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"Oh, all right." Hugh got up and took the teapot. "Scissors, it's hot!"

"Hold it by the handle an' the spout. Teil Toby it's no use waitin' for me, 'cause I don't know how long Crowe'11 want me. Thanks ever so much." He turned and ran off behind the wagon.

Hugh carried his hot burden gingerly across to the yellow caravan, some distance away. The door was open. Toby looked up with an instinctive scowl, which he changed hastily to a smile. Hugh delivered the teapot and Eddie's message.

"Hard luck on him!" remarked the dwarf. He glanced at Hugh sideways. "Well, you'd better take his place— stay an' have some tea with me. There's plenty to eat."

There was certainly plenty. A crumpled newspaper on the folding table bore a remarkable assortment of cakes and sausage-rolls, somewhat battered by travel, but not the less good to the eyes of a hungry boy whose ordinary food was of the plainest. Hugh hesitated.

"Oh, I don't think I'll stay, thanks," he said, shyly. Even if Toby were a dwarf he was still a "star": and to be asked to tea in any caravan was an event.

"Oh, be a good chap—it's a lonely game to be always eatin' by oneself. You can trot off as soon as you've had your tea."

The cakes did look good, Hugh decided. And it didn't seem decent to refuse, when Toby put it that way.

"Well, I will, thanks," he said. He sat down on the edge of a bunk.