He awoke in the dark, and he bumped his head against the lid of the hamper. The tilt-cart was jolting and rumbling. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ said a pleasant little voice from a neighbouring nest-box, ‘we are only moving camp. Sleep again – sleep –’ said the dormouse. Tuppenny stopped twittering. Presently there was a still more violent lurch; Tuppenny squeaked loudly. The cart stopped, and the black pig pushed back the canvas curtain of the hood. ‘What? what? what? squeaking! twittering? at 3 o’clock in the morning? You will wake the dormouse!’ ‘Please – please, Mr. Paddy Pig, I dreamed I was in a ship.’ ‘What? what? a ship? Sea-sick, sea-sick? It’s only me pulling the cart. Go to sleep again directly, little guinea-pig man!’ Tuppenny obediently curled himself up in his hay bed.

When he woke again, it was broad daylight, and a bright windy morning. The caravan company was snugly encamped on a green level sward near an old stone quarry. There was a semi-circle of high gray rocks; topped with broom bushes, that swayed and bobbed in the rushing east wind. White clouds raced over-head; and Jenny Ferret’s fire puffed and sputtered, in spite of comparative calm down below in the quarry. At the foot of the rocks for many years the Big Folk had been tipping rubbish; old pots and pans, fruit tins, jam pots, and broken bottles. Jenny Ferret had built a stone fireplace; she was cooking with an old frying pan, and some sardine tins; in fact, she was trying which tins would hold water with a view to carrying off a stock of cooking utensils. Paddy Pig was stirring the porridge for breakfast. Pony Billy grazed on the rough grass on the quarry bank. Sandy was nowhere to be seen.

‘Wake up! wake up! Xarifa!’ whistled the starling, ‘wake up, new long-haired animal! My! what a mop of hair; it’s full of hay seeds.’ ‘What, what! you meddlesome bird! His hair is beautiful! It will draw crowds when he is dressed up,’ said Paddy Pig, stirring vigorously.

‘If I had hair like that, I could play “Sleeping Beauty”,’ said the dormouse. She sat on the step of the caravan washing her face and hands rapidly, and cleaning her sleek chestnut coat. She had black beady eyes, very long whiskers, and a long furry tail with a white tip. Her nose and eyebrows were turning gray; she was a most sweet person, but slumberous. ‘Madam, you sleep, and you are beautiful!’ said Paddy Pig, turning round and bowing low, with the wooden thivel in his hand. The little fat old dormouse laughed till she shook like jelly. ‘Never mind, Tuppenny; I will brush it for you. Where is Sandy?’ ‘Gone to buy a fiddle string, gone to buy fine clothes for Tuppenny!’ whistled the starling. ‘I trust he will remember hairpins. Have you a pocket-comb, Tuppenny?’ ‘I have no pocket, no comb, no comb, pocket-comb I forgot.’ ‘You appear to have forgotten most things, Tuppenny,’ said Pony Billy, ‘you may borrow my curry comb if it is not too large.’ ‘I fear it would scrape him, Pony William; but we are obliged to you. Come Tuppenny, fetch a porridge saucer and sit beside me,’ said Xarifa. Tuppenny was rather silent during breakfast. He kept looking at the large print letters on the caravan.