Even the passengers’ children joined in the fuss and admiration: perhaps realising the opportunity which the excitement gave of avoiding their own bedtime. They began to bring (probably not without suggestion) their toys, as offerings to these new gods: and vied with each other in their generosity.

A shy little boy of about her own age, with brown eyes and a nice smile, his long hair brushed smooth as silk, his clothes neat and sweet-smelling, sidled up to Rachel.

“What’s your name?” she asked him.

“Harold.”

She told him hers.

“How much do you weigh?” he asked her.

“I don’t know.”

“You look rather heavy. May I see if I can lift you?”