o me, address the letter to 'X., care of Smithurst
and Wynn, Lincoln's Inn Fields, W.C.'"

For a while after the letter was finished the Avories were too excited
and thoughtful to speak, while as for the Rotherams and Horace
Campbell, however they may have tried, they could not disguise an
expression, if not exactly of envy, certainly of disappointment. There
was no X. in their family.

"May we really go away in it and discover England?" Robert asked.

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Avory.

"Then that makes Sea View all right," said Gregory. "Because this will
do instead."

The poor Rotherams! Sea View had suddenly become tame and almost
tiresome.

Mrs. Avory saw their regrets in their faces, and cheered them up by the
remark that the caravan must sometimes be lent to others.

"Oh, yes," said Janet.

"Do you think Dr. Rotheram would let you go?" she asked Mary.

"Of course he would," said Jack. "But I wish it was a houseboat."

The suggestion was so idiotic that everyone fell on him in scorn.

"But who is X.?" Mrs. Avory asked.

The letter was written in a round office hand that told nothing. Mr.
Scott was the most likely person, but why should Mr. Scott hide? He
never had done such a thing. Or Mr. Lenox? But neither was it his way
to be secret and mysterious. Nor was it Uncle Christopher's.

When, however, you have a caravan given you, and it is standing there
waiting to be explored, the question who gave it or did not give it
becomes unimportant.

Gregory put the case in a nutshell. "Never mind about old X. now," he
said. "Let's make a thorough examination!"

CHAPTER 3

THE THOROUGH EXAMINATION

It was a real caravan. That is to say, either gypsies might have lived
in it, or anyone that did live in it would soon be properly gipsified.
It was painted in gay colours, and had little white blinds with very
neat waists and red sashes round them. That is the right kind of
caravan. The brown caravans highly varnished are wrong: they may be
more luxurious, but no gypsy would look at them.

The body of it was green--a good apple green--and the panels were lined
with blue. Some people say that blue and green won't go together; but
don't let us take any notice of them. Just look at the bed of
forget-me-nots, or a copse of bluebells; or, for that matter, try to
see the Avories' caravan. The window frames and bars were white. The
spokes and hubs of the wheels were red. It was most awfully gay.

Inside--bu