Julian walked over to the nearest caravan. It was empty, and no one answered his knock.

“What you want, mister?” called a high little voice, and a small girl with tangled, untidy hair came running up.

“Where’s Mr Tapper?” asked Julian, smiling at the untidy, bright-eyed little thing.

“He’s with one of the horses,” said the small girl. “Who are you?”

“We’re your neighbours,” said Julian. “Will you take us to Mr Tapper?”

“Old Grandad’s this way,” said the child, and slipped a dirty little hand into Julian’s. “I’ll show you. I like you, mister.”

She led the children to the middle of the camp. A mournful howl came from somewhere behind them and George stopped suddenly. “That’s Timmy! He must have found out that we’ve got out of the garden. I’ll go back for him.”

“Better not,” said Julian. “There might be ructions if he met the chimpanzee. A big chimp would make mincemeat of him!”

“It wouldn’t!” said George, but all the same she didn’t go back to fetch Timmy. Julian hoped that the dog wouldn’t jump over the fence, and come to find them.

“There’s old Granddad Tapper on them steps,” said the little girl, smiling up at Julian, whose hand she still held. “I like you, mister. Your hand smells nice.”

“Well, that’s because I wash it with soap and water four or five times a day,” said Julian. “Yours would smell nice too, if you did the same.”

The little girl sniffed at Julian’s hand. Then she shouted loudly to the old fellow sitting on the steps of a nearby caravan. “Grandad! Here’s folks to see you!”

Grandad was looking at a beautiful chestnut-brown horse, tethered close to him. He had one of the horse’s hooves in his hand. The children stood and gazed at him — black beard, frowning eye-brows — and, oh dear! thought Anne, only one ear, poor man. What could have happened to the missing one?

“GRANDAD!” called the girl again. FOLKS TO SEE YOU!’

Mr Tapper looked round, his eyes very bright under his black eye-brows. He set the horse’s hoof down, and gave the lovely creature a pat. “You don’t need to limp any more, my beauty,” he said. “I’ve taken out the stone that was in your hoof. You can dance again!”

The horse lifted up its magnificent head and neighed as if it were saying thank you. Tinker almost jumped out of his skin, and Mischief slipped from his shoulder and cuddled under his arm in terror.

“Now, now, little monkey, don’t you know a horse’s voice when you hear one?” said Grandad, and Mischief poked his head out from under Tinker’s arm to listen.

“Does that horse really dance?” said Anne, longing to stroke its long, smooth nose.

“Dance? It’s one of the finest horse-dancers in the world!” said Grandad, and began to whistle a gay little tune. The horse pricked up its ears, gazed at Grandad, and then began to dance! The children watched in astonishment.