Ivy Glover, thrice married and widowed, had been a char since the age of 12 and she was at it still, living in a drab, swarming square near Hampstead Heath. When her great-uncle died she was left a lonely cottage near the village of Nethersham with its hills and beech woods. Ivy liked the country, she had gipsy blood which made her fearless, independent and utterly content with the company of her dog, rescued unknown to the law from his undeserving owners. Ivy wanted nothing of the outside world but she could not cut herself off completely. One visitor at least was welcome: the runaway boy Mike who came in from the freezing night to share her fire. Any stray, any sick of suffering creature went straight to her heart.