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her ears at her name and looked up at Jock out of bright, alert eyes.
    He fondled her silky head.
    'I've had her for four years,' he said. 'When we were at Owl Farm, old Farmer Burrows gave her to me when she was eight weeks old.'
    'Oh - were you at another farm before this one, then?' asked Anne. 'Have you always lived on a farm? Aren't you lucky!'
    'I've only lived on two,' said Jock. 'Owl Farm and this one. Mum and I had to leave Owl Farm when Dad died, and we went to live in a town for a year. I hated that. I was glad when we came here.'
    'But I thought your father was here!' said Dick, puzzled.
    'That's my stepfather,' said Jock. 'He's no farmer, though!' He looked round and lowered his voice. 'He doesn't know much about farming. It's my mother that tells the men what to do. Stil , he gives her plenty of money to do everything well, and we've got fine machinery and wagons and things. Like to see the dairy? It's slap up-to-date and Mum loves working in it.'
    Jock took the four children to the shining, spotless dairy. His mother was at work there with a girl. She nodded and smiled at the children. 'Good morning! Hungry again? I'l pack you up plenty of food when I've finished in the dairy. Would you like to stay and have dinner with my Jock? He's lonely enough here
    in the holidays, with no other boy to keep him company.'
    'Oh, yes - do let's!' cried Anne, in delight. Td like that. Can we, Ju?'
    'Yes. Thank you very much, Mrs - er - Mrs . . .' said Julian.
    Tm Mrs Andrews,' said Jock's mother. 'But Jock is Jock Robins - he's the son of my first husband, a farmer. Well, stay to dinner al of you, and I'l see if I can give you a meal that wil keep you going for the rest of the day!'
    This sounded good. The four children felt thril ed, and Timmy wagged his tail hard. He liked Mrs Andrews.

    'Come on,' saidjqck, joyfully. Til take you al round the farm, into every corner. It's not very big, but we're going to make it the best little farm on the moorlands. My stepfather doesn't seem to take much interest in the work of the farm, but he'sjolly generous when it comes to handing out money to Mum to buy everything she wants.'
    It certainly seemed to the children that the machinery on the farm was absolutely up-to-date. They examined the combine, they went into the little cowshed and admired the clean stone floor with white brick walls, they climbed into the red-painted wagons, and they wished they could try the two motor-tractors that stood side by side in a barn.
    'You've got plenty of men here to work the farm,' said Julian. 'I shouldn't have thought there was enough for so many to do on this small place.'
    'They're not good workers,' said Jock, his face creasing into frowns. 'Mum's always getting wild with them. They just don't know what to do. Dad gives her plenty of men to work the farm, but he
    always chooses the wrong ones! They don't seem to like farm-work, and they're always running off to the nearest town whenever they can. There's only one good fel ow and he's old. See him over there? His name's Wil .'
    The children looked at Wil . He was working in the little vegetable garden, an old fel ow with a shrivel ed face, a tiny nose and a pair of very blue eyes. They liked the look of him.
    'Yes. He looks like a farm-worker,' said Julian. 'The others don't.'
    'He won't work with them,' said Jock. 'He just says rude things to them, and cal s them ninnies and idjits.'
    'What's an idjit?' asked Anne.
    'An idiot, sil y,' said Dick. He walked up to old Wil . 'Good morning,' he said. 'You're very busy. There's always a lot to do on a farm, isn't there?'
    The old fel ow looked at Dick out of his very blue eyes, and went on with his work. 'Plenty to do and plenty of folk to do it, and not much done,' he said, in a croaking kind of voice.
    'Never thought I'd be put to work with ninnies and idjits. Not ninnies and idjits!'
    'There! What did I tel you?' said Jock, with a grin. 'He's always cal ing the other men that, so wejust have to let