The others were not pleased, but they had to own that most likely William knew best.
Thus it was Caroline alone who followed William through the stable and up the ladder into the straw-loft, which at first seemed to have nothing in it but straw, very dark in the corners and very yellow under the skylight.
‘Where is he?’ Caroline asked, and the straw rustled and opened, revealing Rupert, rather tousled and strawy about the head, and the bright eyes and black ears of a small fox-terrier.
‘I hid when I heard you on the ladder,’ he said. ‘You can’t be too careful.’ He spoke in a low hoarse voice.
‘Now I’ll keep about down in the stable,’ said William, ‘and if I whistle, you lay low.’
He retreated down the ladder, and they heard him say ‘Over’ to one of the horses.
‘I wish this was over,’ said Rupert, rather fretfully.
‘It is beastly having it rain,’ said Caroline sympathetically; ‘but it’ll be fine to-morrow, I expect, and I’ve brought you a secrecy rose.’ He took it and said ‘Thank you!’ but not enthusiastically. ‘And,’ she went on—‘wait till I get it out—it’s rather a tight fit for my pocket—I’ve brought you Robinson Crusoe, and a pencil and paper to really write to your father and mother. And I’ll post it as soon as the rain stops.’
‘If I whistle, you lay low.’