"Come on, then," Gwen said, hands on her hips, and I grinned and shoved my arms through them, hugging her. She hugged back, tight enough for me to swing her up and around while she laughed. "Oh, Saint, it's good to see you."

"You too! I didn't think you'd make it through for another month."

"Well, the road was good and we'd worn out our welcome where we were," she said, taking my hand and dragging me towards the trailer. "We're on our way to camp. Do you need a ride?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," I answered, allowing myself to be pulled into the front seat of the truck after Gwen. Her father, Tommy, slammed the door on the trailer and slapped my shoulder in greeting as he climbed into the driver's seat. The village boys rough-housed their way into the back of the cab. The warmth was a welcome relief, as was the grunt and purr of the engine.

"Good to see you, Saint," Tommy said, easing the truck out of the train-station parking lot.

"You too, Tommy. I see you brought the whole clan," I said, as Tommy pulled the truck neatly into a slow-moving line of cars and campers of various sizes and ages, all of them looking battered and weather-beaten. "You just get into town?"

"Manner of speaking," Tommy replied with a grin, not taking his eyes off the road. "Buyin' supplies."

"From who?" I asked. Tommy tapped the side of his nose. The train station was a popular place for truck-drivers to pull up for the night. Unscrupulous drivers sometimes sold some of what they had to people who needed it. They got to pocket the cash, after all, and insurance covered the loss.

"Lucky we found you," Gwen continued, as the caravan made its way out onto the road. Mud and snow pocked the surface, making it a little perilous, and the campers moved slowly. "Been to city?"

"Just came back," I said. "You?"

Gwen shrugged cheerfully. "We've been round and about. Do you need any chickens?"

A loaded question requiring a cautious answer: "Dead or alive?"

"Prefer 'em dead?" Tommy asked.

"Usually. I'll take a few, but not for a few days," I said, as the truck grumbled its way towards Low Ferry. "Just looking forward to getting home today."

"Is it long, the train to city?" Gwen asked.

"Not really. City itself's a little tiring, though," I replied.

"So I hear," Tommy observed.

"How come you two are hanging around with these troublemakers?" I asked, turning to the boy and his comrade.

"Came to see the Friendly," the boy piped up. "Bernie MacKenzie said they were coming."

"Your parents know you're taking rides from strangers?" I inquired.

"Do yours?" Gwen asked, elbowing me.

"Oh, I'm a latchkey kid," I answered. The boy leaned over the seat, watching the road. "Good to see you though, Gwen."

"Is it now?" Gwen replied. "Were you waiting for the Friendly, or for me?"

I laughed. "No other woman for me but you, Gwen."

"Easy, boy," Tommy put in.

"It's just his cat's tongue," Gwen said complacently. "He's a city boy, they love their land more than their women."

"Unkind!" I said. "Don't tell me you don't love the road more than your man, Gwen."

"Haven't got a man," she replied. "Besides, it's different. People change when they own land."

"Well, we can't all live as free as the Friendly do."

"Isn't it true!" she laughed. "And we're not all born to it. Do you know Don's granddaughter?"

"Irene, right?" I asked.

"Well, what do you think but she went to the University two years ago and now she's marrying a land-owner and keeping his house."

"Irene didn't really like caravaning, though, did she?"

"It's not for those who can't do with their hands," Tommy grumbled. "And there's no excuse for mooching around with your head on crooked."

"Which just goes to show," Gwen reflected, "that the Friendly are chosen people and it's nothing to do with blood or mothers."

"Chosen by whom?" I inquired.

"Well-asked," Tommy said. "Your wit's as sharp as ever."

The first of the caravan passed the turn for the main road then. Tommy pulled out of the string, making for my shop.

"Hear there's a man out at The Pines," he said, as we drove up the road. It was quiet, not many people on the street, and those who were stopped and watched with equal amounts of pleasure and anxiety as the truck came past. The relationship of the Friendly to Low Ferry is...complicated.

"I suppose you have this kid to thank for that," I said, tilting my head to the side and knocking the boy with it. He took the hint and leaned back. "Why, are you headed out there to camp?"