“Oh — were you at another farm before this one, then?” asked Anne. “Have you always lived on a farm? Aren’t you lucky!”

“I’ve only lived on two,” said Jock. “Owl Farm and this one. Mum and I had to leave Owl Farm when Dad died, and we went to live in a town for a year. I hated that. I was glad when we came here.”

“But I thought your father was here!” said Dick, puzzled.

“That’s my stepfather,” said Jock. “He’s no farmer, though!” He looked round and lowered his voice. “He doesn’t know much about farming. It’s my mother that tells the men what to do. Still, he gives her plenty of money to do everything well, and we’ve got fine machinery and wagons and things. Like to see the dairy? It’s slap up-to-date and Mum loves working in it.”

Jock took the four children to the shining, spotless dairy. His mother was at work there with a girl. She nodded and smiled at the children. “Good morning! Hungry again? I’ll pack you up plenty of food when I’ve finished in the dairy. Would you like to stay and have dinner with my Jock? He’s lonely enough here in the holidays, with no other boy to keep him company.”

“Oh, yes — do let’s!” cried Anne, in delight. “I’d like that. Can we, Ju?”

“Yes. Thank you very much, Mrs. — er — Mrs. . . .” said Julian.

“I’m Mrs. Andrews,” said Jock’s mother. “But Jock is Jock Robins — he’s the son of my first husband, a farmer. Well, stay to dinner all of you, and I’ll see if I can give you a meal that will keep you going for the rest of the day!”

This sounded good. The four children felt thrilled, and Timmy wagged his tail hard. He liked Mrs. Andrews.

“Come on,” said Jock, joyfully. “I’ll take you all round the farm, into every corner. It’s not very big, but we’re going to make it the best little farm on the moorlands. My stepfather doesn’t seem to take much interest in the work of the farm, but he’s jolly generous when it comes to handing out money to Mum to buy everything she wants.”

It certainly seemed to the children that the machinery on the farm was absolutely up-to-date. They examined the binding machine, they went into the little cowshed and admired the clean stone floor and white brick walls, they climbed into the red-painted wagons, and they wished they could try the two motor-tractors that stood side by side in a barn.

“You’ve got plenty of men here to work the farm,” said Julian. “I shouldn’t have thought there was enough for so many to do on this small place.”

“They’re not good workers,” said Jock, his face creasing into frowns. “Mum’s always getting wild with them. They just don’t know what to do. Dad gives her plenty of men to work the farm, but he always chooses the wrong ones! They don’t seem to like farm-work, and they’re always running off to the nearest town whenever they can. There’s only one good fellow and he’s old. See him over there? His name’s Will.”