"Onnybrook," said David. "Will you come and help us with the luggage, please?"

On the other side of the station their new train was waiting. The guard got up leisurely from the van step as they came up.

"Push 'er in, Albert," he said with a wink to David. "Don't stand loiterin' about, man, and keep us all waiting."

He looked at the labels.

"Onnybrook, eh? Where are you staying, lad?"

And here the twins chimed in.

"We're going on a great adventure," said Mary.

"Our father is in the R.A.F.," said Richard, "and we're going to Witchend to live. We had bombs in London."

"Witchend?" smiled the guard. "Maybe you'll have your adventures up there all right by that old rascal mountain."

The compartment chosen by Mary had a sailor in it - a brown-faced, blue-eyed sailor with very white teeth. With apprehension David saw the twins exchange a meaning glance. Strangers were apt to be fascinated by their strange likeness, and it was an old game for them to select a victim and proceed to play with him. More often than not they had the same idea at the same time, and had no need to put their thoughts into words, and this habit could be very disconcerting.

But this sailor proved a willing victim. He helped Mrs. Morton in with the bags, laughed at Richard and Mary, patted Macbeth, and slapped David on the back. Long before the train started they were all friends, and the children had told him who they were and where they were going.

"If you like adventures you'll find plenty at Witchend," he told them. "I've lived in Shropshire all my life and it's the grandest county in England. We've got everything - mountains, moors, streams and rivers and waterfalls, and on the Long Mynd where you are going, there are hidden valleys with wild ponies in the bracken and heather and little dark brooks which you can follow up to their source."

"Tell us some more about the Long Mynd," said David.

"You'll have to find out its secrets for yourself," he winked, "but take care when you're up there and watch the weather. Many a man has been lost in the snow and fog up on the Mynd. You'll see it soon looking bare and innocent in the sunshine, but there are bogs and pools at the top, so remember what I tell you."

He looked over to Mrs. Morton.

"See they take care," he went on, "for the Mynd is a mountain of moods - not black and cruel like the Stiperstones..."

"Tell us about them. Talk about the Stiperstones."

"Well, they're different. The Long Mynd is smooth and rolling. It's wild and lonesome, as I say, but the Stiperstones, way over the other side, are rugged and cruel, and those who live near 'em know they're evil, too."

"Gosh!" said Richard. "Go on. Tell us more."