“I’ll write it now,” said George, happily. “Oh, Mother, I began to be afraid this awful cold would hang on all through the holidays! I shan’t bathe again on such a cold day in April.”

“You said that last year — and the year before that too,” said her mother. “You have a very short memory, George!”

“Come on, Timmy!” said George, and the two of them went out of the door like a whirlwind. It slammed behind them, and the house shook.

At once the study door opened and an angry voice yelled loudly. “Who’s that slamming doors when I’m at work? Can’t ANYBODY in this house shut a door quietly?”

George grinned as she fled upstairs. The biggest slammer-of-doors was her father, but he only heard the slams made by other people. George turned her writing-case inside out to find a post-card. She must post it at once or Julian wouldn’t get it — and it would be so nice to have all her three cousins meeting her!

“We’re off tomorrow,” she told Timmy, who looked up at her and wagged his tail vigorously. “Yes, you’re coming too, of course — then the Five will all be together again. The Famous Five! You’ll like that, won’t you, Tim? So shall I!”

She scribbled the post-card and flew down to post it. Slam went the front door, and her father almost jumped out of his skin. He was a very clever and hard-working scientist, impatient, hot-tempered, kindly and very forgetful. How he wished his daughter was not so exactly like him, but was like his quiet, gentle little niece Anne!

George posted the card. It was short and to the point.

‘Cold gone. Coming tomorrow. Arriving 12.5 so make sure you all meet me and Timmy. Our tails are well up, I can tell you!

George turned out her drawers and began to pick out the things she wanted to take with her. Her mother came to help. There was always an argument about packing, because George wanted to take as little as possible, and no warm things at all, and her mother had exactly opposite ideas.

However, between the two of them they managed to pack the suit-case full of quite sensible things. George refused as usual to take a dress of any sort.

“I wonder when you’ll grow out of wanting to be a boy, and of acting like one!” said her mother, exasperated. “All right, all right — take those awful old shorts if you want to, and that red jersey. But you are to pack those warm vests. I put them in once, and you took them out. And you must take a warm rug, Julian says. The caravans are not very warm this weather.”

“I wonder what they’re like,” said George, stuffing the vests in. “They’re funny, old-fashioned ones, Julian said in his letter. Perhaps they’re like the gypsies have — not the modern, stream-lined ones that are pulled along by cars.”