The Last of the Eggstone Collies

© Elizabeth Jane Andreoli 1997

CHAPTER 5

It took George several weeks to find Eggstone Farm. He said it was because he was moving stealthily and establishing himself in the area. Francis would have said it was because he was having the time of his life. The joy of living among ordinary mortals again had gone to his head. He had forgotten what a town was like on market day with noise and bustle at every turn. The shops with shelf upon shelf of half-remembered delicacies piled high like treasure-trove, fascinated him. The easy friendliness of the local pubs delighted him. The neat intimacy of the little rows of little houses, each with a richly coloured square of garden, and low brick walls over which women gossiped, cats jumped, and small boys threw footballs, entranced him. In short, George was like a man who had drunk a rich sparkling wine. He wandered happily, here and there, soon becoming a familiar sight with his bag of chocolates, and his merry mischievous grin.

His Un-Saintly little trick proved very useful. He stayed at one house as Long Lost Brother George from Australia, and then at another as Matthew's Cousin's Husband. For a while, he worked in a bakery. No-one was quite sure who had employed him, but his face was so familiar that someone must have done. So - he earned his money like the rest, plus all the buns he could eat.

It came as no surprise then, when one day George turned up at the farm quite naturally with a friend of Frank's.

"You must remember old George!" said the friend. Frank and Flossie gazed into the guileless blue eyes.

"Yes, of course!" cried Flossie. "Now where was it that we met you? It must be years ago now ..."

George smiled disarmingly. Flossie blushed and giggled, giving up the attempt to remember. What did it matter anyway? It was marvellous to see old George again. Such a friendly man he was, and always so ... so gallant. He made her feel like a girl again.

Frank clapped him vigorously on the back. "Good to see you again!" he said with his wrinkled smile. Good old George! he thought. Such a tonic with all his jokes and stories, and always ready to lend a hand around the place. He must ask him to stay. It was just what they both needed.

Toby hung back, puzzled. He knew that George was a stranger. He had never heard Frank or Flossie talk about him before, and had never seen him around the farm. He knew that the old man was somehow making everyone tell lies, but, although it was odd ... he couldn't help liking him. There was a warmth about him, and something else ... something that made him very different from anyone he had ever met before. Suddenly his mind jumped back to a vivid image of the Eggstone split, and oozing slime.

He looked up, and found George's eyes upon him. There was friendliness in his look, but there was a challenge too, and one silver eyebrow was quizzically raised.

Toby remembered his manners. Guests must be greeted correctly. Proudly, he pattered over to George, sat before him and proffered a paw. George took the paw and shook it gravely. Then he smiled with such warmth that Toby simply couldn't help himself. He jumped up, pushing his way into George's arms, licking his grizzled chin like a puppy greeting its dearest master. George laughed with pleasure and rubbed his cheek against Toby's soft head. The little gesture brought a flood of memory to the dog. His ears pricked. His eyes lit up with excitement as he searched the old man's face, struggling to recognise it. No - this was not the same man. Not quite. But - there was something about him that was the same. Something strange, but not frightening. Something a bit like the Eggstone that was so unusual that there was nothing else like it in the whole wide world.

The time passed pleasantly. Flossie served lunch on a little trestle table in the garden because the weather was so good. In the afternoon the three old people chatted abut this and that over numerous cups of tea, and at six o'clock, Frank, with a rogueish wink, suggested something a little stronger, and brought out a dusty bottle of elderberry wine.

"Flossie, my darling girl, you are a marvel!" enthused George as he sipped the deep red liquid. "You bake, you sew, you keep the house beautiful, you help Frank on the farm, you make wine like nectar ..." He paused as if lost for words, and gazed at her in admiration. "And that's not all she does!" said Frank, determined that the praise of his wife was to be accurate down to the last particular. "On top of all that, she makes cream teas for the tourists, and them Archaeologists that come here on account of the Stone!"

George's eyes narrowed. Toby, watching from his blanket by the door, was convinced that this was what everything had been leading up to. A mention of the Eggstone.

"Frank!" exclaimed Flossie. "We haven't told George our news!"

"Oh aye! It's about the Stone. About a month back it split! Just like that. No warning or anything."

Toby felt the shock that came from George. It hit him like a tidal wave. He wondered how the world did not collapse around them. Frank and Flossie noticed nothing.

"And do you know! It's hollow inside. Just like a great big egg! Nothing there at all."

"We've had the Papers round, and lots of them Archaeologists. They reckon it was something to do with subsidence ..."

George's face ached as he kept it stretched into a polite and interested smile. The voices washed over him. He heard himself ask the right questions - give the right responses, while inside his stomach was in a tight knot. Too late! He was too late after years - decades - centuries of watching and planning. Too late by a few paltry weeks. Now the horror would start again. The deaths - the burnings. Toby nuzzled him gently, aware of his distress. George looked at his luminous, trusting brown eyes and his heart felt as though it would break. It was the dogs that gave their lives in the struggle last time. Must it happen all over again? He had failed ...

The talk had drifted to other matters now. "... no, it's not like it was in the old days."

"We never used to bother to lock the barn, did we, Frank?"

"No, lass. We never needed to lock anything."

"But with all them fires starting up, and chickens going missing, well!"

"It could be us next, so it's just as well to take precautions."

"They say it's them Welsh Nationalists. Keep Wales for the Welsh, you know?"

"But I don't see it love. I mean, what's to gain by burning down Gwynfor's hayricks when he's been farming here, and his family, as long as anyone can remember?"

"Aye, it'll set him back, come winter."

"And what about Dafyd's sheep then?"

"Aye, that was a queer do. All his hedgerow on the moor boundary was found scorched, and since then, the sheep have done nothing but try and break out."

"And always on the moor side, too. They never seem to bother about the valley side where the fence is so rotten you could drive a bus through it."

So, thought George grimly. The dragonets were barely a month old, and causing trouble already. How fast did the fiendish things grow? He wondered desperately how Francis was getting on with translating Mudjanda's prophecies. Somewhere there had to be a clue. There had to be something in that mass of words to help him here, now. One thing was certain. Toby had to be told the full story as soon as possible.

The golden evening wore on, and gradually Frank and Flossie began to shuffle and yawn. George suggested that while Flossie made up a bed for him, and Frank locked the outhouses, he and Toby should take a short stroll in the orchard to clear their heads.

Toby bounded gleefully away into the whispering coolness of the long grass. Moths flitted through the trees, drawn by the lighted windows of the house. Sometimes a bat zig-zagged crazily across the twilit sky, and under the hedges, crickets sang.

Unearthing an old tennis ball from behind the compost heap, Toby gambolled over to George, hoping for a game of Catch and Fetch. George gestured impatiently. "Put that silly thing down and listen!" he snapped. In utter shock, Toby obeyed. He backed away, not believing his ears.

George had spoken to him in Dog!

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Modified:3/8/97

Created:25/7/97