Sniffer looked alarmed. He shook it out carefully and then lightly touched his nose with it. He then folded it up conscientiously in the right creases and put it back into his pocket again.

“Now, NO sniffing!” commanded George, trying not to laugh. “Listen, Sniffer, you know those patrins you showed me yesterday?”

“Yes, Master George,” said Sniffer.

“Well, will the other gypsies who have gone in front, leave you patrins to follow, so that you will know the way?” said George.

Sniffer nodded. “Yes, but not many, because I have been that way twice before. They will only leave them in places where I might go wrong.”

“I see,” said George. “Now Sniffer, we want to have a sort of game. We want to see which of us can follow patrins, and we want you to lay patrins for us quite often, on your way to your family today. Will you?”

“Oh yes, I will,” said Sniffer, quite proud to have a favour asked of him. “I will lay the ones I showed you, the cross, the long sticks, and the big and little leaf.”

“Yes, do,” said George. “That will mean that you have passed in a certain direction and you are a boy and a dog. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Sniffer, nodding his head. “You have remembered!”

“Right. And we’re going to have a kind of game, trying to pretend we are travelling gypsies following others who have passed,” said George.

“You must not show yourselves when you come up to our caravans,” said Sniffer, looking suddenly alarmed. “I should get into trouble for laying patrins for you.”

“All right. We’ll be careful,” said George. “Now let’s go and get Clip.”

They fetched the patient little skewbald who came out gladly. He no longer limped, and his rest seemed to have done him good. He went off at a good pace with Sniffer. The last George heard of them was a very loud sniff indeed!

“Sniffer!” she shouted, warningly. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the hanky. He waved it gaily in the air, a sudden grin lighting up his face.

George went to find the others. “Sniffer has taken Clip,” she said. “What about going down to the blacksmith, and taking those horses that want shoeing?”

“Good idea,” said Julian. “We can ask him all about Mystery Moor then, and the strange little railway line, or whatever it is! Come on.”

They took the horses that needed shoeing. There were six of them, so they each rode one, and Julian led the sixth. Timmy ran happily along beside them. He loved the horses, and they regarded him as a real friend, bending their long noses down to sniff at him, whenever he came near.

They went slowly down the long lane to the blacksmith’s. “There it is!” said George. “A proper old smithy with a lovely fire! And there’s the smith!”