James Herriot Read Online Free Page B

looked down at me appealingly as though he knew what I was going to say. He tried to smile but darted anxious glances at me, at the pig and back again. From the other end of the animal a soft uncomplaining grunt reminded me that I wasn’t the only one involved.
    I didn’t say anything. I turned back on to my chest, braced my feet against the wall of the pen and began again. I don’t know how long I lay there, pushing, relaxing, pushing again as I gasped and groaned and the sweat ran steadily down my back. The peer was silent but I knew he was following my progress intently because every now and then I had to brush matches from the surface of the uterus.
    Then for no particular reason the heap of flesh in my arms felt suddenly smaller. I glared desperately at the thing. There was no doubt about it, it was only half the size. I had to take a breather and a hoarse croak escaped me.
    “God! I think it’s going back!”
    I must have startled Lord Hulton in mid fill because I heard a stifled “What … what … oh I say, how absolutely splendid!” and a fragrant shower of tobacco cascaded from above.
    This was it, then. Summoning the last of my energy for one big effort I blew half an ounce or so of Redbreast Flake from the uterine mucosa and heaved forward. And, miraculously, there was little resistance and I stared in disbelief as the great organ disappeared gloriously and wonderfully from sight. I was right behind it with my arm, probing frantically away up to the shoulder as I rotated my wrist again and again till both uterine cornua were fully involuted. When I was certain beyond doubt that everything was back in place I lay there for a few moments, my arm still deep inside the sow, my forehead resting on the floor. Dimly, through the mist of exhaustion I heard Lord Hulton’s cries.
    “Stout fella! Dash it, how marvellous! Oh stout fella!” He was almost dancing with joy.
    One last terror assailed me. What if it came out again? Quickly I seized needle and thread and began to insert a few sutures in the vulva.
    “Here, hold this!” I barked, giving him the scissors.
    Stitching with the help of Lord Hulton wasn’t easy. I kept pushing needle or scissors into his hands then demanding them back peremptorily, and it caused a certain amount of panic. Twice he passed me his pipe to cut the ends of my suture and on one occasion I found myself trying in the dim light to thread the silk through his reaming tool. His lordship suffered too, in his turn, because I heard the occasional stifled oath as he impaled a finger on the needle.
    But at last it was done. I rose wearily to my feet and leaned against the wall, my mouth hanging open, sweat trickling into my eyes. The little man’s eyes were full of concern as they roved over my limply hanging arms and the caked blood and filth on my chest.
    “Herriot, my dear old chap, you’re all in! And you’ll catch pneumonia or something if you stand around half naked. You need a hot drink. Tell you what—get yourself cleaned up and dressed and I’ll run down to the house for something.” He scurried swiftly away.
    My aching muscles were slow to obey as I soaped and towelled myself and pulled on my shirt. Fastening my watch round my wrist I saw that it was after seven and I could hear the farm men clattering in the yard outside as they began their morning tasks.
    I was buttoning my jacket when the little peer returned. He bore a tray with a pint mug of steaming coffee and two thick slices of bread and honey. He placed it on a bale of straw and pulled up an upturned bucket as a chair before hopping on to a meal bin where he sat like a pixie on a toadstool with his arms around his knees, regarding me with keen anticipation.
    “The servants are still abed, old chap,” he said. “So I made this little bite for you myself.”
    I sank on to the bucket and took a long pull at the coffee. It was black and scalding with a kick like a Galloway bullock and it spread like fire through my