Chapter Four

The fair-folk arrive

That first day they were all together was a lovely one. They enjoyed it thoroughly, especially George, who had fretted all by herself for two weeks at home. Timmy was very happy too. He tore after rabbits, most of them quite imaginary, up and down the field and in and out the hedges till he was tired out.

Then he would come and fling himself down by the four, panting like a steam-engine going uphill, his long pink tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“You make me feel hot just to look at you, Timmy,” said Anne, pushing him away. “Look, George — he’s so hot he’s steaming! One of these days, Timmy, you’ll blow up!”

They went for a walk in the afternoon, but didn’t quite get to the sea. They saw it from a hill, sparkling blue in the distance. Little white yachts dotted the blue water like far-off swans with wings out-spread. They had tea at a farmhouse, watched by a couple of big-eyed farm-children.

“Do you want to take some of my home-made jam with you?” asked the farmer’s jolly, red-faced wife, when they paid her for their tea.

“Oh, yes, rather!” said Dick. “And I suppose you couldn’t sell us some of that fruit-cake? We’re camping in caravans in Faynights Field, just opposite the castle — so we’re having picnic meals each day.”

“Yes, you can have a whole cake,” said the farmer’s wife. “I did my baking yesterday, so there’s plenty. And would you like some ham? And I’ve some good pickled onions too.”

This was wonderful! They bought all the food very cheaply indeed, and carried it home gladly. Dick took off the lid of the pickled onions half-way back to the caravans, and sniffed.

“Better than any scent!” he said. “Have a sniff, George.”

It didn’t stop at sniffs, of course. Everyone took out a large pickled onion — except Timmy who backed away at once. Onions were one thing he really couldn’t bear. Dick put back the lid.

“I think somebody else ought to carry the onions, not Dick,” said Anne. “There won’t be many left by the time we reach our caravans!”

When they climbed over the stile at the bottom of the field the sun was going down. The evening star had appeared in the sky and twinkled brightly. As they trudged up to their caravans Julian stopped and pointed.

“Hallo! Look! There are two more caravans here — rather like ours. I wonder if it’s the fair-folk arriving.”

“And there’s another one, see — coming up the lane,” said Dick. “It will have to go to the field-gate because it can’t come the way we do — over the stile. There it goes.”

“We shall soon have plenty of exciting neighbours!” said Anne, pleased. They went up to their own caravans and looked curiously at the one that stood near to theirs. It was yellow, picked out with blue and black, and could have done with a new coat of paint. It was very like their own caravans, but looked much older.