"Well," said Jon hesitantly, "we have found one or two old papers, and there was a map, too, wasn't there, Penny? But, of course, we couldn't let you have any of those. After all, Miss Ballinger, those are ours, and we wouldn't want to sell them, if you see what I mean?"

"I don't see what you mean at all," Miss Ballinger snapped so sharply and with such a distinct change of expression that Penny jumped. "There's no reason whatever why you two children shouldn't let me have those old papers. They're worthless to you, I'm sure, but they must be just the sort of document I want... And the map?... I'll tell you what I'll do, my young friends, I'll give you five pounds for that map!"

"But, Miss Ballinger," said Jon, "we couldn't take money like that! Of course we couldn't!"

"It was only a scrappy old thing, wasn't it, Jon?" Penny went on. "Just a lot of little sketches and some red crosses and dotted lines."

"Red crosses?" Miss Ballinger interrupted. "Are you sure of those, because those are the sort of maps I'm always looking for. Where is it now? Could I see it?"

"Knocking about at home somewhere," Jon said carelessly. "I can't quite remember what I did with it. Can you remember, Penny?"

"No, I can't; but you're jolly careless, Jon."

"Oh, well, I suppose I'll find it somewhere sometime."

"Now, listen to me. That map may be worth a lot of money, and I think you'd better go home at once and see that it's safe, and then perhaps you'd let me see it sometime. Just bring it along, or I'll come over if you'll send me a postcard. I'll soon tell you what it's worth!" and turning to Penny Miss Ballinger went on: "When's your birthday, my dear? Would you like the Dolphin painting?"

"Well," Penny replied, rather taken aback, "I've just had it. In July, actually... Of course, I'd like that picture of yours, but I couldn't possibly take it. Not possibly, thank you all the same."

Miss Ballinger waddled to the sofa, found the picture, rolled it up and pressed it into Penny's unwilling hands.

"Nonsense, my dear! Glad for you to have it. Take it, please, and all I ask is that you remember me if you find any old papers. I'll buy anything you find... Funny about your birthday, but somehow I thought it was in April... April the seventh, to be precise... No?... Can't imagine how I came to think that was the date. Perhaps it's yours, Jonathan?"

But not by even the flicker of an eyelid did Jon give away that April the seventh meant anything to them.

"No, it's not mine either. I expect you dreamed it, Miss Ballinger. I dream dates sometimes... Come on, Penny, we must be going because we've got to walk to Winchelsea along that road we saw by the hill, and we'll get a bus from there."