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Mari hurried out to the wagon where Wilfrid sat waiting. ‘They’re all taken care of, dear,’ she said as he gave her a hand up to the seat. She adjusted her thick wool shawl about her and smiled fondly at him. ‘I told Miz Bella we would bring her a pair of little banty laying hens and a rooster. And I spoke with Gil Tussock, asking if he could make her a little coop outside the classroom. We have some of that wire mesh fencing to put up for a little pen I said he could use.’
Wilfrid flicked the reins lightly against Larkspur’s flanks and urged the pony forward. ‘Best get to the lambing pens now, Mari. I’m worried about that black ewe.’ He rubbed his jaw as he thought on it.
‘Well, if she still hasn’t dropped, Wilfrid, by the time the children need to be picked up, old Larkspur and I can come to the Inn and fetch them.’
‘You’re a right treasure,’ he said, giving a relieved sigh, and looking at her with a fond grin. He flicked the reins once again and clucked to the pony to pick up her pace.
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When Summer warms the hanging fruit and burns the berry brown/When straw is gold, and ear is white, and harvest comes to town/When honey spills, and apple swells, though wind be in the West/I'll linger here beneath the Sun, because my land is best!
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