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that’s all.
    Pip closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun, enjoying its warmth on his skin as the brisk wind toyed with his hair and clothes and whistled past his ears. He took several deep breaths, trying to ease the tightness in his chest as the horse shifted impatiently beneath him. But when it appeared that neither he nor the horse were going to settle, Pip gave in and goaded the horse into a gallop again. If he couldn’t breathe the unease away, he’d run it out instead.
    They flew across the fells until Pip’s face and hands were red with cold and his thighs burned. Only when he was breathless and the horse was spouting great plumes of steam into the air did Pip climb down and walk the animal back along the road to the cottage. Once they were back in the barn, he took extra care in wiping the horse down, making sure it hadn’t suffered any injuries from their wild ride, before giving it a thorough brushing and an extra bit of grain as a treat. Then he draped a blanket over its back and left it in its stall. After that, he brought Molly in from the small fenced area where she was allowed to graze and closed the barn for the night.
    Both the housekeeper and her husband were gone when he finally came inside. Pip assumed they were seeing to their master, and he gladly crept back to his room to wash up a little before returning to warm himself by the kitchen fire. He was tempted to hide in his room for the rest of the night, but he was in enough trouble as it was, so he thought he’d better not make the housekeeper come find him when she wanted him. Once his hands had warmed, Pip went in search of a bit of food and Mr. Applethwaite’s gin bottle. He found some bread and a simple stew in a crock by the fire, but the housekeeper’s husband had hidden his bottle well as always, and Pip still hadn’t found it by the time the couple returned to the kitchen.
    “Pip, the master needs more coal. Go and fill the buckets again,” Mrs. Applethwaite ordered without even bothering to look at him.
    “So soon?” The question slipped out before he could bite it back. He was tired, and he really didn’t want to go out into the cold again.
    She frowned at him. “It isn’t your place to question. It is the master’s wish.” Her sharp features softened a little with what Pip could only assume was pity as she looked toward the door that led to the rest of the house. “I think he feels the cold most acutely. He is but a few months back from the Cape, after all. They say it’s so very hot in Africa. I’m sure it is a great change for him and with his injury…. Well, we will simply have to order more coal, and you will have to fetch it more often. That is all.”
    Pip shrugged and bit back any further complaints. She was right. It wasn’t his place to question, especially after this morning. And if the man could afford to keep his rooms like a hothouse, why shouldn’t he? In the major’s place, Pip would probably do the same.
    And the Cape? The master had been to the Cape?
    Pip had heard stories of Africa—its savagery and the riches to be found there. What must a place like that be like? What stories could the man tell? Pip couldn’t even imagine, though he tried to dream of a place that warm as he stepped out into the frigid night.
    Pip carried the scuttles to the front of the house and left them inside the door, as Mrs. Applethwaite instructed so her husband wouldn’t have to carry them farther than necessary in his “frail” condition. The woman was probably more afraid the old sod would lose his balance and dump the mess on the master’s carpets than that he would expire from the effort of carrying them from the kitchen, but either way it made no difference to Pip.
    The house was dark as Pip peeked curiously inside the front door. He didn’t see any sign of the major, and he felt an odd pang of disappointment at that. They would not likely have much interaction in future, given Pip’s place in the