Joe pushed himself up on the mattress. ‘Treacle Walker!’
Noony rattled past the house and the smoke from her engine blew across the yard. The sky shone.
He climbed down to the floor and stood at the window.
The last of Noony’s smoke curled through the valley and along the brook. He could see no one in Barn Croft or Pool Field or Big Meadow or on the track between the top and bottom gates; and trees hid the way up from there to the heath.
He went downstairs and opened the door. The step gleamed white.
‘Treacle Walker!’
Joe went to his museum. There was his egg collection, but no lamb’s shoulder blade. Instead there was a grey stone, and next to it a round jar no bigger than his hand. The jar was white, glazed, and chipped. Under the rim was painted in blue: ‘Poor Mans Friend’, and beneath, ‘price 1/1½’. On the other side was: ‘Prepared only by Beach & Barnicott, SUCCESSORS TO THE LATE Dr. Roberts, Bridport.’