Free Matty Doolin by Catherine Cookson

ground.
    When he stopped, Matty was first to reach him and Mr Walsh stamped the ground, saying, ‘I would pitch your tent here. It’s level, and the view’s good. Well now.’ He looked from Willie to Joe as they came up, then let his gaze rest on Matty. ‘You the eldest?’
    ‘No.’ Matty pointed to Willie. ‘Willie’s older than me.’
    ‘Is he the boss of your outfit?’
    ‘No. No, he isn’t.’ It was Joe’s piping voice now. ‘Matty here is.’
    To this Willie amicably conceded. His long face grinning, he said, ‘Aye, Matty’s the boss.’
    ‘Well,’ said Mr Walsh, staring straight at Matty, ‘I’ll hold you responsible.’
    ‘Eh?’ Matty screwed up his face. ‘Responsible for what?’
    ‘For three things,’ said Mr Walsh flatly. ‘First of all, you keep the gates closed.’
    ‘But the sheep are wandering all over the . . . ’
    Matty did not finish this remark because Mr Walsh put in quickly, ‘Yes, the sheep are wandering all over the place. But it’s not the sheep I’m worrying about, it’s the cattle. I don’t only run sheep. I’ve got heifers in that field over there’ – he pointed – ‘and cows down in that meadow.’ He pointed again, then went on, ‘And the second thing is, you don’t light fires in the wood. You saw the wood we passed through down the road. Well, you can get as much dry tinder as you want down there, but you don’t light fires there . . . understood?’
    Slowly Matty nodded.
    ‘And the third thing is, no yelling and carrying on after ten o’clock at night. Got that?’
    Again Matty nodded, but slowly, rather bewilderedly. And then Mr Walsh finished by saying, ‘Well, now you can enjoy yourselves.’
    At this, Willie let out a small hoot of a laugh, and Matty was inclined to join him, but the expression on Mr Walsh’s face warned him he had better not.
    ‘Now, if I were you,’ said Mr Walsh, pointing to the kitbags, ‘I’d get your tents up and your stuff put nice and tidy; then you can bring your can over to the house for your milk, and Mrs Walsh might find you a cup of tea.’
    For the first time in their short acquaintance, Mr Walsh smiled. He smiled first at Willie, then at Joe, then at Matty. And as he went to walk away, he put out his hand and rumpled Joe’s head.
    ‘Coo! I thought for a minute he was old Bore all over again,’ said Willie, ‘until he said that bit about going across and his wife making us tea. Come on, fellows, hurry up.’
    The tea, looking like a mirage before them, urged them to erect the tents and get their kit straight in an unbelievably short time, and when they were ready to go to the farm it was Matty, looking about him, who said, ‘A can. We’ve forgotten to bring a can for the milk.’
    ‘I’ve got that empty pop bottle,’ said Willie.
    ‘Well, that’ll have to do,’ said Matty.
    Together, they went towards the farm, and as they passed through the gate Joe made a great ceremony of closing it, saying aloud, ‘First rule, close the gate, me little man.’
    ‘Ssh! Ssh!’ said Matty. ‘Don’t take the mickey; he may hear you.’
    They were quiet as they approached the farm. Slowly, somewhat tentatively, they made their way to the back door. Matty knocked, and his knock was answered by a girl of about twelve years old. She had a round face, round, merry grey-green eyes, and long brown hair in a ponytail.
    Looking over her shoulder, she cried, ‘Mother, they’re here.’
    A woman now came towards the door. She was small and plump and kindly looking, and her voice furthered this impression, for, unlike her husband’s, it was soft and slow. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Come away in, boys. You’ve had a long journey.’
    As they walked into the kitchen, it was Joe who found his tongue first. ‘Yes, missis.’ He nodded at her. ‘We’ve come all the way from Tyne Dock.’
    ‘Oh, that’s a long way.’
    As Matty watched her shake her head down at Joe he didn’t know whether she was sympathising with