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Stirling.
    ‘Possibly, yes,’ replied Ms Tricklebank.
    ‘Which is at Urebank.’ said Elisabeth.
    ‘Well, I don’t like the sound of that for a start!’ exclaimed Mrs Pocock.
    ‘Nothing has yet been decided,’ said the senior education officer, ‘but that could be an option. This meeting is just to acquaint you with the situation. There will be further discussions and consultations in due course.’
    ‘Well, I don’t want us to join up with Urebank,’ said Mrs Pocock.
    ‘You may not have a choice,’ replied Ms Tricklebank.

Chapter 4
    Elisabeth had a sleepless night. She lay in bed listening to the wind tugging fretfully at the window frames and a thin rain pattering on the glass. The term had started so well, she thought, and now there was this bolt from the blue. The idea of Barton-in-the-Dale school combining with Urebank and her having to work with Robin Richardson, the headmaster there, filled her with a deep dismay.
    She had crossed swords with the man in question soon after she had started in her new post. Now it appeared they might very well be working together – in what capacity she just did not know.
    The following morning Elisabeth looked out of the kitchen window. The weather reflected her mood. It was a dull, cold, overcast Saturday, the sky a blanket of gloomy grey clouds. Danny was in her garden, busy digging in the borders, his elbows moving up and down like pistons. He was dressed in his grandfather’s old waxed jacket and substantial rubber boots, and wore a flat cap a size too large pulled down over his forehead. It was good to see him so happy. It had been hard for the boy the previous year.
    She put on her outdoor coat and joined him.
    ‘Hello, Danny,’ she said, coming up behind him, her hands dug deep in her coat pockets.
    The boy jumped as if touched with a cattle prod and dropped the spade. ‘By ’eck, Mrs Devine, tha med me jump.’
    ‘Sorry about creeping up on you like that,’ said Elisabeth. ‘You looked as if you were in a world of your own.’
    ‘I were just thinkin’ about mi granddad,’ the boy told her. ‘He allus ’ated this time o’ year. He used to stick ’is ’ead out o’ caravan dooer and say, “Nowt growin’, nowt movin’ and so cowld you can ’ear yer bones a-clickin.”’
    ‘It’s a bit chilly for doing this sort of work, isn’t it?’ Elisabeth asked. ‘Perhaps you ought to wait until it gets warmer.’
    ‘Nay miss. I was stuck in t’house. I likes to be out and about, and yer garden needs fettlin’. Now I’ve left them pile o’ leaves ovver theer behind yon tree ’cos you’ll like as not ’ave some ’edgehogs in there.’
    ‘Yes, I think I have,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Last summer I saw them on the lawn at dusk.’
    ‘They’d ’ave been snuffling for food,’ Danny told her. ‘’Edehogs won’t be out at this time o’year. They’ll be wrapped up in balls under them leaves. Yer need to look after yer ’edgehogs, Mrs Devine, ’cos they eat slugs and snails what can kill yer plants. They’re t’oldest mammals in t’world, tha knaas, but pesticides what kill yer beetles and caterpillars mean they go ’ungry, so they need feedin’. Yer ’edgehogs that is, not yer beetles and caterpillars. What they really like are chopped peanuts, peanut butter and meat scraps, but don’t put any out now ’cos you’ll attract yer rats.’
    ‘I’ll remember that,’ said Elisabeth.
    ‘And t‘branch o’ yon sycamore tree, one what got split oppen wi’ lightning, that wants cutting off. It might come down on yer cottage in a strong wind and end up through yer roof.’
    ‘Yes, I’ve been meaning to get that seen to,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Don’t you go trying to do it.’
    ‘Nay miss, I don’t like ’eights,’ Danny told her. The boy patted his pocket. ‘I’ll put some food out for t’birds afore I go, an’ all.’
    ‘So you’re the mystery bird-feeder are you? I guessed it might be you. That’s very kind of you,