When they reached Hackett’s Cottages they found the door of number eleven open and a light shining in it. John Fellows came out to meet them and insisted on shaking hands with the doctor. It was obvious that he had been sampling the bottle of brandy that is always in evidence on these occasions. ‘She’s all right,’ he said. ‘She’s all right, doctor. A tough wench she is! Tougher than the other one.’ He turned on Abner. ‘Get the fire lit. Sharp, now! Else I’ll drap thee one. Fill the big kettle. Plenty of hot water. That’s it, isn’t it, doctor? I know . . . don’t I, doctor? . . . I know.’ Somebody came limping downstairs. It was Mrs Moseley. ‘What . . .?’ shouted the doctor. ‘What’s the meaning of this? What do you mean by it, woman? Didn’t I tell you to stay in bed till I let you out? Of all the damned pig-headed foolishness . . ‘ Mrs Moseley smiled her tired, patient smile; but the doctor knew she was in pain. He couldn’t help admiring her. ‘You’ll forgive me all right, doctor,’ she said. ‘Now, what could I do with the poor young thing lying here like that . . . and after all I’d promised Mr Fellows here? Don’t you remember the last time?’ ‘No, I’m hanged if I’ll forgive you,’ he smiled. ‘You’re an obstinate old fool. Now run along upstairs. If you lose your leg it’s not my fault.’ Abner was left alone in the kitchen with his father. While the boy raked out the ashes from the grate and lit the fire John Fellows took the brandy from the cupboard and had another swig, putting the neck of the bottle in his mouth. He said ‘Ah!’ and smacked his lips. Then he went out into the strip of garden at the back and walked violently up and down. It was almost light when he returned. He was sweating and quarrelsome. Abner had a bad time of it. Now that his poor mother was suffering like this John Fellows hoped he’d be sorry for the way he’d used her. If anything went wrong—he implied gloomily that something probably would—Abner would be to blame for it. To give his fuddled brain the chance for indignation that it wanted there entered the dog Tiger, fawning, ingratiating. He had escaped from Mrs Moseley’s house and followed the scent of her or of Abner. He jumped up at Abner, yelping with joy.