opinions to limbo, “I can’t say I care much for bugs myself. But certainly Foster seems to know all there is to know about them.”

Valancy didn’t know whether she cared much for bugs either. It was not John Foster’s uncanny knowledge of wild creatures and insect life that enthralled her. She could hardly say what it was — some tantalising lure of a mystery never revealed — some hint of a great secret just a little further on — some faint, elusive echo of lovely, forgotten things — John Foster’s magic was indefinable.

Yes, she would get a new Foster book. It was a month since she had Thistle Harvest, so surely Mother could not object. Valancy had read it four times — she knew whole passages off by heart.