“Come on,” said Julian, at last. “Let’s go on. We’ll walk to the top of the next slope, and then I think we ought to turn back.”

They found a little path that Julian said must be a rabbit-path, because it was so narrow, and set off, chattering and laughing. They climbed through the heather to the top of the next slope. And at the top they got quite a surprise.

Down in the valley below was a silent and deserted stretch of railway lines! They appeared out of the black hole of a tunnel-mouth, ran for about half a mile, and then ended in what seemed to be a kind of railway yard.

“Look at that,” said Julian. “Old derelict lines — not used any more, I should think. I suppose that tunnel’s out of date, too.”

“Let’s go down and have a squint,” said Dick. “Come on! We’ve got plenty of time, and we can easily go back a shorter way.”

They set off down the hill to the lines. They arrived some way from the tunnel-mouth, and followed the lines to the deserted railway yard. There seemed to be nobody about at all.

“Look,” said Dick, “there are some old wagons on that set of lines over there. They look as if they haven’t been used for a hundred years. Let’s give them a shove and set them going!”

“Oh, no!” said Anne, afraid. But the two boys and George, who had always longed to play about with real railway trucks, ran over to where three or four stood on the lines. Dick and Julian shoved hard at one. It moved! It ran a little way and crashed into the buffers of another. It made a terrific noise in the silent yard.

A door flew open in a tiny hut at the side of the yard, and a terrifying figure came out. It was a one-legged man, with a wooden peg for his other leg, two great arms that might quite well belong to a gorilla, and a face as red as a tomato, except where grey whiskers grew.

He opened his mouth and the children expected a loud and angry yell. Instead out came a husky, hoarse whisper:

“What you doing? Ain’t it bad enough to hear spook-trains a-running at night, without hearing them in the daytime, too?”

The four children stared at him. They thought he must be quite mad. He came nearer to them, and his wooden leg tip-tapped queerly. He swung his great arms loosely. He peered at the children as if he could hardly see them.

“I’ve bruck me glasses,” he said, and to their astonishment and dismay two tears ran down his cheeks. “Poor old Wooden-Leg Sam, he’s bruck his glasses. Nobody cares about Wooden-Leg Sam now, nobody at all.”

There didn’t seem anything to say to all this. Anne felt sorry for the queer old man, but she kept well behind Julian.