As Jim whistled for his goats to hurry along the track, he saw the sky darkening. Snowy, the youngest kid in the herd, left her mother and leapt into his arms. Stroking her soft head, Jim was momentarily transported into the past.
After his small inheritance, he had been unsure of what to do with it. It had been Snowy’s mother, herself a kid back then, who had charmed him with her antics and had shown him his calling.
The goats depended on him for their sustenance, he on them for giving his purpose in life and his livelihood.
