Free The White Horse of Zennor by Michael Morpurgo Page B

rot in the ground for the sake of a ridiculous legend.
    One summer evening Thomas finished the milking as usual and drove the cows out into the fields. He stood for a moment in his waterproof apron surveying the cows as they meandered out towards the sunset that had turned the still sea into a lake of red gold. He was a completely happy and fulfilled man at that moment, proud of his smart black-and-white milkers. With a sense of deep satisfaction he surveyed his land that stretched from the moor to the sea and back along the fields towards the village, and then feeling considerably proprietary he undid his apron and made his way back to the milking parlour.
    Had he not held on to the handle of the dairy dooras he opened it he would certainly have fallen over in astonishment, for seated cross-legged on his silver bulk tank was a little wrinkled old man, with fly-away grey hair and wide wild eyes and twitching eyebrows.
    â€˜Good evening, Thomas Barbery,’ he said in a strangely youthful voice that was as kind as his smile.
    Thomas was not one to doubt the evidence of his eyes, nor was he by nature either fearful or nervous; but he was now shocked into a state of such disbelief that he could find no words to answer the apparition on the bulk tank.
    â€˜I see you’ve lost your tongue. Thomas Barbery,’ the little old man went on, still smiling. ‘I won’t harm you – we’re not like that, not at all, not at all. You see, Thomas, we’re here to help you – we always have been only you didn’t want to believe it. All we want from you is a little consideration and kindness, so that we can live happily alongside each other.’
    â€˜Who are you?’ Thomas asked, finally finding the nerve to speak out. ‘Who are you and what do you want from me?’
    â€˜Questions must have answers,’ said the old manspringing down lightly from the bulk tank to the ground and wiping his hands on the back of his serge trousers. He would not stop smiling. ‘Perhaps I should introduce myself – it’s only polite. I knew your grandfather and your grandfather knew me. I knew your father and your father knew me, even though he never met me. But I’m quite sure he told you about us, and about our little arrangement. Yes, I can see he did, and I can see you didn’t believe him, did you? We’re the little people – I believe you call us knockers or pixies or boggarts, or what have you. All we do is to look after the countryside, to make sure that farms are properly cared for and that the animals are happy. In return all we ask is a bowl of milk each evening and a line of potatoes each year – we love potatoes. You may not have seen us before but we live here just as you do and we need food. Thomas Barbery, you’ve given us no milk and no potatoes since the day your good father died. And we’ve been watching you, watching you tearing the heart out of the farm with all your new buildings and your bulldozers, punishing the land and sucking it dry. We can take just so much Thomas Barbery, but when we saw that you werebeginning to poison the countryside with all your insecticides and your pesticides, and spraying the land with your weedkillers, well that was the final straw. You have broken the ancient agreement between your grandfather and the little people and I’ve come to ask you, to beg you to mend your ways before it is too late. In future Thomas Barbery, you must take from the land only as much as you put in. You must love the land. It’s what your father taught you. From now on you must restore our daily bowl of milk from the dairy and our line of potatoes – it’s not much to ask is it?’
    During this speech which was delivered with great passion and with expansive gestures, Thomas had regained his composure. Perhaps it was because he could now look down on the little old man who stood after all no higher than his knees, or perhaps it