Clive's father and mother were coming
to Devonshire for a holiday; they had taken rooms at a farm in Chagmouth,
and they had not only arranged for their own son to join them, but they
had also asked Mavis and Merle to be their visitors. The girls thought
that no invitation could have been more delightfully acceptable. They
adored Chagmouth, and the Saturdays they managed to spend there were
always red-letter days, so the prospect of three whole weeks in this El
Dorado sent their spirits up to fizzing-over point.
"Bevis will be at Grimbal's Farm!"
"And Tudor will be at home!"
"The Castletons are expecting Morland and Claudia!"
"And, of course, Fay will be there, and Tattie, and the Colvilles!"
"Goody! What a lovely tribe of us to go out picnics!"
"We'll have the time of our lives!"
Burswood Farm, where Mr. and Mrs. Percy Tremayne had taken rooms, was on
the hillside above Chagmouth. It was a delightful spot, with that airy
feeling about it that comes from looking down upon your neighbours'
chimneys.
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