E. V. Lucas

“ It was just after leaving Buscot that Gregory, who had been ahead alone, suddenly rushed back in a wild state of excitement.
"What do you think I've seen?" he panted. "A giant! A real live giant!"
"Don't be an ass!" said Jack
"But I have," he protested—"I have. He's there in that wood, kneeling by the stream, washing his face. I watched him walk to it. He's enormous! He's as tall as this caravan nearly. Do come and peep at him."
They all very readily accompanied Gregory into the wood, and there, sure enough, was a giant, combing his hair. ”

“ But what you want, Horace, is system."
"No; what I want is food," said Horace. "I'm dying."
"So am I," said Gregory.
"Well, eat a crust to go on with," said Janet. "There's the bread."
"I hate crusts," said Gregory.
"Surely crusts are better than dying of starvation," said Mary.
"No," said Gregory, who was prepared to be thoroughly unpleasant. "No, I'd much rather die. I think I shall go to bed."
"Yes," said Robert, "do. People who can't stand a little hunger are no good in caravans."
"Janet," said Gregory, "how can I go to bed with my boots on?" ”

“ To the north-west is the smoke of Worcester, and immediately beneath the hill, winding shiningly about, is the Avon, running by Bredon village and the Combertons and Pershore, past Cropthorne (where Mr. MacAngus was perhaps even now painting) and Wood Norton (where the Duke of Orleans, who ought, Hester held, to be King of France to-day, lives) to Evesham, and the weir where they had rowed about, and so on to Stratford. ”

“ On leaving the Hall the boys and their companion had turned at once down the highroad in the direction of Mr. Fullarton's at Framshott, which was precisely the opposite direction to Portallan and the sea, Philip's idea being to ride for a few miles as if on the journey back to school, and to be seen by as many people who knew them by sight as possible, then to branch off into a sheltering wood, wait there till dark, and start again, refreshed, in a bee-line for the harbour. ”

“ Is it Marshall or Snelgrove?"
"I don't know," said Kink. "They're both alike."
"Oh, no, they're not," said the little girl. "Marshall has a white star between his eyes. Oh, do say Marshall's all right! Marshall's my very own."
"I'll go and see," said Gregory; and he ran off, and came back to say that Marshall was the one that seemed to be all right, but Snelgrove had broken his leg and couldn't move.
"Oh, I'm so glad about Marshall," said the girl; "but poor Tommy, how sorry he'll be!"
"See if you can get up, missie," said Kink. "I want to know if you're hurt anywhere." ”

“ P.C. Roper said nothing, but frowned at Jack with an expression so full of dignity, reprimand, and suspicion that Jack could not help laughing.
"Oh, I say," he said, "don't be cross. Mayn't we go about in a caravan if we want to? No one else has objected."
"No," Horace added, "the King said nothing as we came through London, and the Mayor of Stratford asked us to tea."
Kink laughed at this—much too loudly—and the young policeman realized that he had been foolish. Instead, however, of laughing, too, he became more important and angry, and suddenly he thought of a means of retaliation. ”

“ With the exception of Gregory, no one slept very well. Hester was frightened by an owl which hooted close to the caravan, and Janet had to hold her hand for quite a long time, which is a very uncomfortable thing to do when you are in the berth below, and then, just as she was going off again, a rabbit, pursued by a stoat, screamed right under their wheels, as it seemed, and Hester's fright began anew.
Jack and Horace were probably a little over excited, for they were very restless; and to be restless on the hard ground—with no springs, as in our beds at home—is to get sore and wakeful ”

“ Lenox, with a mock sigh, "I suppose the horse will have to be found by me. We don't want to buy one—only to hire it."
"Don't let's have a horse," said Gregory; "let's have a motor. I think a motor caravan would be splendid."
"There you're quite wrong," said Mr. Lenox. "The life-blood of a caravan is sloth; the life-blood of a motor is speed. You can't mix them. And how could Robert here survey England creditably if he rushed through it in a motor? ”

