ought, Hester held, to be King of France to-day, lives)
to Evesham, and the weir where they had rowed about, and so on to
Stratford.

Robert's maps, fortified by what he had picked up from the old man last
night, told them all these things, and told them also, more or less,
what the "coloured counties" were that they could see; for of course
Mary wanted to know that: Warwickshire, Gloucestershire, Oxfordshire,
Worcestershire, Herefordshire, Monmouthshire. After lunch Mary sang the
beautiful Bredon Hill song to them; and so they descended to the level
ground and to Kink and Hester and Gregory, little expecting to find
them with such exciting things to tell.

From Beckford to Oxenton the great story lasted, eked out with
questions and answers as it proceeded. Thus, Horace wanted to know why
Kink had not sprung to the horses' heads and checked them in their wild
career.

"We couldn't see them," said Gregory; "they were coming up behind, and
we were sitting in front."

Horace was dissatisfied.

"What frightened them?" Jack wanted to know; but Gregory could not say.
Patricia had not explained.

"Fancy not knowing what frightened them!" said Jack.

The fact was that both Jack and Horace were a little overtired, and
perhaps a little jealous of the eventfulness of the Slowcoach's day.

They had been talking so hard that they had not noticed the sky; and
the splashing of raindrops was the first knowledge they had that a
storm was coming. It was nearly seven, and suddenly they all knew that
they were very tired and hungry and rather chilly. Kink stopped Moses
and suggested camping at once.

"Where?" said Robert.

"Here," said Kink. "Under these trees. There'll be a downpour soon:
better get your supper at once."

They therefore did not make any effort to find a farm, but instantly
unpacked. Hitherto everything had gone smoothly, but this was a bad
evening. Nothing seemed to be in its place, and Hester, whose duty it
was to get enough dry wood, had forgotten all about it, and by the time
a new bundle could be brought it was damp. Then the matches blew out,
and then, when at last the fire was alight, the wind scattered the
flames so that there was no heat under the pot for more than a moment
at a time. This often happens when you are on caravan excursions.

Mary had arranged for a stew, but she soon discovered that there was no
chance of its being done for hours unless it could be moved into the
Slowcoach and cooked