“Bad luck, Georgina!” said Henry, who was listening to all this. “Very bad luck! I know you’re terribly bored here. It’s a pity you don’t really like horses. It’s a pity that you-”

“Shut up,” said George, rudely and went out of the room. Captain Johnson glared at Henrietta, who stood whistling at the window, hands in pockets.

“You two girls!” he said. “Why don’t you behave yourselves? Always aping the boys, pretending you’re so mannish! Give me Anne here, any day! What you want is your ears boxing. Did you take that bale of straw to the stables?”

“Yes,” said Henrietta, without turning.

“Yes, sir,” said Captain Johnson. “If you want to act like a boy, be one, and say “sir” when you speak to me, if you can’t bother to remember I’ve got a name. It’s...”

He broke off as a small boy came running in. “Sir, there’s a gypsy kid outside with a horse, a skewbald, a mangy looking thing. He says can you help him - the horse has got something wrong with its leg.”

“Those gypsies again!” said Captain Johnson. “All right, I’ll come.”

He went out and Anne went with him, not wanting to be left alone with the angry Henrietta. She found George outside with a small dirty gypsy boy and a patient little skewbald horse, its brown and white coat looking very flea-bitten.

“What have you done to your horse this time?” said Captain Johnson, looking at its leg. “You’ll have to leave it here, and I’ll see to it.”

“Can’t do that, sir,” said the boy. “We’re off to Mystery Moor again.”

“Well, you’ll have to,” said Captain Johnson. “It’s not fit to walk. Your caravan can’t go with the others, this horse isn’t fit to pull it. I’ll get the police to your father if you try to work this horse before it’s better.”

“Don’t do that!” said the boy. “It’s just that my Dad says we’ve got to go on tomorrow.”

“What’s the hurry?” said Captain Johnson. “Can’t your caravan wait a day or two? Mystery Moor will still be there in two days time! It beats me why you go there, a desolate place like that, not even a farm or a cottage for miles!”

“I’ll leave the horse,” said the boy, and stroked the skewbald’s nose. It was clear that he loved the ugly little horse. “My father will be angry, but the other caravans can go on without us. We’ll have to catch them up.”

He gave a kind of half-salute to the captain and disappeared from the stable-yard, a skinny little sunburnt figure. The skewbald stood patiently.

“Take it round to the small stable,” said Captain Johnson to George and Anne. “I’ll come and see to it in a minute.”

The girls led the little horse away. “Mystery Moor!” said George. “What a queer name! The boys would like that, they’d be exploring it at once, wouldn’t they?”