"Quick! There's your mother, Fatty. What shall we do?"
There wasn't time to do anything. Mrs. Trotteville was even then looking in at the door. She had come to speak to the children, but when she saw the old Balloon-woman, she was very much astonished.
"What are you doing here?" she asked sharply. "I saw you going down the garden-path the other day."
Bets spoke up before Fatty could answer.
"She sells lovely balloons," she said. "I want to buy one, Mrs. Trotteville."
"There's absolutely no need to buy one in the garden-shed," said Mrs. Trotteville. "You can buy one in the street. I don't want pedlars or tramps in the garden. I am surprised that Buster did not bark."
Buster was there, of course, sitting at the Balloon-woman's feet. He looked as if she was his best friend—as indeed she was, if only Mrs. Trotteville had known it.
"Where's Frederick?" asked Mrs. Trotteville, looking all round for Fatty.
"Er—not far away," said Larry truthfully. "Er—shall I go and look for him, Mrs. Trotteville? "
"Oh no. I suppose you are all waiting for him," said Mrs. Trotteville, "Well, I'm afraid this woman and her balloons must go—and please do not come into the garden again!"