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thieves?”
    â€œYes, horse thieves. Very dangerous men, horse thieves. Hordes of them roam the countryside, looking for valuable horses. They’re not interested in boys,” he added hastily, “only horses. So if you see any sinister-looking men coming this way, you must call down to me at once. As loudly as you can. Is that clear, Nicky?”
    The boy clicked his heels in a military manner. “Yes, sir! I will guard the horse.”
    â€œGood lad!” Gabe recommenced his descent, slipping and sliding in places where the rocks gave way to mud. It really was quite dangerous.

    â€œW hatcher doin’?”
    Nicky was so startled he nearly fell over the cliff. He’d been leaning out, watching. He raised a fist as he turned, but instead of a horde of sinister men, there was just one ragged boy a little older than himself, with a sharp face and bold, dark eyes. He was pulling a rickety two-wheeled handcart.
    â€œWho are you?” He clutched Trojan’s reins defensively.
    The boy scowled. His face was remarkably dirty. Nicky doubted his hair had been brushed in weeks. His feet were bare, his trousers were tattered but he showed not a shred of shame. “I asked you first! And what’re you doin’ with Trojan?”
    His tone stung Nicky, prompting him into responding to a boy of a class he knew was beneath him. “I’m guarding him,” he answered in the crushing manner that Papa had taught him.
    â€œFrom what?”
    â€œFrom horse thieves.”
    â€œHorse thieves?” declared the boy scornfully. “As if anyone around here would be daft enough to nick Mr. Gabe’s Trojan!”
    â€œNick?” Nicky didn’t understand.
    â€œNick—doncha know what that means? Pinch, swipe, nab, steal—”
    â€œOh.” Nicky thought for a moment. “So you don’t think there’s any horse thieves around here?”
    The boy spat. “Nah. Never heard of any and I’ve lived here all me life. And even if there was one, he wouldn’t get far. Everyone in these parts knows Mr. Gabe and Trojan.”
    Thoughtfully Nicky let go of the reins. It was as he had thought at first: Mr. Renfrew had just wanted him out of the way. He, like Papa, thought Nicky was useless.
    â€œSo, what were you lookin’ at?” the grubby boy demanded, still faintly hostile.
    Nicky pointed. “That slipper, that blue thing down there.”
    The boy squinted down, then nodded. “A slipper, is it? That’s all right then, you can have it. I was worried you was after me eggs and stuff.”
    â€œEggs and stuff?”
    The boy jerked his chin at the cliffs. “I get eggs from the nests there. Good eatin’, those eggs.”
    â€œOh.” Eggs from wild seabirds? An English delicacy, no doubt, Nicky thought.
    The boy looked down the cliff and wrinkled his nose. “What do you want with one slipper?”
    â€œThat is my business,” Nicky said. He did not think it proper to reveal his mother’s slipperless state to this strange and dirty boy.
    â€œSo you’re goin’ to fetch it, then?” The boy’s tone was mildly skeptical.
    â€œI might.”
    â€œNot in them boots ya won’t.”
    Nicky looked down at his boots. “Why not?”
    The boy spat again. “’Cause you’ll fall to your death, that’s why not. Them fancy leather soles will slip on the rocks and mud. You won’t be able to get a good grip at all.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œSo take ’em off.”
    â€œYou mean go down there with no shoes?”
    â€œThat’s how I do it. You get a better grip with your toes. Never fallen yet. Ain’t you never climbed a cliff before?”
    â€œNever,” Nicky admitted. He’d never walked outside in bare feet, either, but he wasn’t going to admit that.
    â€œWell take it from me—I know all about it,” said the boy. “Some folks call me