By the shimmer of blue under the beeches Roy knew that summer--"really truly summer!"--had come back at last. And summer meant picnics and strawberries and out-of-door lessons, and the lovely hot smell of pine-needles in the pine-wood, and the lovelier cool smell of moss cushions in the beech-wood--home of squirrels and birds and bluebells; unfailing wonderland of discovery and adventure. Roy was an imaginative creature, isolated a little by the fact of being three and a half years older than Christine, and "miles older" than Jerry and George, mere babies, for whom the magic word adventure held no meaning at all.…
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