r. "I am sure," she wrote, "it would be very cheap,
because it is so shabby and is crumbling away in many places. I would
gladly live in the priest's hiding-hole always. Please think about it
seriously."

Afterwards the farmer showed them the way down to the weir, over the
railway, and advised them to have the caravan taken down there, and
sleep there that night near the rushing water.

"You couldn't have done it two months ago," he said.

"Why not?" Robert asked.

"Guess why," said the farmer.

And will you believe it, none of them could guess.

"Because it was flooded," said the farmer. "In winter it's often just a
great lake, from the railway at the foot of our garden right to the
Marlcliff Hills."

And so Moses (with a beautiful new shoe) was put into the shafts again,
and they went gently over the soft green meadows to the weir, and there
they had their supper, and explored the mill and the shaggy wood
overhanging it, and rowed a little in a very safe boat, and stood on
the little bridges, and watched the rushing water, and then walked
slowly beside the still stream higher up as the light began to fade,
and surprised the water-rats feeding or gossiping on the banks--none of
which things could they have done had Moses had the poor sense to
retain his near fore-shoe.

CHAPTER 14

THE ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE OLD LADY

They left the weir very early the next morning, after a breakfast from
the cold ham which Mrs. Avory had bought them at Stratford. On their
way through the village they stopped at Salford Hall, because Hester
and Gregory had had an argument as to whether or not it was possible to
hear the breathing of the person in the hiding-hole. The farmer allowed
them to go upstairs and try, and, as it happened, Hester was right, and
you could hear it, if you had patience. Gregory came out again as
purple as a plum through holding it in so long.

Then they said good-bye to the farmer and strode on through Harrington
and Norton, and a little beyond this Robert took those that cared about
it to see the obelisk on the site of the Battle of Evesham, at which
Simon de Montfort was killed in 1265. And so they came through the
orchards of plum-trees, on which the fruit was now forming, to Evesham
itself.

It was while they were walking through Evesham, beside or behind the
Slowcoach, in the middle of the road, that Janet felt a hand on her
arm, and, looking round, perceived a very small and very neat and