“Nope. Just wanted to talk and had to say something.”
“But who are you?”
“I’ve lived in America and now I’m living here in Friday Lane. I’ve often seen you go by.”
They looked round to discover Friday Lane; on every side was a sweep of country, rolling away in sun-dazzled fields and basking woodlands.
“But—but it’s lonely here.”
“Yup. But it’s lonelier where I come from. Nothing but Indians and prairie.”
Even Indians didn’t turn them aside; they were trying to unravel the mystery of Friday Lane.
“Is this road the Lane?”
“That’s the Lane.” The boy pointed with a brown hand to a grass-grown field-track starting from the gate on which he sat and vanishing between a line of tall oaks—oaks which had probably been standing when the land was part of the royal chase.
“But there aren’t any houses.”