"Daddy! You naughty boy! You ought to come with us," cried the girls, forcing their father into an elbow chair and seating themselves on the two arms, so as to be in position to administer smacking kisses on both his cheeks. "You know very well Devon won't be _quite_ Devon without you. We hate to leave you behind. Now, promise us something! Oh, it's perfectly easy and possible, and we know you can do it. Say yes! You'll be kissed to death by wild daughters if you don't. It's your only chance of life! Now or never! There! You've promised to come down to Durracombe at Easter to fetch us home." "Have I indeed? Oh, I dare say!" "I'll keep him to his bargain," laughed Mother; "but I expect when the time comes he'll be fussing to start. We're not a family who can bear to be divided for long, are we?" "Rather not!" said Merle, slipping from the arm-chair to pull Mother into the charmed circle. "You shall come in the car, darlings, and motor us back, and I'll drive whenever there's a smooth bit of road ahead. It's a topping idea." "Only your driving doesn't happen to be included in the bargain, you young puss! We've some respect for our limbs, and prefer to reach home with bones unbroken," declared Father, escaping from his tempestuous daughters to answer the insistent telephone-bell that was ringing loud peals of agitated warning in the hall. CHAPTER II "The Moorings" The tiny town of Durracombe consisted mainly of one very long and enormously wide street. Everything that was of any importance was situated in this High Street--the church, the bank, the public hall, the reading-room, the free library, the best shops, and the Swan Hotel. Each Friday it was turned into a species of market, with stalls, and barrows, and butter-baskets, and shouting men driving frightened cattle, but on great festivals, such as Empire Day, it became a gay cafe, for tables and forms were placed on the pavements and the school children were entertained to tea in the open air, while the town band played patriotic music. Being such a small and compact place, it had the advantage of beginning and ending quite suddenly. The river marked the boundary. On one side of it you were in civilization, with a mayor and police and a town crier, and the privileges of gas and the telephone, but directly you crossed the bridge you were in the happy fields that owned no sovereign but Dame Nature, and in quite a few minutes you seemed to have left the world behind you.