The bulldog, who had seen a fox-terrier running on three legs, with the fourth tucked up, was at that moment making clumsy and unsuccessful experiments in this novel style of locomotion. In the sunshine brilliantly orange and white, with his black nose and kinky tail, he looked so bright and coloured that a wandering butterfly hovered about him, as if mistaking him for a gigantic bunch of flowers. “Does grandpapa like having us?” Ann inquired, but only with a view to making conversation. “Grandpapa’s a clergyman,” she presently observed. “And father’s a doctor――a specialist――eyes and ears.... Why hasn’t he many patients?” Aunt Caroline laughed. “I suppose because he goes away so much. He’s really a traveller more than a doctor.” “Does he go away because he hasn’t patients, or does he not have patients because he goes away?” “It sounds like a riddle,” Aunt Caroline, replied; “and if it is, I give it up.” “It’s not a riddle,” Ann assured her. “It’s just an ordinary question. Shall we see grandpapa as soon as we arrive?” “I don’t know. He was very busy when I left.” “Father’s always busy too. So is mother.... What’s grandpapa busy about?” “He’s writing a book.” “What sort of book?” “A book about fairies.” Ann seemed doubtful. “_Mother_ didn’t call it that,” she said reflectively, and was immediately reproved by Grif. “What did mother call it? Folk-lore perhaps?” Aunt Caroline suggested. “Does he tell the stories to you?” “Sometimes.” “Will he tell them to us?” “I dare say.... And this is the side gate. Our journey is over. By the way, what time do you all go to bed?” “Jim and me at half-past eight: Grif and Barbara at nine.” “I don’t go at nine when I’m on a visit,” said Grif. As they emerged from the shrubbery the glebe house stood low and square before them. It was half covered with ivy, the young leaves just now of a pale and tender green. In front of the house was a croquet-lawn, sheltered on the farther side by trees, and beyond that the ground sloped gradually down to the road. There were few flowers and no flower-garden. Behind the house and the stables was a low stone wall, on the other side of which was a wood. The grounds had evidently once formed part of this wood, which pressed up so close to the wall that the trees leaning over seemed trying to force an entrance. With the exception of the levelling of the croquet-court, and the cutting down of a certain quantity of timber, nothing in the way of alteration or of laying out had been attempted. “Where are the others?” Aunt Caroline inquired as they came into the hall, where Bridget and Hannah, the two servants, stood wreathed in smiles. “The children’s round in the stables, Miss Caroline.” Just then Miss Johnson appeared, and instantly, like a genni in the _Arabian Nights_, pounced upon Ann, who it seemed was disgracefully untidy. “I can’t help it. I’m so hot!” Ann sighed. Aunt Caroline took charge of Grif, while Pouncer followed at their heels.