“Why can’t I have a little peace and quiet when I’m doing important work?” he began. But his wife made a dart at him and dragged him down the hall. She put his hat in one hand, and would have put his stick into the other if he hadn’t been carrying a heavy despatch case.

“You’re not doing important work, you’re off on a holiday,” she said. “Oh, Quentin, you’re worse than ever! What’s that case in your hand? Surely you are not taking work away with you?”

The taxi hooted again, and Timmy woofed just behind Uncle Quentin. He jumped violently, and the telephone rang loudly.

“That’s another reporter coming down to see you, Father,” said George. “Better go quickly!”

Whether that bit of news really did make Uncle Quentin decide at last to go, nobody knew — but in two seconds he was sitting in the taxi, still clutching his despatch case, telling the taxi-driver exactly what he thought of people who kept hooting their horns.

“Good-bye, dears,” called Aunt Fanny, thankfully. “Don’t get into mischief. We’re off at last.”

The taxi disappeared down the lane. “Poor Mother!” said George. “It’s always like this when they go for a holiday. Well, there’s one thing certain — I shall NEVER marry a scientist.”

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief at the thought that Uncle Quentin was gone. When he was over-worked he really was impossible.

“Still, you simply have to make excuses for anyone with a brain like his,” said Julian. “Whenever our science master at school speaks of him, he almost holds his breath with awe. Worst of it is, he expects me to be brilliant because I’ve got a brilliant uncle.”

“Yes. It’s difficult to live up to clever relations,” said Dick. “Well — we’re on our own, except for Joan. Good old Joan! I bet she’ll give us some smashing meals.”

“Let’s go and see if she’s got anything we can have now,” said George. “I’m hungry.”

“So am I,” said Dick. They marched down the hall into the kitchen, calling for Joan.

“Now, you don’t need to tell me what you’ve come for,” said Joan, the smiling, good-tempered cook. “And I don’t need to tell you this — the larder’s locked.”

“Oh Joan — what a mean thing to do!” said Dick.

“Mean or not, it’s the only thing to do when all four of you are around, to say nothing of that great hungry dog,” said Joan, rolling out some pastry vigorously. “Why, last holidays I left a meat pie and half a tongue and a cherry tart and trifle sitting on the shelves for the next day’s meals — and when I came back from my half-day’s outing there wasn’t a thing to be seen.”

“Well, we thought you’d left them there for our supper,” said Julian, sounding quite hurt.

“All right — but you won’t get the chance of thinking anything like that again,” said Joan, firmly. “That larder door’s going to be kept locked. Maybe I’ll unlock it sometimes and hand you out a snack or two — but I’m the one that’s going to unlock it, not you.”