It was late in the afternoon and two boys were roaming the outskirts of Whitby. One of them was a dark-haired child. The other had chestnut hair with a glow of red. They were both around eight years old and the mischievous sparkle in one of the boy’s eyes betrayed that he was up to no good.

“Claude.” He said with hushed voice. “I bet if we help each other we can climb that wall. There’s an orchard there.” And not even waiting for his friend to reply, he took the dark-haired boy by the arm and dragged him over.