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himself, but he recognized the good sense of what they said, and after a few minutes' thought gave permission— so long as it did not interfere with their own work. "Pitchin' it is an extra job; have it if you like," he said. They accepted joyfully, glad for their own sakes, as well as for Hugh's, to have a place apart. The little tent traveled on the lorry, and Hugh became an expert at putting it up. Micky and Jeff had no reason to regret their move; they found their beds made, their boots cleaned, a basin of water always ready for washing. Hugh would almost have licked the boots, so grateful was he for his new "home."

He had made another friend—two, indeed, though one was very small. It was at a two-night pitch, when work was slack, that in strolling about in the afternoon he beheld the Crowe baby, who had been placed on a rug on the grass near the caravan. Mrs. Crowe had disappeared: the baby had found that the rug was dull, and was crawling briskly away, heading for a paint-pot that seemed to offer joyful prospects. Hugh rescued the explorer, who protested loudly at first and then decided to make friends with this new person. Mrs. Crowe, hurrying from the caravan presently, found him with both fists clutching Hugh's curls. Baby and boy were happy.

"Why, he'11 root your hair out!" she protested. "Let go, Lennie—isn't he a limb!" She disentangled his fists. The baby objected, and Hugh laughed.

"He didn't hurt. He's jolly, isn't he?"

"You'd call him something else if you had him on your

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