"I like them," said Rod. "They're nice children. I hope they'll come again. And now for a large tea, with plenty of cake for all but one of us."

They would have liked to stay a long time, for Rod and Vernon were very kind and amusing, but Janet had Hester on her mind, left alone in the Slowcoach; and so directly tea was finished they said good-bye.

When Hester was told about their adventure, she said: "How silly you all are!"

"Why?" they asked indignantly.

"For two reasons," said Hester. "One is that it is, of course, 'fresh woods.' Anyone ought to know that. And the other is that we've got the 'Blue Poetry Book' with it in here in the caravan."

"That doesn't matter," said Gregory. "We met a jolly decent clergyman."

What Hester's great business had been Janet soon learned, for as soon as they were alone Hester slipped some sheets of paper into Janet's hand and asked her to read them very privately. Janet retired to the boudoir end of the caravan and read. It was a poem ent.i.tled:

ODE TO THE REV. FRANCIS GASTREEE

(Dedicated to Mr. Nicholas Imber)

O thou most base, Who hadst possession of the dwelling-place Of William Shakespeare, Stratford's loveliest son, What is it thou hast done?

Thou shouldst have treasur'd it, as in a case We keep a diamond or other jewel.

Instead of which thou didst it quite erase, O wicked man, O fool!

What should be done to thee?

Hang'ed upon a tree?

Or in the pillory Placed for all to pelt with eggs and bitter zest?

Aye, that were best.

Would that thou wert i' th' pillory this moment And Stratford all in foment, Thou knave, thou cad, Thou everything that's bad!

HESTER MARGARET AVORY.

Janet said it was splendid, after you had got hold of the difficult rhyming idea.

"That's because it's an ode," said Hester. "Odes go like that. All jumpy. And you mustn't say 'you' in an ode. You must say 'thou."'

"But what shall you do with it?" Janet asked.

"I want to send it to Mr. Imber," said Hester. "He said something ought to be done. He gave me his address; do you think we could post it this evening?"

Janet said they could, and they walked to the post-office and sent it off, together with a letter to Mrs. Avory, and picture postcards for Runcie and Collins. The budget for X. they kept, as they had not brought his address with them.

CHAPTER 21

COLLINS'S PEOPLE

They resumed their journey the next morning, a little depressed in spirits, for the end was so near. It was now Monday, and they had to be home again--that is to say, in their home without wheels--to-morrow night, and the thought was not exhilarating. Moreover, as Robert's compa.s.s only too plainly showed, they were now for the first time since they started moving due east, or towards Chiswick, instead of away from it, as theretofore.

Holidays of a fortnight always go faster in the second week than the first; but the last two days absolutely fly.

They were now bound for Faringdon through Fairford; and the night--the last night--was to be spent, if possible, on the farm of Collins's brother, near Lechlade.

At Fairford they had their lunch and explored the church, which is one of the most remarkable in England. It was built, they learned from Robert's "Road Book," by a rich merchant in the reign of Henry VII.

named John Tame. Being something of a privateer too, he had the good fortune to capture a vessel on its way from Belgium to Italy laden with stained gla.s.s, and, having secured this booty, he erected the church in order to make use of it.

Horace admired this story immensely, and set John Tame with his other heroes--Raffles and Robin Hood--forthwith.

Then came the hunt for Lycett's Farm, where Collins's people now lived, of which they knew no more than that Lechlade was the postal address.

It might be this side of Lechlade, and it might be far on the other.

Collins had had the map placed before her, but could make nothing of it. (Cooks never can read maps.)

After about two miles out of Fairford Robert began to ask. There were no people on the road--indeed, one of the things that they had noticed throughout their travels was how few persons were to be met; and they had therefore to knock at a door here and there, or approach labourers in the fields. Their ignorance of the name either of Lycett's or of Collins was amazing.

"Never heard tell of such a place," said one.

"Not hereabouts," said another.

"Collins?" said a third. "There's a stone-mason of that name over at Highworth; but I don't know of no farmer."

"Maybe you're thinking of Sadler's," another suggested.

Robert, who was getting testy, asked why. "Sadler's doesn't sound a bit either like Collins or Lycett's," he said.

"No," the man agreed, "it doesn't."

But at last a butcher's boy on a bicycle came along, and Janet stopped him.

"Lycett's?" he said. Then he brightened. "Lickets, perhaps you mean.

That's up the next turning to the left. I don't know who's got it, because I'm a stranger here, but I've heard that Lickets lies that way."

So Robert was recalled from a distant meadow where he had seen a man working, and they hurried on.

The turning was not a main road, but a long lane, which was so narrow that nothing else could possibly have pa.s.sed by had they met anything; and for a while nothing did come. And then suddenly at a bend there was a fat farmer driving a dogcart straight at them.

He pulled up at once, and roared out: "Where be you coming to, then? We don't want no gipsies here."

Kink stopped too, and the farmer and he glared at each other.

"You must back down to the next gate," said the farmer.

"Back yourself," said Kink. "Your load's lighter than mine."

"But it's my land you're on," said the farmer.

"It's a public road," said Kink.

It looked as though they might stay there for ever, but suddenly the farmer began to laugh. "Why, you're not gipsies," he said. "I believe you're Avories."

"That's so," said Kink.