"Is it all right to walk on a Sunday, Uncle Rory?"   "All right?"   Rory said, glancing at the boy.   In shorts and ashort-sleeved shirt, he looked almost painfully thin.   Rory wore an old cheesecloth shirt and cut-off jeans.   "Aye dad was saying you're not even allowed to walk in some islands on a Sunday!"   Prentice rolled his eyes and puffed his cheeks out.   "Well, yeah," Rory said.   "I think they're like that in Lewis and Harris.   But that's thehard-line prods up there.   Down here they're Catholics bit more relaxed about that sort of thing."   "But not being able to walk !"   Prentice protested, shaking his head at his shadow on the grey-black tarmac.   "I think you're allowed to walk to church and back."   "Ho!   Big deal!"   Prentice didn't sound impressed.   He was silent for a while.     "mind you," he said, sounding sly.     "I suppose you could always take a very long way round."   Rory laughed, just as his attention was caught by a little white blossom lying on the road surface in front of them.   Prentice looked up, at first surprised, then smiling, when Rory laughed.   Prentice stood on the flower, then jumped, shrieking with pain.   "Ah my foot!   My foot!   Oh!   Oh!"   Rory stood, open mouthed for a second, watching Prentice hop around on the tarmac, clutching at one ankle, his face contorted.