"Poor Buster," said Bets, sorry for him. "Never mind, Buster — we'll soon be back."
"No dogs allowed in here," said Luke. "Because of the cats, you know. They're prize cats. Won no end of money, so the kennel-girl says."
"Do you live here?" asked Larry, as they all walked up the path towards some big greenhouses.
"No. I live with my stepfather," said Luke. "My mother's dead. I got no brothers or sisters. This is my first job. My name's Luke Brown, and I'm fifteen."
"Oh," said Larry. "I'm Laurence Daykin, and I'm thirteen. This is Margaret, my sister. She's twelve. We call her Daisy. This is Frederick Algernon Trotteville. He's twelve too, and he's called Fatty."
"I'd rather be called Frederick, thanks," said Fatty, in a cross voice. "There's no reason for me to be called Fatty by every Tom, Dick, and Harry!"
"You aren't Tom, Dick, or Harry, you're called Luke, aren't you?" said Bets to Luke. He grinned.
"I'll call you Frederick if you like," he said to Fatty. "By rights I should call you Master Frederick, but I guess you don't want me to."
"I'm Elizabeth Hilton, and I'm eight, and I'm called Bets," said Bets, afraid that Larry was going to leave her out. "And this is Philip, my brother. He's twelve and he's called Pip."
They told Luke where they lived, and he told them where he lived — in a tumbledown cottage by the river. By this time they had left the greenhouses behind and were going through a beautiful rose-garden. Beyond it rose a green-painted building.