An oil-lamp was burning in a little table in the bare-looking hall, but her aunt led her straight down a stone passage to the kitchen, where a fire was glowing between the bars of a gigantic range. Aunt Carol reached up and turned up the wick of another lamp hanging from the ceiling.

"Now let's look at each other," she said with a laugh. "My word, Petronella, but you're not much like the Sterlings. More like your mother, I should say. But you look worn out. What have you been doing to yourself?... And that great lump of a knapsack! Slip it off, my dear. You're home now, and a cup of tea is what you need!"

Then, for the second time that day, poor Peter felt dazed, and for a minute the room swayed round her. She shut her eyes and waited until the horrid feeling passed and then slipped her knapsack from her shoulders and sat down. Her aunt was looking at her keenly.

"What's wrong, my dear?"

Peter gulped. "I'm so tired, Aunt Carol. I had a puncture and had to walk miles, and then this morning I got mixed up with gipsies and... oh. Auntie, could I go to bed, d'you think?"

"You can do what you like," was the surprising reply, and then, before she could collect her thoughts, this extremely nice aunt put one arm round her waist, hoisted up the knapsack with the other and led her up a dark and depressing staircase.

"Here's your room, my dear! If you haven't brought a dressing-gown, I'll lend you one. Get out of those grubby things as quickly as you can and have a hot bath."

When she got back from the bathroom her aunt was putting a hot-water bottle in the bed. On the chest of drawers was a loaded tray and Peter suddenly felt hungry and realized that the hedgehog in the quarry was a long time ago.

"Better now?" Her aunt smiled. "While you're having your supper you can tell me what you've been up to."

Peter snuggled thankfully into bed and looked at the boiled egg and brown bread and butter with enthusiasm. And the tea was nice and weak, and Aunt Carol had brought a cup for herself and sat on the end of the bed and sipped it.

Peter had time to look at her properly now. She was certainly nice and nearly pretty, with a lovely smile and big brown eyes. Her dark hair was parted at the side, but could not hide a broad streak of almost white hair that ran across her head, giving her a rather startling appearance. Her hands, Peter noticed, were worn with work.

She smiled steadily over her tea-cup and said:

"Now what's all this about gipsies?"