“He’ll never think you’re here,” laughed Mrs. Flint excitedly. “He’ll be sending the crier round.”

“Goodbye, Josephine,” said Connie, kissing the baby and ruffling its red, wispy hair.

Mrs. Flint insisted on opening the locked and barred front door. Connie emerged in the farm’s little front garden, shut in by a privet hedge. There were two rows of auriculas by the path, very velvety and rich.

“Lovely auriculas,” said Connie.

“Recklesses, as Luke calls them,” laughed Mrs. Flint. “Have some.”

And eagerly she picked the velvet and primrose flowers.

“Enough! Enough!” said Connie.

They came to the little garden gate.