringing all the mending?"

"I'll never forgive you if you don't."

"Okay." He hesitated. "It'll be dark by the time you get home," he said. "Look after yourself."

She smiled at him. "I'll be all right. See you on Tuesday. Good night, Dwight."