Surreptitiously, hoping that no one would notice, Tiffany held the bag up to her mouth and said, ‘Is this any way to behave? Aren’t you ashamed?’ The bag wobbled a little bit, but she knew that the word ‘shame’ was not in Horace’s vocabulary, and neither was anything else. She lowered the bag and moved a little way from the crowd and said, ‘I know you are here, Rob Anybody.’

There he was, sitting on her shoulder. She could smell him. Despite the fact that they generally had little to do with bathing, except when it rained, the Nac Mac Feegles always smelled something like slightly drunk potatoes. ‘The kelda wanted me tae to find out how ye were biding,’ said the Feegle chieftain. ‘You havenae bin tae the mound to see her these past two weeks,’ he went on, ‘and I think she is afeared that a harm may come tae ye, ye are working sae hard an’ all.’

Tiffany groaned, but only to herself. She said, ‘That is very kind of her. There is always so much to do; surely the kelda knows this. It doesn’t matter what I do, there is always more to be done. There is no end to the wanting. But there is nothing to worry about. I am doing fine. And please don’t take Horace out again in public – you know he gets excited.’

‘Well, in point of fact, it says up on that banner over there that this is for the folk of these hills and we is more than folk. We is folklore ! Ye cannae argue with the lore! Besides, I wanted tae come and pay my ain respects to the big yin without his breeks. He is a fine big wee laddie and nae mistake.’ Rob paused, and then said quietly, ‘So I can tell her that ye are quite well in yourself, aye?’ There was a certain nervousness to him, as if he would like to have said more but knew it wouldn’t be welcome.