“ MacAngus. "As a reward you shall tell your story before Macbeth does."
"I am nine," said Hester. "My name is Hester. I adore Shakespeare. I am Janet's sister."
"Good!" said Mr. MacAngus. "We will read Shakespeare together this afternoon. From the way you walk I can see that this is blister day. We will all take it easy and be happy, and you shall cure your lameness. Now, Mac."
"I am thirteen," said Robert. "I am the geographer of the party. I am sorry for murdering your sleep, but glad, too, because you're so jolly."
"Now you," said Mr. MacAngus to Jack Rotheram. ”

“ Mary Rotheram had a snub nose and quantities of freckle and a very nice nature.
"The Gables" had a large garden, with a shrubbery of evergreens in it and a cedar. It was not at all a garden-party garden, because there was a well-worn cricketpitch right in the middle of the lawn, and Gregory had a railway system where the best flowers ought to be; but it was a garden full of fun, and old Kink, the gardener, managed to get a great many vegetables out of it, too, although not so many as Collins thought he ought to. ”

“ You eat them all right when they're cooked."
"I couldn't eat a rabbit that I had seen struggling alive," said Janet.
"No," said Mary. "Oh, Jack, please let him go! You've caught him, and that's the great thing; and now be merciful."
Kink still held the struggling creature.
"I vote he's let loose again," said Robert. "I don't want any of him."
"No, and I'm sure I don't," said Gregory; "but wouldn't it be fun to keep him in a hutch?"
"Wild rabbits are no good in hutches," said Kink.
Jack was very sullen. "It's awful rot," he said. ”

“ Wait till I have led the Snail to a place of safety."
And lastly Gregory guessed. "I think," he said, "you are a vagabond."
"Gregory!" cried Janet; "you mustn't say things like that," while the stranger laughed again.
"Why not?" Gregory inquired. "I mean like the Wandering Jew Mr. Crawley told us about. He called him the prince of vagabonds."
"Well," said the stranger, "Gregory's right. I am a vagabond. But I'm something else too, and I'll tell you. I'm an artist. My name is Hamish MacAngus. I live in the Snail most of the summer, and in London in the winter. ”

“ Has it ever occurred to you that in the life of every policeman there is one day when he wears his majestic uniform in public for the first time? It must, of course, be so. No matter how many times he may have put it on at home privately, to get used to it, the day must at last come when he has to walk forth into the streets, and in the eyes of those who have known him ever since he was a boy, or even a baby, changed from a man like themselves to an important and rather dreadful guardian of the peace. ”

“ On Sunday, even after service, the church was not on view, but the next day it was there that they hurried directly after breakfast, Hester carrying with her some little bunches of flowers. They paid their sixpences, and made straight for Shakespeare's tomb, and stood before the coloured bust—that bust which you see in reproduction at every turn in this loyal town. ”

“ We want one badly." (Gregory, as I have said, hated fielding.)
"Let's adopt it," said Hester. "Mother often says how she wishes we were still babies."
"Don't let's adopt it if it's a girl," said Gregory.
"It doesn't matter what a baby is," said Hester,—"whether it's a boy or a girl. The important thing is that it's a baby. When it gets too big, we can let it go."
"I'm dreadfully afraid," said Janet, "that we shall have to try to find out whose it is and give it back now."
"Well," said Mary, "we needn't try too hard, need we?" ”

“ I am nine. I am also the Keeper of the Tin-opener."
"Oh, yes," said Jack, "I forgot that. I am the Preserver of Enough Oil in the Beatrice Stove."
"I am proud to meet such important personages," said Mr. MacAngus. "And now, lastly, you,"—he said to Gregory,—"the little nipper, the tiny tot of the party."
Gregory was furious. He scowled at the artist like thunder.
"Go on," said Mr. MacAngus; "don't mind me. I always tease little important boys."
"My name is Gregory Bruce Avory," said Gregory, "and I am seven. I am going to be an aviator. ”

