Time for Tea, 11th June

"Don't go movin' them fingers afore they'm finished healin' - you don't need to go firin' your rifle, or even runnin' through the loadin' procedure, not to practise firin' positions," Cotton said hastily, seeing Pye flexing his trigger finger.

"That looks a lot more like what it ought to now you'm gettin' the hang of it," he added. So Pye was a street urchin. That explained a fair bit. Cotton still wasn't sure whether it was country folk like himself or men from the towns and cities, like Pye, who made the best Riflemen. Probably those from the towns - they were quick-witted and knew about looking out for trouble.

"They'm fine. They're jus' bein' brats fer hurtin' at all." Pye protested. He hated the fact that they were so injured and that healing took far too long. He hated the fact that they might not be the same after they healed as they had been before, and worried about that being so. He hoped that they would be the same and wanted to have the man who caused the injury, pay. He also felt rather proud when Cotton commented on his position being better, more proper.

"How was it livin' where you did? Can it compare ter livin' in t' army at all?" He asked standing up again, then shifting forward, several steps, to repeat dropping into position. It could have looked odd to anyone observing at a distance, but he did not do it for others. He did it to be a better rifleman.

"Lived jus' outside a little village in East Kent, me," Cotton answered, leaning comfortably on his rifle. "Was a row of three cottages for families like mine who worked on the farm. Spent most me time out o' doors since I was real small - started workin' when I was about five, right after bein' breeched. Bird-scarin' an' stone-pickin', that kind of thing."

He sighed at the memory. "Was an awful lot of us, an' the cottage wasn't so big, really. Had one of them doors like you see in stables - where you can open the top half an' not the bottom half, which was real handy in summer. Let us get some air in an' kept all Ma's chickens from gettin' underfoot indoors."

"You've had chickens? Lots of them?" Pye smiled fondly. Although he had seen them solely as food before, thinking of them as more than that was now also possible. His little baby chick a living and breathing proof of that. "You've all lived in that cottage? All brothers n' sisters n' mother and father?"

He shifted position again, but this time it was closer to Cotton, so that he could hear better when he continued. "Wot' did you do there fer livin'?" He asked in his mind imagining a cottage - though it was not as small as Cotton described and there a bustle of orphans.. no children who were all related and of different ages, from oldest to youngest, boy and girl, chasing after the chickens or throwing stones at birds.

"Aye, for the eggs - Ma used to sell 'em, when she could. An' she used 'em in her bakin' an' all sorts like that. Though it weren't 'lots' - no more'n ten, ever." He nodded. "Aye, all'f us - though not all at once. Time me youngest brother was borned, me eldest brother'd moved out an' gone to work up at the big house as a stable hand."

He chuckled. "I was a farm labourer, me. Doin' the ploughin', mowin', reapin', helpin' with the livestock, all that sort of thing. It was a hard life, though not really any much harder'n bein' a swaddy."

"So.. you knew how ter make plants turn into sumthing edible like.. over the year?" That was not the skill Pye had or knew, not that he had the patience to wait for a whole year so that something came out of the ground, labouring all through the year for it. He preferred to be there when it was grown, to steal it and to feast on it. One hungry mouth could be supported by such a field easily without any damage and loss to the owners!

"Wot' did you need do with t' livestock?" He asked. "Have 'em go eat someplace?" He suggested and switched his position again. He quickly readjusted when his knee struck a sharp edged rock. Did you own any of them beasts?"

"Um. Sort of," Cotton answered. "Only I never did the millin' of it - the wheat went to the local mill for that." He chuckled. "Cows need milkin', sheep need shearin', all at the right time - though the cows have to be milked twice a day an' the sheep only get sheared once a year. An' there's pigs to feed, all sorts of things."

He held his hand out, palm uppermost, so Pye could see how work-hardened it was. "That's where I got me hands like this, doin' good honest work. There's all sorts of other things need doin' on a farm, too - hedgin', ditchin', all sorts."

"..Why'd you need t' shear t' sheep?" Pye arched a brow. Pigs could be big mean things, and the piglets were loud squealing creatures if one tried to snatch them. Their noise was so hurtful to the ear that it would probably have woken the dead if one went close to a cemetery.

