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he doctors couldn't stitch it up； so they decided that I'd be better off with a useful plastic hand instead of the useless old one。'
'So he didn't really 。。。 not really chop it off。 Not like with an axe or anything？'
'No。 So don't waste dreams on it。'
She smiled with quiet relief and； as she was sitting on my left； put her right hand down delicately but without hesitation on the replacement parts。 She stroked the tough plastic unfeeling skin and looked up with surprise at my eyes。
'It isn't warm；' she said。
'Well； it isn't cold； either。'
She laughed with unplicated fun。 'How does it work？'
'I tell it what to do；' I said simply。 'I send a message from my brain down my arm saying open thumb from fingers； or close thumb to fingers； to grip things； and the messages reach very sensitive terminals called electrodes； which are inside the plastic and against my skin。' I paused； but she didn't say she didn't understand。 I said； 'My real arm ends about there'…I pointed …'and the plastic arm goes up round my elbow。 The electrodes are up in my forearm； there； against my skin。 They feel my muscles trying to move。 That's how they work。'
'Is the plastic arm tied on； or anything？'
'No。 It just fits tightly and stays on by itself。 It was specially made to fit me。'
Like all children she took marvels for granted； although to me； even though by then I'd had the false arm for nearly three years； the concept of nerve messages moving machinery was still extraordinary。
'There are three electrodes；' I said。 'One for opening the hand； one for closing； and one for turning the wrist。'
'Do electrodes work on electricity？' It puzzled her。 'I mean； you're not plugged into the wall； or anything？'
'You're a clever girl；' I told her。 'It works on a special sort of battery which slots into the outside above where I wear my watch。 I charge up the batteries on a charger which is plugged into the wall。'
She looked at me assessingly。 'It must be pretty useful to have that hand。'
'It's brilliant；' I agreed。
'Daddy says Ellis Quint told him that you can't tell you have a plastic hand unless you touch it。'
I asked； surprised； 'Does your daddy know Ellis Quint？'
She nodded posedly。 'They go to the same place to play squash。 He helped Daddy buy Silverboy。 He was really really sorry when he found out it was Silverboy himself that he was making his programme about。'
'Yes； he would be。'
'I wish 。。。' she began； looking down at my hand； 'I do wish Silverboy could have had a new foot 。。。 with electrodes and a battery。'
I said prosaically； 'He might have been able to have a false foot fitted； but he wouldn't have been able to trot or canter； or jump。 He wouldn't have been happy just limping around。'
She rubbed her own fingers over the plastic ones； not convinced。
I said； 'Where did you keep Silverboy？'
'The other side of that fence at the end of the garden。' She pointed。 'You can't see it from here because of those trees。 We have to go through the house and out and down the lane。'
'Will you show me？'
There was a moment of drawing back； then she said； 'I'll take you if I can hold your hand on the way。'
'Of course。' I stood up and held out my real； warm； normal arm。
'No 。。。' She shook her head； standing up also。 'I mean； can I hold this hand that you can't feel？'
It seemed to matter to her that I wasn't whole； that I would understand someone ill； without hair。
I said lightly； 'You can hold which hand you like。'
She nodded； then pushed Pegotty into the house； and matter of factly told Linda she was taking me down to the field to show me where Silverboy had lived。 Linda gave me a wild look but let us go； so the bald…headed child and the one…handed man walked in odd panionship down a short lane and leaned against a five…barred gate across the end。
The field was a lush paddock of little more than an acre； the grass growing strongly； uneaten。 A nearby standing pipe with an ordinary tap on it stood ready to fill an ordinary galvanised water trough。 The ground round the trough was churned up； the grass growing more sparsely； as always happened round troughs in fields。
'I don't want to go in；' Rachel said； turning her head away。
'We don't need to。'
'His foot was by the trough；' she said jerkily； 'I mean 。。。 you could see blood 。。。 and white bones。'
'Don't talk about it。' I pulled her with me and walked back along the lane； afraid I should never have asked her to show me。
She gripped my unfeeling hand in both of hers； slowing me down。
'It's all right；' she said。 'It was a long time ago。 It's all right now when I'm awake。'
'Good。'
'I don't like going to sleep。'
The desperation of that statement was an open appeal； and had to be addressed。
I stopped walking before we reached the door of the house。 I said； 'I don't usually tell anyone this； but I'll tell you。 I still sometimes have bad dreams about my hand。 I dream I can clap with two hands。 I dream I'm still a jockey。 I dream about my smashed wrist。 Rotten dreams can't be helped。 They're awful when they happen。 I don't know how to stop them。 But one does wake up。'
'And then you have leukaemia 。。。 or a plastic arm。'
'Life's a bugger；' I said。
She put her hand over her mouth and； in a fast release of tension； she giggled。 'Mum won't let me say that。'
'Say it into your pillow。'
'Do you？'
'Pretty often。'
We went on into the house and Rachel again pushed Pegotty into the garden。 I stayed in the sitting…room with Linda and watched through the window。
'Was she all right？' Linda asked anxiously。
'She's a very brave child。'
Linda wept。
I said； 'Did you hear anything at all the night Silverboy was attacked？'
'Everyone asks that。 I'd have said if I had。'
'No car engines？'
'The police said they must have stopped the car in the road and walked down the lane。 My bedroom window doesn't face the lane； nor does Rachel's。 But that lane doesn't go anywhere except to the field。 As you saw； it's only a track really； it ends at the gate。'
'Could anyone see Silverboy from the road？'
'Yes； the police asked that。 You could see him e to drink。 You can see the water trough from the road； if you know where to look。 The police say the thugs must have been out all over this part of Kent looking for unguarded ponies like Silverboy。 Whatever you say about two…year…olds； Silverboy must have been done by thugs。 Why don't you ask the police？'
'If you wholeheartedly believed the police； you wouldn't have asked me for help。'
'Joe just telephoned；' she confessed； wailing； 'and he says that calling you in to help is a waste of money。'
'Ah。'
'I don't know what to think。'
I said； 'You're paying me by the day； plus expenses。 I can stop right now； if you like。'
'No。 Yes。 I don't know。' She wiped her eyes； undecided； and said； 'Rachel dreams that Silverboy is standing in the field and he's glowing bright and beautiful in the moonlight。 He's shining； she says。 And there's a dark mass of monsters oozing down the lane 。。。 oozing is what she says 。。。 and they are shapeless and devils and they're going to kill Silverboy。 She says she is try