UNWANTED

The sun rose into a pale pink sky, slowly dissolving the haze and giving an illusion of warmth. Mr. Trim came out of his front door and stood stretching and blinking. Looking into the sun he did not at first see the empty patch on the green. It was Mrs. Trim who noticed it when she followed him out. `Well, I'm blessed - they've took and gone, Dad!'

`Who you talkin' about?'

‘Them.'

The campers were always referred to in this way, never being accorded the dignity of a name. It was to be assumed that they had one, but not even Mr. Mostyn, who was Halsey's foreman, knew what it was. At the farm the father was known as Jack, though his wife called him Jerry. The two boys had for a time attended school in the village with the Reece children but were in a lower grade and could neither read nor write. Jinny Reece had tried to find out their surname but it sounded like none she had ever heard of. She reported that it was 'furrin'.

`Well, I’ll be,' said Mr. Trim. `They must have snook off in the middle of the night. And me owed a bill as long as yer arm.' He sucked his lips over his gums, for he never put his teeth in till midday, and shook his fist at the spot where the caravan had stood. `There's gratitude for yer. Patched their old kettle for 'em, I did, and mended their stove and never took a penny piece. And this is what they done to me.' Forgetting that he was wearing slippers he aimed a vicious kick at the stone doorstep, then yelped.

'No good takin' on, Dad,' said Mrs. Trim placidly. `If you ask me, we're well rid of that lot.' She leaned over the wall to rap on Mrs. Mostyn's scullery window. `They've gone, Agnes!'

`I seen that,' Mrs. Mostyn shouted back through the geraniums.

`Dad and me never heard a sound.'

`No more did we. Looked out this morning and there they was, gone.'

`Dad's owed a bill for eggs and such. He's proper put out.'

`Don't wonder. Reckon he'll never see that back.' Mr. Trim was still muttering imprecations in the background.

`Hurt his bunion kicking the doorstep,' explained Mrs. Trim. 'Never does you no good to let yer temper git the upper hand. I'm always telling him.'

Mrs. Mostyn giggled. Then she said disgustedly, 'Who'd ever have thought as how they'd sneak off like that? Left their little cat be'ind, too.'

'Left what?'

'That little stripey cat they brought from the farm.'

Mrs. Trim shaded her short-sighted eyes and peered out over the green. She could just make out a dark blob on the faded ticking of the mattress.

'That it?'

'Ah, that's it.'

'Well, there's a nasty thing to go and do.'

'Reckoned one, of us would give it a home, I dare say.

'Well, I won't,' Mrs. Trim said firmly. 'Got two cats of me own and don't want another.'

'Amy Reece don't want it, neither. What's to be­come of the creature?'

'It'll run back to the farm, I shouldn't wonder.'

'Ah, maybe it will when it gits hungry. Best take no notice of it.'

Maggie Trim went back indoors to wash her father-in-law's Sunday shirt. She had married his son many years ago when she was a pretty red-haired girl of twenty, and had become a widow almost as soon as she became a wife. Peter Trim had been drowned in a rough sea on the third day of their Cornish honeymoon. His photograph, in the police­man's uniform that suited him so well, stood in the middle of the mantelpiece between the china dogs, but she scarcely ever looked at it now.

She was right about the kitten. After a day and a night of fruitless search it seemed to realize it was in trouble. The tug of old associations pulled it in the direction of the farm. It went slowly and with reluctance, in case the caravan should reappear as unaccountably as it had vanished. Three times, after hovering a little way off, it ran back to be reassured. Finally it seemed to come to a decision. Mrs. Reece, from her parlour window, saw it trot away up the lane.

`Got that much sense then,' she said to herself. `Farm cats live on short rations. But at least it'll have shelter.' She went next door and shouted through the window to Mrs. Mostyn, `It's gone up the road!'

`Best thing it could do,' Mrs. Mostyn shouted back. `Hope it'll stay there, poor little creature, now the weather's broke.'

`I was going to do a bit of baking today, seeing we're right out of cake,' said Mrs. Reece. `But I mislike the look of that sky. Reckon I'll do the washing instead.'

`Don't look too bad to me. I'll leave mine for a bit.' `Last time you put it off you didn't get it dry for a week.'

'Ah well,' said Mrs. Trim philosophically. `Got to take a chance sometimes.'

REJECTED !