He studied Cotton's hardened hands and noticed hos his fingers were somewhat thicker than normal and how the skin did look as though it had seen its fair share of work.

"Do yer do your own chimneys in t' cottages out in t' villages?"

Cotton chuckled, amused by the question. "'Cause they'd get awful hot in summer, wearin' that thick wool. 'Sides, it gets cleaned, carded an' spun afore bein' woven into cloth to make clothes like your jacket an' mine - where'd you think they gets the cloth from to make uniforms an' other clothes?"

He shook his head at the second question. "No; there was a chimney sweep used to come roun' a coupla times a year an' do 'em all - he had the right brushes an' everythin'. Used to take him ages to do Squire's place, what with all the chimbleys that had. An' he'd come round the village after an' do all the houses there."

"He did it all on 'is own? But he had someone wit' him didn't he?" He could not imagine a child alone being sent about. Surely there was a man that accompanied him, or atleast that made the arrangements as to which houses he would come to, to do his job.

He looked at Cotton's uniform."..A'right. So you made your clothes on yer own too? Made them colourful like ours, green n' red, n' all t' lot?" He shifted again and then dropped to his knee. Cotton knew how to do all that and make clothes all on his own. He was amazed.

Cotton blinked, suddenly confused. "He had a lad with him, aye. Oh." his face cleared as he realised suddenly what Pye meant. "I was talkin' about havin' a grown man do it - not a lad on his own. An' no - I jus' know where the wool comes from, that clothes are made with. There's weavers do the actual weavin' - they'm a lot further away, though there was some in the village as used to do a bit. Not me, though. Ma did some spinnin' in the evenin' when she warn't doin' anythin' else, but not enough to make a whole jacket like this'n." He indicated his faded green jacket.

"Oh. Still impressive." Pye murmured. Cotton's childhood appeared as colourful as the uniforms of officers. "How was your Ma like..I mean, your mother? And your father? She must have had so many children.. " He could imagine it was tiresome for those who had children of the people who did not want them, but to have their own, have them borne and then take care of them. It had to be even harder. But what was a mother like anyway? A real mother.

He shifted again and then stopped, dusting his knee.

"She warn't me real mum - she died when I was about four, in childbed. Don't really 'member her," Cotton said, shrugging. He followed Pye as the other Rifleman moved again. "There was... twelve of us kids, I think. Dad married again after me mum died, see, an' that's Ma. She'm real nice, though. Kept herself busy, an' had a lot of lookin' after us to do - though by the time the young'uns was borned, she had Becky to help, an' Sukey. They'm two of me sisters," he added, in case it wasn't clear.

"Oh. M' sorry she died. But.. nice you had t' other one jus' as good a ma'... and yer had more brothers n' sisters an'...the sisters helped too? " Well that was not as surprising to Pye. Girls helped in the orphanage too, they helped or they begged or they did other things, and women would loan babies to beg better in the streets. It was all a neat circle in which some made profit and others worked.

He smiled fondly. "Did you have many sisters older n' you? or.. jus' many sisters that'n... Did your siblings then work at t' same farm as you did?"

"I'm third oldest - got one brother an' one sister older'n me, an' everyone else's younger'n me. We all helped out at the same place, though Billy went as a stable-hand for Squire when he was about seven or eight an' Becky got a place as a maid some'ers else, at the house of one of Squire's friends."

He couldn't fathom why Maggie and now Pye found his past so interesting.

"So t'money you earn 'ere. Do ye send any ter home? Ter your family or are they well enough not needin' yer money at all?" The lad asked trying to make a good picture of what sort of family Gabriel had and how they worked.

"No, I'm tryin' to save it - not that there's much to save," he added. "Most everyone at home's workin', I think." He wouldn't call them 'well-off' - that implied a bigger house and more money than they had, but they were comfortable enough for folks of their level of society. Or they had been, at any rate, before the Squire's son came into his inheritance.

