Midsummer's Eve

Mrs. Cherry had milked the cows. "I always believe in keeping n§ tul me times comes," was a favourite saying of hers. "Never k was one to believe in lying up too early like some." So she kept to those farm duties which she could perform and halfway across the yard from the cowsheds she saw a riderless horse galloping past the house.

She went to the gate and out to the path. By that time the horse had turned back and was coming towards her. She saw it was the Tregorran mare which was in foal.

She shouted, but she was too late to get out of its path and as it galloped past her she was knocked back into the hedge.

Her shouts had brought out the workmen.

She was, we were told, "in a state." And that night her child was born dead.

Meanwhile Tregorran's mare, attempting to leap over a fence, had broken a leg so it had to be destroyed.

The neighbourhood discussed the matter at length.

I went with my mother to call on Mrs. Cherry when she had recovered a little. It was about a week after the incident. Her fat face had lost most of its colour, leaving behind a network of tiny veins. She shook like a jelly when she talked; and for once did not seem to find life such a joke.

My mother sat by her bed and tried to cheer her.

"You'll soon be well, Mrs. Cherry, and there'll be another on the way.”

Mrs. Cherry shook her head. "I'd be that feared," she said. "With the likes of some about us who knows what'll happen next.”

My mother looked surprised.

"You see, me lady," said Mrs. Cherry conspiratorially, "I knows just how it happened.”

"Yes, we all do," replied my mother. "Tregorran's mare went mad. They say it sometimes happens. Unfortunately there was the foal. Poor Tregorran.”

"Tweren't nothing to do with the horse, me lady. It was her. You know who.”

"No," said my mother. "I don't know who.”