The old woman sighed, whipped the wool twice round her thumb, and drew the
bone needle through. She was casting on.

"I was thinking of your Uncle William, darling," she said quietly.

"My Australian Uncle William?" said Kezia. She had another.

"Yes, of course."

"The one I never saw?"

"That was the one."

"Well, what happened to him?" Kezia knew perfectly well, but she wanted to
be told again.

"He went to the mines, and he got a sunstroke there and died," said old
Mrs. Fairfield.

Kezia blinked and considered the picture again...a little man fallen over
like a tin soldier by the side of a big black hole.

"Does it make you sad to think about him, grandma?" She hated her grandma
to be sad.

It was the old woman's turn to consider. Did it make her sad? To look
back, back. To stare down the years, as Kezia had seen her doing. To look
after them as a woman does, long after they were out of sight. Did it make
her sad? No, life was like that.