It was Ginger and Douglas who came back to hold her hands. For all that they ran fleetly, dashing through the undergrowth where the keepers found it difficult to follow, and dodging round trees. At last, breathlessly, they reached a clearing and in the middle of it a cottage as small and attractive as a fairy tale cottage. The door was open. It had an empty look. They could hear the keepers coming through the undergrowth shouting.
“Come in here,” gasped William. “It’s empty. Come in and hide till they’ve gone.”
The four ran into a spotlessly clean little kitchen, and Ginger closed the door. The cottage was certainly empty. There was not a sound.
“Ithn’t it a thweet little houth?” panted Violet Elizabeth.
“Come upstairs,” said Douglas. “They might look in here.”
The four, Jumble scrambling after them, clattered up the steep narrow wooden stairs and into a small and very clean bedroom.
“Look out of the window and see when they go past,” commanded William, “then we’ll slip out and go back.”
Douglas peeped cautiously out of the window. He gave a gasp.
“They—they’re not goin’ past,” he said. “They—they’re they’re comin’ in at the door.”
The men’s voices could be heard below.