"Could you go to Witchend, Mr. Reuben? Please would you do that for me? I've got two letters, and if you could take them it would be much better and safer - and more mysterious, too," she added half to herself.

He grinned and touched his old hat.

"Deliver tomorrow, missy. Safer than postman," and he leaned down to take the two letters. Before Peter could pass them up an acid voice at her side said:

"Come inside this very minute, Jenny! How dare you stand there talking to idle, good-for-nothing vagabonds!... And as for you, miss," she added, turning to Peter, "I'll trouble you not to come seeking my girl again. We want nothing here from Seven Gates."

And with this parting shot Mrs. Harman flourished her umbrella and stumped into her own shop and set the bell a-jangling.

Jenny, following reluctantly, turned with a wink and hissed: "Meet you outside the garage in a tick."

The two gipsies looked at each other and then at Peter.

"You hear what she called us?" Miranda said at last.

"'Tis no matter. Come, Miss Petronella. Give me the letters, for we have far to go."

Before giving Reuben the letters Peter opened the one for David and hastily scribbled another few lines.

"Thank you, Mr. Reuben. And you will truly deliver them tomorrow? You know Witchend, don't you? Up the road from Onnybrook Station and then to the right at the top of the hill..."

As she spoke she felt a tug at her shorts and saw the brown-faced gipsy child beside her.

"Hallo, Fenella! Been driving the caravan by yourself, lately?"

The child shook her head and shyly held up something in a grubby hand.

"Take it, if you please, little lady," Miranda smiled. "She has made it for you. Try it! It is a true Romany whistle. Nobody else can make like it. Keep it, and when you whistle on it the Romany will come to you if they can hear."

Wonderingly, Peter put the beautifully carved little toy to her lips and blew. The sound was soft, sweet, yet piercing, and the piebald between the shafts put her ears forward at the sound. Reuben laughed.

"Keep it always, little chi. It is the Romany's gift to you. Now we must go, for we must be over the mountain by nightfall... but we'll meet again, and we will tell your friends that all is well with you," and he clucked his tongue to the horse and Fenella ran around as the caravan started and clambered up the steps.

Peter stood for a moment with her hand raised in farewell and then looked round for the garage. She saw two old petrol pumps much in need of a coat of paint farther up the street and strolled towards them. An old man in faded dungarees came out into the sunshine, leaned against the yellow pump and produced a fragment of cigarette from behind his ear.