“Hullo, you sir! What are you doing there?” he cried.
“Getting out my other suit, uncle,” said the boy quickly.
“What for? Don’t do that! We are going over the moor again to-day.”
“But I must, uncle,” cried Rodd.
“Mush!”
“Yes. Oh, I shall be obliged to tell you. It was all your fault, uncle; you didn’t fasten the door as Mrs Champernowne told you, and there have been thieves in the night.”
“Been grandmothers in the night!” cried Uncle Paul contemptuously.
“It’s true, uncle, and they came up into my room while I was asleep and took away all my clothes—boots and all.”
“You don’t mean that, Pickle! Here, I say, where are mine?”
Rodd sprang to his feet from where he was kneeling by the portmanteau, and ran round to the side of the bed, just as his uncle turned and faced him.