“Well,” she whispered, “you know I told you my Dad had gone off and left me to Jake. Dad didn’t tell me why — but Jake did. He shut George and Timmy into our caravan, harnessed Blackie the horse, and drove away in the night with them both. And I guess I know where he’s gone — where he always goes when he wants to hide.”

“Where?” asked Julian, feeling so astounded at these extraordinary revelations that he really began to wonder if he was dreaming.

“In the middle of Ravens Wood,” said Jo. “You don’t know where that is, but I do. I’ll take you tomorrow. I can’t tell you any more now.” She began to spoon up her bread and milk very fast indeed, watching the boys through her long eyelashes.

Dick considered her. He felt pretty sure she had told them the truth, though he was equally certain she would have told lies if she could have got more by doing so.

He thought her a bad, cold-blooded, savage little monkey, but he pitied her, and admired her unwillingly for her courage.

He caught sight of her bruises and grazes, and bit his lip as he remembered how he had pounced on her and pummelled her, giving her back kick for kick and blow for blow — he hadn’t guessed for one moment it was Jo.

“I’m sorry I hurt you so,” he said. “You know I didn’t mean to. It was a mistake.”

Jo looked at him as a slave might look at a king. “I don’t mind,” she said. “I’d do anything for you, straight I would. You’re kind.”

Joan knocked impatiently at the door. “Aren’t you ready yet, you boys?” she said. “I want to come to bed. Tell Jo to stop talking, and you come on out too, and go to bed.”

The boys opened the door. Joan took one look at their solemn faces and guessed that what Jo had told them was important. She took the empty basin from the girl’s hands and pushed her down on the couch.

“Now you go straight off to sleep — and mind, if I hear any hanky-panky from you in the night I’ll get up and give you such a spanking you won’t be able to sit down for a month of Sundays,” she said roughly, but not unkindly.

Jo grinned. She understood that kind of talk. She snuggled down into the rugs, marvelling at the warmth and softness. She was already half-asleep. Joan got into bed and switched off her light.

“Two o’clock in the morning!” she muttered as she heard the hall clock strike. “Such goings-on! I’ll never wake up in time to tell the milkman I want more milk.”

Soon only Julian was awake. He worried about whether he was doing right or not. Poor George — was she safe? Would that scamp of a Jo really lead them to the caravan next day — or might she lead them right into the lion’s mouth, and get them all captured? Julian simply didn’t know.