in his arms. But no, the grass band was still unbroken; nothing was missing.
He opened the letter and read:
Dear Bulka:
I am in a funny place it is a house in a tree Murrum brought me It is lited with green lites—
When he had read as far as this Bulka started off at a run, across the herb borders, through the marigold thicket, up one path and down the next, calling loudly for Poor Cecco and Harlequin.
“I’ve got a letter from Tubby!” he cried breathlessly, when at last he caught sight of Harlequin’s head above the onion tops.
“We know,” Jensina said. “You told us. Goodness, Bulka, you’re out of breath!”
“It’s a new letter,” he told them. “It fell out of the sky!”
“Show me!” said Poor Cecco. And he read it aloud.
Plainly, if the letter were true, Tubby was in a tree. But which tree? They looked round. The whole garden was full of trees.
“Where did you find it?” Poor Cecco asked.
Bulka thought, staring about him, and his face grew doubtful. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “It just fell on me.”
