“Has everyone finished?” asked Julian, getting some money out of his pocket. “If so, we’ll take George up to the field and show her our gay caravans. They aren’t a bit like the ones we once went caravanning in, George — they are old-fashioned gypsy ones. You’ll like them. Gay and very picturesque.”

“Who lent you them?” asked George, as they left the shop. “Some school friend, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. He and his family always go and camp in their caravans in the Easter and summer hols,” said Julian. “But this Easter they’re going to France — and rather than leave them empty, they thought they’d lend them out — and we’re the lucky ones!”

They walked up the lane and came to the stile. George looked up at the towering castle, gleaming in the sun on the hill opposite.

“Faynights Castle,” she said. “Hundreds of years old! How I’d love to know all the things that happened there through the centuries. I do love old things. I vote we go and explore it.”

“We will. It only costs five pence,” said Dick. “We’ll all have a good five pence worth of castle. I wonder if there are any dungeons. Dark, damp, drear and dreadful!”

They went up the grassy hillside to the field where their caravans were. George exclaimed in delight. “Oh! Are those our caravans? Aren’t they gay? They’re just like the caravans the gypsies use — only these look cleaner and gayer.”

“The red caravan, picked out with black and yellow, is ours,” said Dick. “The blue one, picked out in black and yellow, is yours and Anne’s.”

“Woof,” said Timmy at once.

“Oh, sorry — yours too, Timmy,” said Dick at once, and everyone chuckled. It was queer the way Timmy suddenly made a woofish remark, just as if he really understood every word that was said. George was quite certain he did, of course.

The caravans stood on high wheels. There was a window each side. The door was at the front, and so were the steps, of course. Gay curtains hung at the windows, and a line of bold carving ran round the edges of the out-jutting roof.

“They are old gypsy caravans painted and made really up to date,” said Julian. “They’re jolly comfortable inside too — bunks that fold down against the walls in the daytime — a little sink for washing-up, though we usually use the stream, because it’s such a fag to fetch water — a small larder, cupboards and shelves — cork carpet on the floor with warm rugs so that no draught comes through…”

“You sound as if you are trying to sell them to me!” said George, with a laugh. “You needn’t! I love them both, and I think they’re miles nicer than the modern caravans down there. Somehow these seem real!”

“Oh, the others are real enough,” said Julian. “And they’ve got more space — but space doesn’t matter to us because we shall live outside most of the time.”