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‘you’ve made your own beds, you know. You’ll have to lie in them. I’m sorry, kids, but you’ll have to make the best of it. Go home and fix yourselves some lunch. I’ll chase after Miss Godwin, and tell her to wait. All right?’
    Paul turned a hostile eye on Adrian. ‘It’s all your fault,’ he said. ‘You and your big whoppers!’
    â€˜Enough of that,’ snapped the foreman. ‘You kids are not going to solve your problem by dwelling on it. You’re all as much to blame as the other. Perhaps you’ll learn a lesson from it—not to tempt your elders too far. You didn’t think they’d do it to you and I didn’t either, but I’m not a father. Go on home. Get your lunches.’
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    Miss Godwin was stopped by a voice calling her name. She was sure, for a moment or two, that she must have imagined it, for when she looked back she could see no one. She could see nothing of life except the smoke from a few kitchen fires, not yet burnt out, rising vertically, and the still persistent dust haze lying over the road and the rooftops.
    â€˜Miss Godwin!’
    There was no doubt that time. She was certainly being called and it could have been by none other than Frank Tobias.
    â€˜Yes, Mr Tobias. This way.’
    She saw him then, trudging up the steep path from the road, obviously breathless, and wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. A pleasant man, this one. Kept to himself. Minded his own business. But always near at hand when something needed to be done. A widower was Mr Tobias; his wife had died seven years ago.
    He came up to her. ‘Must be getting old,’ he panted.
    â€˜Aren’t we all? What’s the trouble, Mr Tobias?’
    â€˜Much too much trouble for my liking.’
    â€˜Indeed?’
    â€˜Seven of the children have been left behind. There was a fight between young Adrian and Paul.’
    â€˜Left behind, Mr Tobias, because two boys had a fight?’ Miss Godwin was astonished. ‘Boys will always fight, Mr Tobias. If a boy doesn’t have a fight occasionally there’s something wrong with the boy. What’s wrong with our older generation? Have they forgotten they were young themselves? Left them behind? Oh dear, dear, dear!’
    Frank Tobias never quite knew how to handle this unusual woman, but he did his best. ‘There’s more to it than that, Miss Godwin. The children asked me specially not to tell you why, but I think you’d better know. It concerns you.’
    Miss Godwin’s heart began to flutter. She couldn’t even guess how it concerned her, but she was afraid it might have been sentimental nonsense, or even worse, pity for her, because she was alone. Suddenly, she went very pale. She was more full of pity for her fellow men and women than anyone within miles of her, but she could not bear to become the object of pity herself.
    She leant on her walking stick and forced herself to speak calmly. ‘Very well, Mr. Tobias. Perhaps you’d better tell me.’
    He told her the story from the beginning to that sullen end he had witnessed, seven unhappy children making their ways to their respective homes. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she had feared. She was saddened, but touched that Paul should have been concerned for her safety. That was the root of it—her safety and the possibility that Adrian had lied. Of course, Adrian hadn’t lied. Really, she was rather annoyed with Paul. He had shown much less than his usual good sense. He had jumped to conclusions, something she had endeavoured to teach her children never to do. It didn’t occur to her that she was jumping to conclusions herself.
    â€˜Very well,’ she said. ‘As far as I am concerned you have not told me. What the children elect to say is their own business. I will wait for them here…Good morning, Mr Tobias.’
    The foreman didn’t know what to do with