Seven White Gates

Malcolm Saville

First revised edition published in 1969 by Wm. Collins Sons and Co. Ltd., London and Glasgow. This edition was first published in 1970 by May Fair Books Ltd., 14 St. James's Place, London S.W.1, and was printed in Great Britain by Love & Malcomson Ltd., Brighton Road, Redhill, Surrey.

MALCOLM SAVILLE

CONDITIONS OF SALE: This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Foreword

In the county of Shropshire, not very far from the borders of Wales, there stretches for five miles a gaunt, rugged range called Stiperstones. This little-known mountain is crowned by a mysterious ridge known as the Devil's Chair, which is said to be one of the oldest parts of England - older by far even than the ice age.

It is in this country - a fragment of England rich in folklore and legend - that this story is set. Except for the two villages through which Peter rode on the first day of the Easter holidays, you will not find any other of the places mentioned on a map. They do not exist. There is no village called Barton Beach, no valley called Black Dingle and no farm - so far as I know - with seven white gates. All the people you will read about are imaginary and have no reference to any living person.

But if you ever discover the Stiperstones for yourself you will find that the Devil's chair is there. I promise you that.

M.S

1. Lone Pine Summons

For as long as she had been a boarder at the Castle School Peter had felt peculiar on the last day of term.

It had always been the same, and now that she was fifteen and would be taking School Certificate in the summer, she felt just as excited and sick as she had at the end of that long first term when she was only ten and had cried into her pillow: "Tomorrow I shall really go home. Tomorrow I shall see Daddy. Tomorrow I shall go up the valley again to lovely Hatchholt."

Now, at breakfast-time on breaking-up morning before the Easter Holidays, she looked round the crowded tables and wondered how it was that all the other laughing, chattering girls were able to produce normal appetites on such an exciting day. She turned to the girl on her left.

"You can have my fish-cake, Margaret. I'm not hungry and I suppose you are - as usual!"

"I should just think I am! What's the matter, Peter?"

"Nothing. I only want my tea, that's all."