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Many people despise sandwiches and milk out of beer-bottles and bananas and seed-cake. Jeremy, of course, did not. But the paper on this journey to Rafield! There was nothing in the world to touch it. Jam-puffs with strawberry jam eaten in the odour of ginger-beer and eggshells! Is it possible for life at its very best to hold more? He kept his jam-puff so long as he could, until at last Mr.

They came to the bend where the hill suddenly dips at a fearful angle down into Rafield. Here they turned to the right, deep between edges again, then through a little copse, and then, as though with a whisk of the finger, right on to Cow Farm itself. It was an old square house, deep red brick, with crooked chimneys, and a stone court in front of it. To either side of the court there were barns.

Jeremy had been waiting for this proclamation; once or twice he had asked whether they were going to the Cove and had been told "not to bother," "all in good time," and other ridiculous elderly finalities, but he knew that the day must come, as it had always come every year. The picnic at Rafield was always the central event of the summer.

The smell of the moor was as fresh as though the foot of man had never crossed it deserted, but not alone; bare, but not empty; uninhabited, but peopled; silent, but full of voices. Jeremy's excitement grew. He knew now how every line of the road would be. They left the moor and were on the road leading to Rafield.

Lowe because "they smell so fishy," nor to Rafield "because it's too far from the railway," nor to the Roseland valleys "because there's nothing to see there.", May these reasons hold good for many years to come!