“ Hester protested, bursting into tears.
"But I read it in a book," said Horace, who had not wished to hurt her, but still desired to serve the truth. "It was sent to father."
"Everything in books isn't true," said Janet.
"Oh, I say!" said Horace.
"Of course it's not," said Mary. "Books are always being replied to and squashed."
"Well, this book was by a Member of Parliament," said Horace.
This was very awkward for the defenders of Shakespeare. What were they to do?
Gregory, who had not seemed to be interested in the debate, settled it. ”

“ But Barbara's trick in hiding Rupert undid the plan, for the first person whom the Captain and his men met on leaving the Hall for the second time swore so positively to having seen the FOUR schoolboys that the Roundhead's suspicions were at once aroused, and, turning his horse's head, he led the way at all speed towards Portallan.
"Then there was a man there all the time," he cried bitterly to himself, "and he has escaped in that puppy's clothes! 'Sdeath, if I catch him now...!" He ground his teeth together in his rage, and dug the rowels of his spurs into the horse's side. ”

“ They left the weir very early the next morning, after a breakfast from the cold ham which Mrs. Avory had bought them at Stratford. On their way through the village they stopped at Salford Hall, because Hester and Gregory had had an argument as to whether or not it was possible to hear the breathing of the person in the hiding-hole. The farmer allowed them to go upstairs and try, and, as it happened, Hester was right, and you could hear it, if you had patience. Gregory came out again as purple as a plum through holding it in so long. ”

“ Bidford is not drunken now; it is only sleepy: a long steep street, with, at the top, the church and a beautiful old house, now cottages, once the Falcon Inn, where Shakespeare used to drink, and where the chair came from that they had seen at the birthplace yesterday; and at the foot the Swan Inn and the old bridge.
Bidford is built very like a wateringplace—that is to say, it is all on one side of the river. The water to-day looked very tempting, especially as a great number of boats were lying on it waiting to be hired; but Robert sternly ordered his party onwards. ”

“ I am not one of the Avories, and the caravan was therefore not given to me, but my brother and I have been so happy in it that I want to say thank you for it quite as if I were an Avory all the time. We live near them at Chiswick, you know. It has been a supreme holiday, with hardly any rain and no real troubles, although even the strongest people must sometimes get a little tired of walking on dusty roads and having to wait for meals. ”

“ Janet and Robert, who had by this time come up, were told of the difficulty.
"License?" said Robert. "What license?"
"All carriages must have licenses," said the policeman, "and all caravans have to produce theirs when called for, because they're always moving about."
The children gathered round Kink to discuss it. Kink said that it was all Greek to him. He supposed, of course, that caravans had to have licenses, but he'd never heard of demands for them in the highroad. "But do be civil to him, Master Robert," he implored. "You never get any good out of cheeking the police." ”

“ Janet asked.
"Yes, I have written lots, but I'm afraid they don't sell as they ought to. Of course, Godfrey Fairfax is not my real name; it is just the name I take as a writer, because people prefer that books should be written by a man rather than by a woman. I am really Miss Redstone. Why I called you in was to ask if you would be so very kind as to sit down and have some cake and milk while I read you my last story—quite a short one—and you can tell me what you think of it. There are so few children that I know here, and it makes such a difference to get some real criticism. ”

“ We've got enough to eat and drink,—and no one wants more,—and along with it no rent and taxes, no servants, no tall hats, no offices, no motor-cars, no fear of thieves. Millionaires have no rest at all. No sitting under a tree by the fire smoking a pipe."
"And no hedgehogs," said Gregory.
"No—no hedgehogs. Nothing but butcher's meat that costs its weight in gold. Take my advice, young gents," said the gipsy, "and never envy anybody."
Meanwhile the others were very happy by the Slowcoach fire. The gipsy woman, hugging her baby, kept as close to Janet as if she were a spaniel. ”

