27th May; Campfires

Davy nodded, slowly. "There's nane other sich as is a patch on wor Mam, as was."

He pulled out the weed next to him by the roots and shredded it into bits between the fingers of one hand, without noticing what he was doing. "Ye ooned yer ain sheep?" Davy asked Kerr, unsubtly changing the topic back to the last thing they had been talking about, before they went off talking about mothers. He didn't want to talk about that any more, even if he was smart enough not to bawl over it now. "Or ye just looked after them?"

"No," Kerr answered. "That was my father's, but he ne'er tended 'em once m'brother an' me was auld 'nuff fre it." Then he shrugged. Like as not, his brother had taken over the flock. What had been left of it, anyway. "What 'bout ye, laddie?"

"Ah nivvor had nowt on mesel'," Davy answered matter-of-factly. "Ah'm gan te hev it though, ye knaas."

"Have yer own sheep?" Kerr sounded amused.

"Ne!" Davy exclaimed. "Wor aan sheep? Weor did ye ge' a thowt leik tha'? Ah'm gan te hev us...divvent knaa really. Summat. Land, Ah ken, an'...an'..." He had no idea what he'd do with the land. He just knew he wanted to own it. "An' then summat," he finished lamely.

The two Inniskillings grinned at each other. Braggins said, "Gotta do summat with the land, y'know. Farm it, put sheep on it..."

Davy scuffed his foot. He didn't know anything about farming, or sheepherding. "Mevvies Ah'll rent i' oot, leik?" he suggested. "An' hev tenants leik a gennelman. Or Ah could build a coal-pit on i', or..." He pursed his lips, thinking. "A fact'ry?" he offered finally.

"Don't want a coal pit, fella," Braggins said. "Messy b'iness, coal pits."

Kerr shrugged. "Better havin' tenants. Or even bein' one."

"Why not a fact'ry?" Davy inquired. "Mevvies a cotton mill or summat. Ah could gan to Manchesser an' set up a one. Ye ivvor seed the machinery an' sichleik? It's reet clivvor."

"Factrees is noisy an' nasty sorta places," said Kerr. "What a lad needs is open spaces an' summat to look after."

Braggins was shaking his head. "Ain't seen them, but I heared of 'em right enough. An inn or somethin'd suit better'n that, sure."

"Ah'm a city lad, man" Davy pointed out. "Ah divvent knaa owt aboot tyekin' care o' sheep or nowt." Sure, a factory was noisy, but to Davy the machinery was absolutely fascinating, and (he believed) factories made incredible amounts of money for the mill-owner. That outweighed any unpleasant considerations, surely!

But at Braggins' addition, Davy paused. That was actually a rather good idea, too. It'd be less work than a factory, he suspected. Especially if he had a wife, and could get her to do most of the taking-care of things. After all, it was her responsibility to look after the home. Davy could just make sure there was no trouble with any unruly customers, and leave the rest of it to her. "An inn, noo...That'd be areet, leik!" he said, thoughtfully. "Big inn varnigh a main road in the Toon, or...or in Lonnon even. Ah'd need us a lass fer fairs though." He made a face.

Braggins grinned. "Aye, that's the spirit. Come you down to Leicester, fella, an' you'n'me will set ourselves up with our own inn." He jerked a thumb toward Kerr and added, "Ask that 'un 'bout lasses. He got himself a way with 'em, he do."

Davy eyed Kerr, doubtfully. "Wi' tha' beard of his, they divvent gan off runnin' the other way?"

The Scotsman chuckled and ran tobacco-stained fingers over his beard. "Nah, laddie. Not the best sorta wimmen, anyways. I looks fair dif'rent with a bare chin too, ye ken."

Davy tilted his head to one side, sizing up the man's features, and trying to picture how he'd look without a beard. But even if Kerr did look different shaven, he wasn't shaven, and Davy had always thought girls didn't like a big soup-strainer. Maybe he just didn't understand girls. That was a possibility. He ran a hand over his own chin, wondering if he ought to try to grow a beard when the fuzz finally started to come in.

"Ah'll ask wor Lucy," he decided. "Looks reet frightenin' te us, Ah'd hev thowt tha' if i' sends the Frogs runnin' it'd sure send the lasses runnin' too. Ye looks one tough bloke an' tha's a fact."

"That he does," Braggins agreed. "But I ain't seen nobody better thought of by lasses."

Kerr scratched his chin and smirked. "Few 'nuff English, mebbe, though."

Davy blinked at Kerr. "Wha' ye meanin' te say by tha'? English lasses divvent leik ye? Or ye sayin' Englishmen isnae bonny enow?" His voice was a little defensive on that last.

"That's 'zactly what he's sayin'," Braggins told the lad with a grin. "On both counts. Snotty Scotch!"

Davy rose to the defense of his countrymen. "Wuz is fine an' bonny!" His chin and chest lifted. "If ye was that fine, ye'd catch English eyes te boot, an' ye just said they divnae leik ye."

Kerr stroked his beard and smiled. "Mebbe's 'cause I dinnae want no English lasses. Ain't much t'me likin', ye ken."

Davy snorted eloquently in response to that. "Wuz English hev go' the bonniest lasses as there is, ye knaas." He was determined to have the final word on the matter. "Though," he said on a sudden and inexplicable generous impulse, "there's Scotch lasses tha' is not bad areet. Fine even."

His teeth caught at his lower lip. That might be too much of an admission.

"Aye," Kerr agreed with a knowing smile. "They're fine, verra fine. Mebbe yer English lasses ain't bad, but ye can keep 'em."

Braggins nudged Davy with his elbow and smirked. "Oh we'll keep 'em, won't we? They're better off with the likes of us anyways."

They were really talking too much about girls. "Lasses is numb, any road," he said, hastily contradicting what he had just been saying regarding bonny English and Scottish girls. "Ah divvent want te taak aboot them ne mair. Eh...ye go' any o' tha' kyel left?"