In the morning he first checked on his charge - the shoat sleeping in the straw, unconcerned about it's change of situation.
Stretching, his arms had quickly recovered from yesterday's strain. It had not been more work than chopping wood really. Just lasting for hours, it had made him sore.
He thought less fondly of that cart, now. If he made one it would certainly need to be balanced. Which meant at least two wheels side-by-side.
Which would make it heavier. So much to think about.
Exiting to do his chores, he checked himself, went back and changed into his cloth suit.
It seemed wrong to work in those clothes, so much finer than any he'd known. But it was the mistress' desire, so it would be.
The green stuff needed additions as it had yesterday. The slow day had resulted in less chaff in the fodder bucket.
His three strange charges were weasels today! They wriggled and squirmed as weasels do, yet made no more progress across the paddock than usual.
Petting the smallest one, it made a sort of chirrupping noise, very un-weasel-like!
Carrying water was no different. Hauling up the bucket and carrying it to the cistern was as usual.
But once he began to swing the axe the shoulders of his shirt began to chafe. This wouldn't do!
He shucked out of the shirt, laid it out carefully on the well cover out of harm's way.
Naked to the waist he finished the wood splitting and stacking. Just as well; this kept the shirt from bark dusk and sweat.
Drawing another bucket he washed himself before resuming the shirt, determined to keep it clean.
He'd have to figure out how one washed linen. Too much scrubbing would ruin the weave! It would probably have to be soaked.
Re-donning the shirt he returned to the front yard. There were already customers waiting. The festival day had created new troubles for the villagers, apparently!
Spirits ran high on such days. It was no wonder folks would find fault with one another. Faults they hoped his Mistress could address.
He got more than one head swiveling to watch him go by. His new suit was a sensation among the clients, young and old.
Gathering a few acorns from the woods behind his paddock, he went to toss them into the stall where his piglet dwelt.
It was up and about, and ignored the nuts he threw among the straw. It grunted plaintively at him, clearly wanting out.
He took the lead from where it sat on the shelf, fastened it to his shoat. Out they went, like a small parade.
Another sensation among the ladies; the pig was a surprise to everyone.
Taking it to his ruined enclosure he coaxed it over the fallen stones to an oak tree just beyond the wall.
Fastening the lead to a branch he left it to happily root among the drifted leaves.
Fetching his prybar he set to loosening stones and restacking them beside the wall.
He'd sort them, dress those that were irregular or broken, and once the wall path was clear he'd rebuild it.
His piglet was content as long as it could see him working. Whenever he disappeared for a moment, to get a drink or fetch a tool, it would make alarmed sounds.
He found that by calling to it, he could calm it with the sound of his voice.
"Hey! Piggy! Piggy! Hey there! You're all right! I'm just here!"
All morning he toiled, prying up stones, stacking them loosely by size and shape. By lunchtime he'd progressed barely a rod. This was going to take time!
When Mistress came out with the tray, all the customers dispatched, he decided he'd have to bring the shoat or they'd not be able to hear themselves think for the squealing.
Coming around the house, lead in hand, an improvised stake in the other, she cackled!
"You are a sight! Father and son! Out for a Sunday stroll!"
He smiled, not concerned at the ribbing. Like he and his father used to do, when he was just a lad.
That memory stung a little, so he put it out of his mind.
"We're to have company for lunch! He's a little uncertain of his new home, and he has to know where I am to be happy."
The Crone was pleased as she found little boar entertaining. That could become a problem later when it came time for ham, chops and sausage. But they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.
Eating their bread and jam with some kind of cheesy herb spread, lunch was a time of relaxation and reflection.
"How's the stonework, mason? Will it be done by first snowfall?"
He considered around a bite of crusty loaf.
"A rod today; the pen is two-three rod up and back, at least a rod across. That's what? 7 or 8 rod."
"That should take not even a fortnight!"
"Whoa! Thats just demolition, removing the stones and sorting them. After, there's mason's work of trimming, leveling, then finally building the wall."
"Ah. So maybe not by first snowfall."
"It would take less time, if the pen were smaller. Say a rod square. This little shoat would need no more. Then we'd have a good shot at finishing within the month."
"But later, it'd need re-doing?"
"Some of it. Well, half of it. If I place two sides where they stand now, the other two would cut across where the pen was.
"Later that part'd have to be removed to the original dimensions."
"So you have planning to do."
She was wonderful that way, leaving his work to him, and not pretending to decide every little thing.
"I think it's that or nothing. With the shed forming one side, it's three rod of work now.
Removing two later to complete six is not that onerous."
She nodded, not sure what all that meant but confident he knew.
They ate contentedly, as the pig contentedly picked among the grass as far as it's lead would allow.
He'd had a thought overnight, and decided to speak up.
"Do the clients see me as I am?"
She was watching the shoat, and didn't look up.
"Hm? What do you mean?"
He spoke carefully.
"The spell over the glen..." She smiled at that wording.
"The spell is limited to the house and grounds? See, the pets are affected too.
"Does it extend to the pig, for instance? To me?"
He didn't say it, but they both understood he meant "Does it extend to you, Mistress?"
She broke off more bread, smeared it with jam, took a bite and chewed before answering.
"The 'spell of the glen' is an old one. I did not set it; it was set ages ago by another practitioner.
"The pets, that was me. It amuses me to alarm the clients, impress them with our bravery and cunning to see such wild things under our control."
He nodded, that made sense.
"You appear just as you are. I have not, and would not, change that without your consent."
He felt relieved for some reason.
He didn't press the issue. He'd learned more than he felt he deserved to know. It was not his place to question, and she'd answered his only real concern.
