WET MAGIC (Illustrated Edition). Эдит Несбит

aquarium.”

      “Let’s play it is,” suggested Kathleen—“let’s play it’s a magic glass and we can see what we like in it. I see a fairy palace with gleaming spires of crystal and silver.”

      “I see a football match, and our chaps winning,” said Bernard heavily, joining in the new game.

      “Shut up,” said Francis. “That isn’t play. There was something.”

      “Suppose it is magic,” said Mavis again.

      “We’ve played magic so often, and nothing’s ever happened—even when we made the fire of sweet-scented woods and eastern gums, and all that,” said Bernard; “it’s much better to pretend right away. We always have to in the end. Magic just wastes time. There isn’t any magic really, is there, Mavis?”

      “Shut up, I tell you,” was the only answer of Francis, his nose now once more flattened against the smooth green glass.

      Here Aunt Enid’s voice was heard on the landing outside, saying, “Little ones—bed,” in no uncertain tones.

      The two grunted as it were in whispers, but there was no appeal against Aunt Enid, and they went, their grunts growing feebler as they crossed the room, and dying away in a despairing silence as they and Aunt Enid met abruptly at the top of the stairs.

      “Shut the door,” said Francis, in a strained sort of voice. And Mavis obeyed, even though he hadn’t said “please.” She really was an excellent sister. Francis, in moments of weakness, had gone so far as to admit that she wasn’t half bad.

      “I say,” she said when the click of the latch assured her that they were alone, “how could it be magic? We never said any spell.”

      “No more we did,” said Francis, “unless—And besides, it’s all nonsense, of course, about magic. It’s just a game we play, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, of course,” Mavis said doubtfully; “but what did you mean by ‘unless’?”

      “We weren’t saying any spells, were we?”

      “No, of course we weren’t—we weren’t saying anything—”

      “As it happens I was.”

      “Was what? When?”

      “When it happened.”

      “What happened?”

      Will it be believed that Aunt Enid chose this moment for opening the door just wide enough to say, “Mavis—bed.” And Mavis had to go. But as she went she said again: “What happened?”

      “It,” said Francis, “whatever it was. I was saying....”

      “MAVIS!” called Aunt Enid.

      “Yes, Aunt Enid—you were saying what?”

      “I was saying, ‘Sabrina fair,’” said Francis, “do you think—but, of course, it couldn’t have been—and all dry like that, no water or anything.”

      “Perhaps magic has to be dry,” said Mavis. “Coming, Aunt Enid! It seems to be mostly burning things, and, of course, that wouldn’t do in the water. What did you see?”

      “It looked like Sabrina,” said Francis—“only tiny, tiny. Not doll-small, you know, but live-small, like through the wrong end of a telescope. I do wish you’d seen it.”

      “Say, ‘Sabrina fair’ again quick while I look.”

      “‘Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting, Under the—’”

      “Oh, Mavis, it is—it did. There’s something there truly. Look!”

      “Where?” said Mavis. “I can’t see—oh, let me look.”

      “MAVIS!” called Aunt Enid very loud indeed; and Mavis tore herself away.

      “I must go,” she said. “Never mind, we’ll look again tomorrow. Oh, France, if it should be—magic, I mean—I’ll tell you what—”

      But she never told him what, for Aunt Enid swept in and swept out, bearing Mavis away, as it were, in a whirlwind of impatient exasperation, and, without seeming to stop to do it, blowing out the four candles as she came and went.

      At the door she turned to say, “Good night, Francis. Your bath’s turned on ready. Be sure you wash well behind your ears. We shan’t have much time in the morning.”

      “But Mavis always bathes first,” said he. “I’m the eldest.”

      “Don’t argue, child, for goodness’ sake,” said Aunt Enid. “Mavis is having the flat bath in my bedroom to save time. Come—no nonsense,” she paused at the door to say. “Let me see you go. Right about face—quick march!”

      And he had to.

      “If she must pretend to give orders like drill, she might at least learn to say ‘’Bout turn!’” he reflected, struggling with his collar stud in the steaming bathroom. “Never mind. I’ll get up early and see if I can’t see it again.”

      And so he did—but early as he was, Aunt Enid and the servants were earlier. The aquarium was empty—clear, clean, shining and quite empty.

      Aunt Enid could not understand why Francis ate so little breakfast.

      “What has she done with them?” he wondered later.

      “I know,” said Bernard solemnly. “She told Esther to put them on the kitchen fire—I only just saved my fish.”

      “And what about my shells?” asked Mavis in sudden fear.

      “Oh, she took those to take care of. Said you weren’t old enough to take care of them yourself.”

      You will wonder why the children did not ask their Aunt Enid right out what had become of the contents of the aquarium. Well, you don’t know their Aunt Enid. And besides, even on that first morning, before anything that really was anything could be said to have happened—for, after all, what Francis said he had seen might have been just fancy—there was a sort of misty, curious, trembling feeling at the hearts of Mavis and her brother which made them feel that they did not want to talk about the aquarium and what had been in it to any grown-up—and least of all to their Aunt Enid.

      And leaving the aquarium, that was the hardest thing of all. They thought of telegraphing to Mother, to ask whether, after all, they mightn’t bring it—but there was first the difficulty of wording a telegram so that their mother would understand and not deem it insanity or a practical joke—secondly, the fact that ten-pence half-penny, which was all they had between them, would not cover the baldest statement of the facts.

      MRS DESMOND,

       CARE OF MRS PEARCE,

       EAST CLIFF VILLA,

       LEWIS ROAD,

       WEST BEACHFIELD-ON-SEA, SUSSEX

      alone would be eightpence—and the simplest appeal, such as “May we bring aquarium please say yes wire reply” brought the whole thing hopelessly beyond their means.

      “It’s no good,” said Francis hopelessly. “And, anyway,” said Kathleen, “there wouldn’t be time to get an answer before we go.”

      No one had thought of this. It was a sort of backhanded consolation.

      “But think of coming back to it,” said Mavis: “it’ll be something to live for, when we come back from the sea and everything else is beastly.”

      And it was.

      Chapter II.

       The Captive

       Table