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he told Gatty.
    â€œYou know what a Book of Hours is?” asked Nest.
    Gatty shook her head dismally. Somehow, the more Snout went on about Nest and Lady Gwyneth, the more worthless she felt.
    â€œNo, well, you wouldn’t,” said Nest. “All I can say is that we decorated this place as no man could. With care and love. People are happy when they come to Ewloe and sad when they go away.”
    â€œThe will,” said Austin. “And high time too.”
    Gatty nodded. “Lady Gwyneth says I must.”
    â€œI say you must,” said Austin, busying himself at the chest, taking out parchment, weights, quill, ink, and setting them on his writing desk. “Everyone else has made theirs already.”
    â€œI haven’t got nothing,” Gatty said.
    She stared at the priest and found herself thinking that he was as unlike Oliver as chalk was unlike cheese. Oliver was fat; Austin was thin.Oliver had poor eyesight and blinked a lot; Austin had keen eyes and bushy eyebrows. Oliver loved the sound of his own voice; Austin said very little.
    â€œ In the name of Almighty God, ” Austin wrote, enunciating each syllable as he did so. “ I, Gertrude …”
    â€œGatty,” said Gatty.
    â€œI, Gertrude,” Austin repeated, “ hereafter known as Gatty, on the eve of my pilgrimage to Jerusalem, do in this document declare all my property and all my possessions, and I acknowledge they will be handed to my heirs if I fail to return to Ewloe within one year and one day. First …” wrote Austin, and then he looked up. “Well? What’s first?”
    â€œNothing,” said Gatty. “I told you. I haven’t got nothing.”
    â€œBut before. When you lived…where was it?”
    â€œAt Caldicot, you mean?”
    â€œCaldicot, yes. Your cottage there?”
    Gatty shook her head. “That’s Sir John’s.”
    Austin knitted his thick eyebrows. “Well, what about…I don’t know. A cooking pot?”
    â€œNo one won’t thank me for that,” said Gatty, pursing her lips.
    â€œA saddle? A bridle?”
    Gatty clucked. “Sir John borrowed them to me.”
    â€œI see,” said Austin. “What about animals, then?”
    â€œHopeless!” cried Gatty. “How could I have forgot her? Hopeless and my seven chickens. I borrowed them to Sir John.”
    â€œHopeless?”
    â€œMy cow. She’s a good milker, and all.”
    â€œI’m sure she is,” said Austin. “There, then. A cow and seven chickens. Now who are your heirs?”
    Gatty slowly raised her shoulders and, with a sigh, let them drop. “I haven’t got none,” she said.
    â€œYour father’s dead and your mother’s dead?”
    Slowly, very slowly, Gatty drew in her breath. “I know!” she said in a low voice.
    â€œWho?” asked Austin.
    The priest stared at Gatty. She had looked quite lost, but now she looked found!
    â€œWho, then?” Austin asked.
    â€œWrite this,” Gatty instructed him.
    â€œ I grant my cow Hopeless …” the priest wrote, “ and my seven chickens …”
    â€œWell?” asked Austin. “To whom?”
    â€œArthur!” cried Gatty. “I grant them to Arthur de Caldicot.”
    Gatty watched as Austin wrote down her words. “You written them all?” she asked suspiciously.
    â€œYou can trust me,” said the priest. “Now, you must sign your name.”
    Gatty shook her head. “Can’t,” she said.
    Austin took a lump of chalk and a piece of folded leather out of his chest.
    Gatty grinned. “I seen that before. Your cooking pot!”
    The priest unfolded the leather and held up his slate tile. “I’ll write out your name,” he said, “I’ll write out the letters and you can copy them.”
    â€œCharacters,” said Gatty. “That’s what Oliver calls