Then they ate their cakes and sandwiches and Tom took some potatoes out of his pocket and poked them into the embers. But it was a gloomy meal and not at all like the jolly feasts of the summer, or indeed like the one or two hurried snacks round the fire which they had enjoyed last holidays, when the gorse had been little protection from the wind and the frost had crackled underfoot and the short day was nearly over at four o'clock.

David poured them all some tea.

"Of course I know we all ought to go and see her and cheer her up if we can, but it's too far for the twins to go there and back in a day even on bikes. And you know, too, that Mother wouldn't let us go off on an expedition like that unless we had an invitation."

"Well, we got that," Dickie broke in. "Peter practically invites us herself."

"And if she doesn't say that," Mary went on, "well, then we'll invite us. I will. Now..."

"Don't be crazy, twins," David said soberly. "You know jolly well that we'll have to have a proper invitation from her aunt before we could ask to go. Surely you see that?"

"Well," said Mary, "it's always us gets the ideas. Now I've got one. Let's cycle over and ask for an invitation. It's easy..."

"It's always easy when we do it!" finished Dickie triumphantly.

But David was still puzzled and turned to Tom.

"There's something odd about all this, Tom. I told you old Mr. Sterling came over to see us in his best suit and a funny-looking bowler hat, and told us he was going to Birmingham for a bit. I couldn't understand then why he wouldn't let Peter stay with us. He didn't answer when Mother asked him, but of course he was nice enough and very polite, and he raised his hat lots of times between the door and the gate... I don't see that we can do anything more until we get this special message she talks about... Now just before we all sign the book and get these things washed up you'd better nip up into the look-out, Mary, and see if there's anything happening."

So, rather reluctantly, Mary put her foot in the rope stirrup which always hung from the lowest branch of the tree and hauled herself up.

"Guess we won't wash up till tomorrow," Dickie murmured as he turned Macbeth over on his back and tickled his chest. "Or maybe David could carry the dirty things down in the haversack to old Agnes and ask her to wash up."

Before David could make a suitable reply an excited squeak from Mary brought him to his feet.