“Now we’ll see if we are as clever as we think we are, at reading gypsy patrins!” said George. “Timmy, don’t chase every rabbit you see, or you’ll be left behind!”

They cantered up on to the moor, passing the place where the caravans had stood. They knew the direction they had taken, and here and there they saw wheel-marks. It was fairly easy to follow their trail, because five caravans made quite a path to follow.

“Here’s where they camped first,” said Julian, riding up to a blackened spot that showed where a fire had been lighted. “We ought to find a message left somewhere here.”

They searched for one. George found it. “It’s here, behind this tree!” she called. “Out of the wind.”

They dismounted and came round George. On the ground was the patrin, the shape of a cross, the long stick pointing forwards, in the direction they were going. Other single sticks lay there, to show that a caravan had gone that way, and beside them were the large and the small leaf, weighted with tiny stones.

“What did those leaves show now, oh yes, Sniffer and his dog!” said Dick. “Well, we’re on the right way, though we’d know that anyhow, by the fire!”

They mounted again and went on. It proved quite easy to find and follow the patrins. Only once did they find any difficulty and that was when they came to a place, marked by two trees, where there was no apparent sign in the heather of any caravan marks.

“The heather’s so jolly thick here that it’s taken the caravans as if it were a feather-bed, springing up when they had gone, and giving no sign of where they had passed,” said Julian. He dismounted and had a good look round. No, there was no sign.

“We’ll go on a little way,” he said. “We may come to a camping place, then we’ll know.”

But they came to no old camping place, and stopped at last in bewilderment. “We’ve lost the trail,” said Dick. “We’re not such good gypsies after all!”

“Let’s go back to those two trees,” said George. “We can still just see them. If it’s so easy to lose the way there, there might be a patrin, although there are no camp-marks. After all, a patrin is left to show the way, in case the ones following take the wrong route.”

So back they rode to the two trees, and there, sure enough, was Sniffer’s patrin! Henry found it set carefully between the trees, so that nothing could disturb it.

“Here’s the cross, and the single sticks, and the leaves!” she said. “But look, the long stick of the cross points to the east and we went off to the north. No wonder we found no signs of the caravans!”

They set off to the east this time, across the thick, springy heather, and almost at once found signs of the passing of caravans, twigs broken off the bushes, a wheel rut on a soft piece of ground.