boys had seen his mouth move. They looked around, confused, and then it came again, louder this time.

‘GET LORST BEFORE I THUMP YER,’ it said, and this time Norman saw the side of the soldier’s lips move slightly. He looked at Cyril worriedly.

g

Cyril caught the look and nodded as if he knew what to do. ‘He’s my father,’ he said, in that important tone that Norman had once hated so much but was now very grateful for.

But the soldier gave no sign of having heard. Norman grew impatient.

‘He’s his FATHER,’ he shouted, with all his might.

‘Prove it or hop it,’ said the giant.

‘What?’ said Cyril, suddenly feeling sick.

‘PROVE IT OR HOP IT.’

Norman turned to Cyril expectantly.

‘Go on, then,’ he said.

Cyril had gone very pale. He drew Norman aside and said, ‘How can I prove it? Do you carry your blinking birth certificate around with you everywhere you go? Because I don’t!’

Norman thought. ‘There must be someone inside who could say it was you,’ he said.

‘No, no,’ said Cyril wretchedly. ‘I’ve never even been here before – I’m not allowed.’

Norman lost his temper. ‘Then why are we here? How on earth did you think we were going to get in? Why didn’t we go to your house first? We’re running out of time!’

Cyril started to hiss back, furious with himself, with the soldier and with Norman, when they heard a little cough behind them.

‘Ahem,’ it went.

They turned and there was Nanny McPhee – but so different! Gone was the rusty black cloth trimmed with jet, the black straw hat and button-boots! In their place was a full army uniform, complete with tin helmet, khaki boots and cartridge belt. The only things they recognised were the medals and, of course, the stick.

g

‘Sergeant Jefferies,’ said Nanny McPhee, looking at the enormous soldier sternly, ‘you’ve grown.’

At the sound of her voice, an extraordinary change came over the guardsman. He gasped, stared at her, tried to bow, which caused his busby to wobble, and so instead executed a complicated series of manoeuvres with his rifle before saluting ever so smartly and saying, ‘Nanny McPhee, ma’am!’

‘At ease, Ralph,’ said Nanny McPhee, walking up past the gaping boys and examining the sergeant more closely.

‘Lesson Three paid off, I see,’ she said.

‘It certainly did, Nanny McPhee,’ said the sergeant, looking pleased.

‘How’s the army treating you?’

‘Proudly, ma’am, proudly!’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Have you learnt to eat your greens?’

The soldier stopped looking pleased and blushed. He started to stammer and then fiddled at length with something on his rifle.

‘Well?’ said Nanny McPhee, mildly.

‘I can’t lie to you, Nanny McPhee,’ he said. ‘Broccoli still presents a challenge.’

The boys couldn’t believe their ears.

‘Try it with cheese,’ said Nanny McPhee. ‘And don’t forget that in May and June, asparagus provides a pleasant alternative. Now. To business. I shall answer for these two boys. Please let them in at once.’

‘On the double, Nanny McPhee, ma’am!’ said the sergeant, coming to attention and beckoning to the boys, who sprinted up, grinning at Nanny McPhee and mouthing their thank-yous as they were marched briskly into the great building.

Meanwhile, sniffing back tears, Megsie was about to feed the chickens when she found a note in the egg basket with her name on it. She opened it, read it and gave a little shriek, which Celia, who had just walked in, heard.

‘What is it?’ said Celia.

‘It’s the boys! They’ve gone to London!’ said Megsie.

‘No! I thought they were still in bed!’ said Celia, who had also been completely taken in by the pillows under the bedclothes trick.

‘Look!’ said Megsie, showing Celia the note.

g

Celia thought she was going to faint. ‘He’s not dead?’ she said.

‘No! If Norman can feel it in his bones, then it must be true!!’ said Megsie. ‘He’s never wrong!’

‘But your mum’s just said she’s going to sell the farm!’ said Celia, clapping her hands to her mouth.

‘We can’t let her do that,’ said Megsie.

‘But how on earth are we going to stop her?’ said Celia.

‘I don’t know,’ said Megsie. ‘But we might not have to. Norman says he’ll be back soon – we’ll just have to hope he gets back before she does anything! Quick! Let’s get back to the house!’

Sergeant Jefferies had walked the boys through an enormous room full of maps and strange tall chairs and phones and people pushing things around on a gigantic table with wooden paddles. Everyone was concentrating terribly hard and there were a lot of quiet but urgent calls on telephones, which made Cyril feel that he