There was no answer.
“We must try all the way round,” Poor Cecco said.
So all the way round they walked, tapping and listening. Suddenly Bulka, who had his ear glued to the trunk, cried, “Listen, all of you! I hear something!”
Instantly they all stood still. Somewhere within the tree could be heard a distinct answering tap.
“It’s Tubby!” cried Bulka. “It’s Tubby! Tubby,” he called, “is that you?”
Quite clearly he heard the tiny voice:
“Yes, Bulka!”
“Where are you, Tubby?” he asked.
And again the tiny voice whispered back:
“In Tubbyland, Bulka!”
“I told you!” said Gladys triumphantly. “I told you all along that’s where she was. Now at any rate we know where that wretched Tubbyland is!”
But the others paid no heed. They all had their ears to the tree—except naturally the Wooden Engine, who kept exclaiming: “What is she saying? What does she say?” and hopping up and down on his wheels with excitement.
“How can we get her out?” Harlequin asked.
How indeed? In vain they walked round and round the tree; there was no sign of a door anywhere, and of course they knew nothing of the hole in the top.
“We might tunnel underneath,” Poor Cecco said. And
