edge of a big and very untidy field. The field was untidy because, being close to the road, and belonging to no one in particular, the dustmen had used it to dump all the ashes and tin cans and broken crockery that no one wanted to have about. But the weeds grew very tall and thick, to hide the untidiness that the dustmen made, and however fast the dustmen brought their loads of rubbish the weeds always managed to grow a little faster, so on the whole the field was not nearly as bad-looking as it might have been.
And certainly all sorts of curious and useful things lay here, for any one who had time to look about—bits of old automobiles, and lamp-chimneys and oil-stoves, and racked china plates with most beautiful patterns on them, and here and there a perfectly good boot or coffeepot—and all these things, having been thoroughly washed by the night’s rain, were displayed among the fresh green weeds like goods in a huge shop-window. Bulka in particular, never having seen such attractive objects going to waste before, was continually wanting to stop and pick something up, and as the things he wanted were nearly all too big for him to carry, Poor Cecco had a hard time dragging him past them by the paw. And every moment Bulka kept exclaiming: “I’m sure Tubby would like that!” or, “Can’t we take this home to Gladys?”
Presently, seated beside one of the largest ash-heaps, they met a little wooden doll. She was tidily dressed in
