'That's a wicked thing to say!' 'Well, it's true. Everyone dies anyway. We'll die anyway. Look at you. You spend your whole time washing and tidying up and cooking and chasing after them. You're nearly three! It's about time you had a life of your own.' 'Granny Morkie was very kind to me when I was small,' said Grimma defensively. 'You'll be old one day.' 'You think? And who will be working their fingers to the bone to look after me?' Masklin found himself getting angrier and angrier. He was certain he was in the right. But it felt as if he was in the wrong, which made it worse.

He'd thought about this for a long time, and it had always left him feeling angry and awkward. All the clever ones and the bold ones and the brave ones had gone long ago, one way or the other. Good old Masklin, they'd said, stout chap, you look after the old folk and we'll be back before you know it, just as soon as we've found a better place. Every time good old Masklin thought about this he got indignant with them for going and with himself for staying. He always gave in, that was his trouble. He knew it. Whatever he promised him­ self at the start, he always took the way of least resistance.

Grimma was glaring at him.

He shrugged.' 'All right, all right, so they can come with us,' he said.

'You know they won't go,' she said. 'They're too old. They all grew up round here. They like it here.' 'They like it here when there's us around to wait on them,' muttered Masklin.

They left it at that. There were nuts for dinner. Masklin's had a maggot in it.

He went out afterwards and sat at the top of the bank with his chin in his hands, watching the motorway again.

It was a stream of red and white lights. There were humans inside those boxes, going about whatever mysterious business humans spent their time on. They were always in a hurry to get to it, whatever it was.