Free Harbinger of Spring by Hilda Pressley Page B

money and that I didn ’ t have as much right to protest. ’
    ‘ But opening a new shop was your idea! Why are you changing it all at once? You really are exasperating. ’
    ‘ It was just a notion that came into my head. I should have thought before I spoke. Mind if I have the television on again? ’
    ‘ No, put it on if you wish. It seems a pity not to use the money, though. ’
    ‘ I suppose it does. ’ He walked halfway to the television set, then turned about.
    ‘ I ’ ll tell you what you could do, if you like. You buy the property when we find one we want, then it to the business. That way we would be equal partners and you ’ d have a fair return on your capital. ’ He laughed. ‘ If the roof started leaking you could write to yourself asking for it to be repaired. ’
    Sara laughed too. ‘ The idea sounds super. ’
    He turned the television on again and sprawled back on the settee. Sara sat in one of the easy chairs and tried to take an interest in the horse-racing, but found the screamed-out commentary more than she could endure. She made an excuse which Desmond did not hear and went back to the kitchen. For a moment or two she gazed out of the window, then the bright sky invited her out of doors. She wandered along the path where she had made an attempt at clearance and suddenly felt a need to do something energetic. She brought a digging fork from the shed and as she tried to force the tines into the hard earth she saw a robin less than a yard away from her, its head cocked to one side as it regarded her with one very bright eye.
    Sara straightened up very slowly. Never until this moment had she ever seen a robin at such close quarters, and she had never believed one could have so red a breast. Christmas card artists were not guilty of overcolouring, after all.
    Almost holding her breath, Sara watched the bird intently, sure that at any moment it would fly away. Then it darted to where her fork was still stuck in the ground, made a lightning peck and hopped about a foot away, a small white grub in its beak.
    Sara moved cautiously to press the fork further in and lever up half frozen earth. She suppressed a squeal of delight as the robin hopped into the small hole she had made and pecked rapidly. She moved the fork again and it soon became apparent to her that the bird had no fear whatever either of her or of the implement she was clumsily wielding.
    A half hour passed and it seemed the robin had an insatiable appetite. Sara straightened a back which was beginning to ache and as she rested her hands on the fork the robin flew to perch on top of them. It regarded her for a few seconds, then hopped back into the hole she had made and resumed its pecking.
    Sara experienced a feeling she had never known before. It was at one time both a transport of delight and an intense yearning for the natural things of life. She began to understand that in spite of the magnetism of big city existence, life could not be lived there to the full. She still watched the robin, but her thoughts now strayed to Hugh. What a wonderful career he had chosen, studying birds, photographing them and writing books about them. Someone like him should have inherited Fen c hurch Mill, not an ignoramus about nature—a townie like herself. Someone had to live and work in the big cities, of course, or there would be no one to print the nature-lovers ’ books and no great libraries to house them when they were printed. All the same ...
    As she moved down the path, a thrush winged past her and settled on the edge of the hole she had dug. It poised for a moment, then made a sudden stab at the ground. The next second it was braced in a tug-of-war with a long brown worm, a losing war for the worm. She laughed and stabbed her fork into the ground again, and immediately the robin flew to explore at her feet. Then it seemed suddenly alarmed and darted in swift flight towards the jungle thicket at the end of the garden. Sara saw it disappear