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MacAngus had decided to stay on in those parts a little longer before making for Cropthorne, and therefore, after helping with the inspanning, as he called packing up, he said good-bye, but gave them a list of the places where it was worth while asking for him. They were sorry to lose him, but the immediate future was too exciting, with Stratford-on-Avon and Mrs.
MacAngus had given them, speaking as an old campaigner, some very useful if simple hints, such as always pitching the tent with its back to the wind; and keeping inside a supply of dry wood to light the fires with; and tying fern on Moses's head, against the flies; and carrying cabbage leaves in their own hats, against the heat; and walking with long staves instead of short walking sticks after this he made them all sit round their fire, and sketched them, and the picture hangs at this very moment in Mrs.
"Now, Macbeth," he said, pointing to Robert. "My name isn't Macbeth," said Robert. "No," said the artist, "but that's how I think of you. Why? Can anyone tell me?" "I can," said Hester. "Because he woke you up 'Macbeth hath murdered sleep." "Splendid!" said Mr. MacAngus. "As a reward you shall tell your story before Macbeth does." "I am nine," said Hester. "My name is Hester. I adore Shakespeare.
"Oh, yes," said Jack, "I forgot that. I am the Preserver of Enough Oil in the Beatrice Stove." "I am proud to meet such important personages," said Mr. MacAngus. "And now, lastly, you," he said to Gregory, "the little nipper, the tiny tot of the party." Gregory was furious. He scowled at the artist like thunder. "Go on," said Mr. MacAngus; "don't mind me. I always tease little important boys."
"Now you," said Mr. MacAngus to Jack Rotheram. "I am not an Avory," said Jack. "I am Mary's brother. I am twelve. I am going to Osborne next year." "Very sensible of you," said Mr. MacAngus. "And you, sir," he added to Horace Campbell, "the burglar's friend." "My name is Horace Campbell," he replied. "I am the son of the Vicar of Chiswick. I am nine. I am also the Keeper of the Tin-opener."
My horse's name is Pencil. I came here from Banbury, and I am making slowly for Cropthorne. Now tell me all about yourselves. Tell me in the order of age." The children looked at each other, and laughed. "You first," said Mr. MacAngus, again to Janet; "you're the eldest, I can see." "My name," said Janet, "is Janet Avory. I live in Chiswick. Our caravan is the Slowcoach.
MacAngus had just finished his ham and eggs, and was lighting his pipe. "Good morning, Slowcoaches," he said. "I'm very pleased to see you. Sit down wherever you like. Furniture by Dame Nature; everything as nice as Mother makes it. This is a friendly, reasonable hour to meet. That young brother of yours I suppose he is your brother" pointing to Robert "pays calls in the middle of the night.
My name is Hamish MacAngus. I live in the Snail most of the summer, and in London in the winter. I cover pieces of cardboard and canvas with paint more or less like trees, and cows, and sheep, and skies, and people who have more pennies than brains buy them from me; and then I take the pennies, and change them for the nice sensible things of life, such as bacon, and tobacco, and oats.
He seems to think every caravan in the world belongs to him. How a man who lives in a London terrace knows his house I never could understand, but to recognize one's own caravan ought to be quite easy." Mr MacAngus, you must understand, did not say all this in one breath, for he was a slow man. But it reads as if he did, because none of the others uttered a word.
I am Janet's sister." "Good!" said Mr. MacAngus. "We will read Shakespeare together this afternoon. From the way you walk I can see that this is blister day. We will all take it easy and be happy, and you shall cure your lameness. Now, Mac." "I am thirteen," said Robert. "I am the geographer of the party. I am sorry for murdering your sleep, but glad, too, because you're so jolly."
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