The garden was well kept , but with some flower beds bare and ready for replanting .

Jenny pushed the door open , and called inside :

-- Dad , are you there ?

There was no apparent reply , so she looked nervously around at Peter and asked :

-- Would you mind waiting a minute while I just check to see if Dad is at home? He's sometimes out in the back , writing , and doesn't hear anyone .

Peter signalled his assent , though he was a little puzzled as to the reference to writing , and while he waited he studied the rather grotesque garden gnome that lay tipped on its side , apparently waiting to be replaced .

He was about to walk over to look at it more closely when Jenny reappeared and called him.

He stepped in through the open door and at Jenny's direction , deposited his rucksack in the hall .

-- Come on through and meet Dad before I show you the room , she said . He's been working out the back in the garden shed .

So Peter followed her through the house and back kitchen to the back door , where a figure with a familiar face stood looking in slight bemusement at a sheet of paper he was holding.

-- Good heavens , exclaimed Peter . We've already met ! You're the milkman .

-- Right , said the man , looking Peter up and down . You were quick to catch up with me . Jenny tells me you were wanting to rent a room .

-- Yes, said Peter . If it's as nice as the rest of your place it would be very suitable , I think .

-- I'm Ernie , the man introduced himself . You bought a Gold Top from me earlier . As a matter of fact I was just writing a poem about you .

Noticing Peter's surprise , he added :

-- Oh I write lots of poems about lots of things that go on round here . You being new to the place , you deserve a mention in my Village Odes . Here , let me read the couple of lines that I've got down so far .

-- Oh no , dad , cried Jenny , Mr Jack will want to see the room , not hear you recite.

-- It's quite all right , laughed Peter . I'd like to hear it , I've never had a poem written about me before .

The old man looked quizzically at Peter , cleared his throat and began:

With the cold air of the morning reddening his cheeks ,

The stranger puts his rucksack down and seeks

to purchase refreshment from the clanking crates

that line my float , and courteously awaits

while I take out a Gold Top , worth forty p

and he takes out all his change which he offers me

-- It's a bit rough . I've only just started . I was going to turn it into a story poem , but now that you might be staying I'll wait a while before I add any more .

-- I'll be interested to hear what you write , said Peter , but before the old man could say anything further , Jenny tugged on Peter's sleeve and led him back inside .

-- It's upstairs , said Jenny . It's a bit small . It used to be my room when I was a kid , but now I've moved down here to a bigger room at the back .

Upstairs , Peter examined the room , which was indeed quite small , still painted in nursery colours , and with a kitten dado around the wall.

The bed was also small , but having gained Jenny's permission , Peter tried it for size. He just fitted it for length .

-- Seems pretty good to me , he said . What will you charge ? For bed and breakfast ?

-- You'll have to work that out with Mum , said Jenny . I'd say that you could get breakfast at the cafe every morning .

-- Good idea , said Peter , and feeling the need to settle things quickly , he suggested they go straight back to the cafe , meanwhile leaving his rucksack at the house.

Jenny called out to her father , telling him what they were abut to do , and he absentmindedly acknowledged it , while gazing at his work in hand .

Back at the cafe , they got down to business . Mrs George named the reasonable sum of thirty five pounds a week , including breakfast at the cafe each morning , payable a week in advance. Peter was only too happy with that arrangement , and left the cafe to go to the bank to get the requisite cash .

It looked as if he was going to enjoy his stay in the village .