poke the necessity of
a new official being appointed at once: the Remover of Camp Litter.

"I said the other day," continued the farmer, "that never again would I
let a caravan into my fields, didn't I, Bet? And how can I go back on
that?"

"You did say it," said Mrs. Gosden, "true enough, but you're halways
breaking your word. You said you'd bring me a new alarm clock the next
time you went to Oxford, and I've never got it yet, and that's months
ago."

"Never mind," said Mr. Gosden; "it means longer in bed for you. Well,"
he added to Mary, "I'll come down with you and look at the turnout and
see. But I must finish my tea first."

Never, thought Mary, could anyone have eaten so much tea or taken so
long over it, and she was in despair about the others waiting in the
road, hungry and impatient; but there was nothing for it but to be
quiet, and at last Mr. Gosden was ready.

The others, it was true, had become very tired of waiting, but they had
spent some of the time in bringing water from the nearest cottage. No
one who gets really cross from waiting should ever go away in a
caravan. Mr. Gosden had a good look at all of them and at Kink before
he said anything. He then gave them leave to camp very near the hedge,
and he asked them to promise to be gone by ten the next morning, as he
had some cattle coming in, and to clear up thoroughly, and then off he
went. He stepped back to tell them to come up to the farm in the
morning for milk and butter and to report on their night, and started
off once more.

Gregory, who had clearly been puzzling over something, ran after him.

"Well?" said Mr. Gosden.

"Where do they take the hay?" Gregory said.

"Who?" Mr. Gosden asked.

"The hay takers," said Gregory.

"I don't understand," said Mr Gosden.

"What hay takers? It's not a hay meadow. We graze it."

"Mrs. Gosden," said Gregory, "called the field the hay takers."

Mr. Gosden laughed loudly. "That's my missis's pronounciation," he
said. "She's much too fond of haitches: she will put them in the wrong
place. I often correct her, but it's no use. It's nothing to do with
hay. It's the size of the field--the size, don't you see? The eight
acres: that's what she meant to say, bless her old heart!"

CHAPTER 9

THE FIRST NIGHT

"Well," said Janet, "that's a very nice start. It would have been
horrid if the first farmer had been crusty."

"Ah," said Mary Rotheram, "but you should see his wife! It was she who
d