The boy dances away from the woman with the broom, and the dog follows, jumping excitedly around his young master. The woman looks at them, already appeased, grinning fondly at the boy, and shaking her head.

"I just love your mince pies, mum!" the boy says, grinning at her winsomely.

"Tomorrow," she declares.

"Angus!" somebody calls out, and then two mince pies come sailing from the table, and the boy -- Angus -- catches them, the woman shrieks, a blond girl about a year or two older than Angus jumps out from behind the table, dodges the woman, and follows Angus, who is already running towards the door of the great hall. When the woman almost catches up with the girl, the dog crosses her path, and she stops, and shakes her head, and watches them leave.

"Scoundrels," she calls after them, fondly. "You'll eat get one less tomorrow, then."

Laughing, the children run from the hall, followed by the dog.

There are a big burly older man, and a broad strong younger man (who almost looks like Urquhart, but not quite) by the fire who had been talking, and watching the children pinching the mince pies. They are laughing, and the woman walks over with a jug of something, fills up their cups, and sits, pouring one for herself.

"They're true Urquharts, aye," the older man says to the woman, proudly. "You have no chance against my brood, Mary."

They all laugh.

"I was happy then," Urquhart says, very quietly, to the Ghost. "I belonged. We were all one and stuck together."