“ Lenox.
"We want a watchdog to be kept on a chain, but friendly enough with his own people. If you keep only pedigree dogs, we may as well get on to our next address."
Mr. Amos stepped between Mr. Lenox and the door. "It's most extraordinary odd," he said, "for, although I make it almost a religion never to have any but pedigree dogs, it happens that just at this very moment I have got, for the first time in my whole career, an inferior animal. It's not mine. Oh, no; I'm only taking care of it for a friend. But it's a retriever all right, and a good one, mark you, though not a pedigree dog. ”

“ It was a fine, bracing day, and they were all very vigorous after the two days of rest in Stratford, and they therefore trudged gaily along in the sun, not stopping again until just before Bidford, on the hill where Shakespeare's crab-tree used to grow, under which he had slept so long after one of his drinking contests. For it seems to have been his habit to go now and then with other Stratford friends to neighbouring villages to see whether they or the villagers could drink the most—a custom that even Hester found it hard to defend. ”

“ All right," he called out to P.C. Roper, who was getting anxious, "we're just coming."
Then Janet had a happy thought. "I say," she exclaimed, "where is that envelope that Uncle Christopher gave us? He said we were to open it if we got into a real mess. Well, now's the time."
"It's in the safe," said Robert, and he dashed into the caravan and brought it out.
Janet opened it and read it slowly. Then she smiled a radiant smile, and, advancing to the constable, handed him a paper.
"Here is the license," she said; "you will find our name and address on it. Now, perhaps, we may go on." ”

“ Gregory, proud to be really beginning his duties, said: "Please, may we camp tonight in one of your fields? We're living in a caravan."
"You've come to the wrong person," said Mrs. Gosden. "That's my husband's affair, and he's rather particular. He's gone to Chipping Norton; but," she added, as Gregory began to look miserable, "he'll be back any minute now. You sit down and have a cup of tea with me and wait for him." ”

“ Kink, however, said nothing, but went to the back of the caravan and helped Mrs. Mordan and Patricia down.
"My precious Lina!" exclaimed Aunt May, when she saw them. "Whatever has happened?"
"I'll tell you about it indoors," said Mrs. Mordan. "These kind people are going to stop here for lunch, if you've got enough."
"Of course there's enough," said Aunt May; "but I thought you were gipsies, or tinkers, or something objectionable. You're not a tinker, are you?" she said to Gregory. ”

“ Robert had arranged an easy day to begin with, and they were to go no farther than Woodstock, where, for those not too tired, there was Blenheim to see, the wonderful house of the Duke of Marlborough, and Fair Rosamond's Bower, and the park and the lake. Hester even had hopes of finding a distressed Blenheim spaniel puppy in some romantic sort of way, and adopting it for life.
But there were none of these things for them. Indeed, caravaners very soon get out of the habit of making plans at all. It is all too uncertain. The only things that really are certain are work and delay. ”

“ The nice old women in the Worcestershire sunbonnets came to see them start, and, well supplied with stone gingerbeer from the Queen's Head—Queen Elizabeth's head, as it happens—off they went, Gregory beside Kink, and Hester inside reading Hans Andersen's story of the nightingale.
The others, after waving good-bye, set their feet bravely towards the slopes of Bredon Hill—no small undertaking, for it is very steep and the day was hot. But the pathway is pleasant, first passing by the gardens of the great house, where, burning blue on the wall, they saw their visitor of the night ”

“ For the love of Heaven give me a ride in the beautiful caravan."
"Where do you want to go?" Kink growled at her.
"To Alverminster," she said. "To see my daughter. She lives there. She's been married these five years to a carpenter, and she's just had another baby, bless it's wee face! But me poor heart's that bad I can't go another step."
Kink drew Janet aside. "She's an old humbug," he said, "and she smells of gin. Better let her be."
"Oh, Kinky," said Janet, "how can we! The poor old thing, and her daughter waiting to see her!"
"Daughter!" Kink snorted. "She's got no daughter. ”