“Got your torch?” said Anne when at last they had both got into their bunks. “I’m going to blow out the lamp. If you want anything in the night you’ll have to put on your torch, George. Look at Timmy sitting on the floor still! He doesn’t realize we’ve gone to bed! Tim — are you waiting for us to go upstairs?”

Timmy thumped his tail on the floor. That was just exactly what he was waiting for. When George went to bed she always went upstairs, whether she was at school or at home — and though he hadn’t managed to discover any stairs in the caravan yet, he was sure that George knew where they were!

It took Timmy a few minutes to realize that George was going to sleep for the night in the bunk she had put up against the wall. Then, with one bound he was on top of her, and settled down on her legs. She gave a groan.

“Oh, Timmy — you are rough! Get off my legs — get further down — get into the curve of my knees.”

Timmy found the bunk too small to be really comfortable. However he managed to curl himself up in as small a space as possible, put his head down on one of George’s knees, gave one of his heavy sighs, and fell asleep.

He had one ear open all the time, though — an ear for a rat that for some peculiar reason ran over the roof — an ear for a daring rabbit that nibbled the grass under the caravan — and a very alert ear for a big cockchafer that flew straight into the glass pane of the right-hand window, just above George’s bunk.

Plang! It collided with the pane, and fell back, stunned. Timmy couldn’t for the life of him think what it was, but soon fell asleep again, still with one ear open. The blackbird in the hawthorn tree woke him up early. It had thought of a perfectly new melody, and was trying it out very loudly and deliberately. A thrush nearby joined in.

“Mind how you do it, mind how you do it!” sang the thrush at the top of its voice. Timmy sat up and stretched. George woke up at once, because Timmy trod heavily on her middle.

She couldn’t think where she was at first, then she remembered and smiled. Of course — in a caravan, with Anne. How that blackbird sang — a better song than the thrush! Cows mooed in the distance, and the early morning sun slid in through the window and picked out the clock and the bowl of primroses.

Timmy settled down. If George wasn’t going to get up neither was he! George shut her eyes and fell asleep again too. Outside, the camp began to awake. Caravan doors opened. Fires were lighted. Somebody went down to the stream to get water.

The boys came banging at the door of the girls’ caravan. “Come on, sleepyheads! It’s half-past seven, and we’re hungry!”