"Well you do have Maggie now. An' she needs an upkeep too, means money that." He nodded and thought that Cotton's family could support itself quite well. They were not lords, but then if they had been Cotton would have been an officer. "I didn' know me mom either." He said. He shifted and now it seemed at the very last to come more natural each time he did it. He was not thinking it, just doing it while he talked. "Or me dad. Didn' know either."

"Aye." He couldn't help a fond look appearing on his face as he thought of Maggie. He shook that thought off - there was plenty of time to think about her when he wasn't teaching people how to be Riflemen.

"Think you've got it, Pye." He shrugged. "You ain't the only one - ain't no shame in it."

"I ain't 'shamed of it." Pye smiled and flexed his fingers again, just to curse himself inwardly for it. Injured fingers should not be flexed or squeezed tight under no condition! "Jus' saying. I've had a whole lot of brothers and sisters... sort of. There was boys and girls in t' orphanage we was in. Lots of them. All ages. We was set to work 'fcourse. All dependin' of yer age too, and some of your looks." He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. "Like.. when you was a babe, you could be loaned ter t' female beggars. It could bring in an extra penny outta pity."

He shrugged. "you was changin' yer obligations like you was growin' up. And like you was liked or disliked by t' Master o' the place." He touched the old scar on his cheek absendmindedly. "Can yer teach me more? I'll practice this, 'fcourse. Till I can do it in me sleep with me eyes shut an' still hit a Frog." He grinned.

"Never said it was summat to be 'shamed of, though I know folks as are," Cotton pointed out mildly enough.

He laughed at Pye's final statement. "You do that, Zack, you'll be a better shot than me!" he said, recovering himself. "Now, watch this."

He dropped to his belly, again pulling the rifle butt into his shoulder, wriggling a little until he was comfortable, and the rifle was aimed at a boulder some yards away from them.

"I know.Sometimes yer jus' feelin' like you'd want t' see wot' others had..sort o'." He grinned when he saw Cotton laugh. It made him glad to see the man do this in his company. Somehow it felt like a promise that things could possibly return to how they had once been. Not at that very moment perhaps, not for a while, but it was a possibility. He was sure to do everything that was in his power to make it a reality.

"I'll never be better n' you Cotton. Not in a hundred years. But I'll aspire to be so that I may be atleast best I can be." He watched and arched a brow in surprise. He remembered seeing that but it looked so much like lying down, except with a rifle. He shifted around so that he found himself on his belly as well. He gazed at Cotton and studied his position and where his hands were, where his legs and how he was holding his weapon. He mimicked this, careful of his fingers.

"Bein' the best you can be is all the Captain's ever axed of his men, y'know," Cotton replied, the grass cool underneath him. "This position, you can load a rifle in, though it's real tricky to do. It's good for when there isn't much cover - in open ground or somethin' - an' it's one of the steadiest positions you can be in to fire a rifle. Jus' 'member to keep it up, though - I know it gets heavy after a while, it's on'y natch'rel, that."

"I know. S'not much he asks for, is it?" Pye said, his lips curved into a smile. He shifted a bit on the ground and once settled as Cotton was he nodded. It was an awkward position, but it was as much cover as any could ever hope for. It was infact, quite the opposite to what he was used to when standing in the line. There one had no cover at all, but for a man infront of him. No physical, natural cover at the very least, behind which they could hide and that was not even the idea. They were out in the open, the idea was to be seen.

Lying down as he was told, was different. It made him a hard target to hit, and with the green coat it would have made him much more invisible than with a glaring red one. Cotton's faded one had the man neatly fit in his surroundings. "Is this more steady to fire, than from when you are kneeling?" He asked though noted that in this position one could not aim all that high or perhaps he was jumping to conclusions too early?

Cotton chuckled. Captain Vickery exacted the highest standards from his men, no matter whether they were in camp or in quarters, or on the field.

"It's almost the most steady position you can have," Cotton replied. "You can't really use it when you'm within about fifty yards - not cause you can't aim prop'ly then, 'cause you can, but it's slower to get up from. Anyhow, if you'm within fifty yards, you'll be formed up in line as if you was a redcoat again - we fight skirmishin' till the enemy's real close an' then dodge back to the line."