"Peter! It looks super! It's marvellous. And we can sleep here, too? That's grand, because I'm not too keen on another night with Dickie on the sofa. I wouldn't mind sleeping here alone if it comes to it."

"Well, you're not going to sleep here alone. Don't be so mean. There's room for us all and there's an upstairs, too. Come and look."

When the doors were opened their widest, David could see the great oak pillars springing from the brick floor and passing through the flat ceiling. On the left of the centre "aisle" were the old grain stores with their partitions dividing them.

"These are the bedrooms, David. You can see that, can't you? I think it's dry, and presently we'll get some hay and pile it on the floor. Then if you use your sleeping-bags you'll be warmer than you were at home. On the other side, David, I thought we'd have our dining-room, and so I've asked Aunt Carol if we can borrow a table and she said yes. Then... but look here, David... this is the best of all. Look at this stove. We can have a fire here at nights and cook everything we want. Here's an old saucepan and a frying-pan that Aunt Carol lent me, and if we get a big enough fire we can take off this lid thing at the top and cook that way. I collected some wood yesterday. Shall we try it?"

"It's marvellous, Peter, but I think we'd better wait till the kids are here."

"Of course. That was rather mean of me. Now come upstairs, because I think that's the best of all. By the way, David, I've bagged to sleep up there."

When he had climbed the stairs and looked at the wide floor space, he said:

"Gosh, Peter, what couldn't we do up here? What's that pile of hay up by the window?"

"I put it there. I'm going to sleep up here, David, and Mary can come with me if she likes, but I've bagged by the window. Come and look out. You can see right down into the village."

David knelt down on the litter and peered through the dusty pane. Peter was right. Not only could he see the side door of the house and practically everything in the farmyard, but he could look over the treetops to the roofs of Barton Beach a mile away where the morning sun glinted on the weathercock on the church steeple as the wind changed direction. Then, as he glanced down the door of the house opened.

"Peter," he whispered, forgetting that they could not be overheard. "Here! Look!"