Later I watched Squirmy try to sit through Tidy's plan and get about as far as then that. Ten big jumps at the end of the lane, back again, another minute, off again. It was not naughtiness. It was a body with somewhere to be.
"Squirmy. What's the job at the far end?"
"Carrying. All the way past the orchard and back. Loads of it. Miles."
"Mm," I said, and went back to being still, and Squirmy went and took that job off a fluff who had been dreading it and ran it twice over before lunch, singing.