“Let’s just go out to the end of the rocks,” Francis urged, “just to see what it’s like where the water gets deep and the seaweed goes swish, swish, all long and lanky and grassy, like in the Sabrina picture.”
“Halfway then, not more,” said Mavis, firmly, “it’s dangerous—deep outside—Mother said so.”
And halfway they went, Mavis still cautious, and Francis, after his wetting, almost showing off in his fine carelessness of whether he went in again or not. It was very jolly. You know how soft and squeezy the blobby kind of seaweed is to walk on, and how satin smooth is the ribbon kind; how sharp are limpets, especially when they are covered with barnacles, and how comparatively bearable to the foot are the pale primrose-colored hemispheres of the periwinkle.
“Now,” said Mavis, “come on back. We’ll run all the way as soon as we get our shoes and stockings on for fear of colds.”
“I almost wish we hadn’t come,” said Francis, turning with a face of gloom.
“You didn’t really think we should find a Mermaid, did you?” Mavis asked, and laughed, though she was really annoyed with Francis for getting wet and cutting short this exciting morning game. But she was a good sister.
“It’s all been so silly. Flopping into that pool, and talking and rotting, and just walking out and in again. We ought to have come by moonlight, and been very quiet and serious, and said—
“ ‘Sabrina fair,
Listen where thou art sitting—’ ”
“Ow—Hold on a minute. I’ve caught my foot in something.”
Mavis stopped and took hold of her brother’s arm to steady him; and as she did so both children plainly heard a voice that was not the voice of either of them. It was the sweetest voice in the world they thought, and it said:
“Save her. We die in captivity.”
Francis looked down and had a sort of sudden sight of something white and brown and green that moved and went quickly down under the stone on which Mavis was standing. There was nothing now holding his foot.
“I say,” he said, on a deep breath of awe and wonder, “did you hear that?”
“Of course, I heard it.”
“We couldn’t both have fancied it,” he said, “I wish it had told us who to save, and where, and how—”
“Whose do you think that voice was?” Mavis asked softly.
“The Mermaid’s,” said Francis, “who else’s could it have been?”
“Then the magic’s really begun—”
“Mermaids aren’t magic,” he said, “anymore than flying fishes or giraffes are.”
“But she came when you said ‘Sabrina fair,’ ” said Mavis.
“Sabrina wasn’t a Mermaid,” said Francis firmly. “It’s no use trying to join things on when they won’t. Come on, we may as well be getting home.”
“Mightn’t she be?” suggested Mavis. “A Mermaid, I mean. Like salmon that live in rivers and go down to the sea.”
“I say, I never thought of that. How simply ripping if it turned out to be really Sabrina—wouldn’t it be? But which do you suppose could be her—the one who spoke to us or the one she’s afraid will die in captivity—the one she wants us to save.”
They had reached the shore by now and Mavis looked up from turning her brown stockings right way out to say:
“I suppose we didn’t really both fancy it. Could we have? Isn’t there some sort of scientific magic that makes people think the same things as each other when it’s not true at all, like with Indian mango tricks? Uncle Fred said so, you know, they call it ‘Tell-ee-something.’ ”
“I’ll tell you something,” said Francis, urgent with shoelace, “if we keep on saying things weren’t when we know perfectly well they were, we shall soon dish up any sort of chance of magic we may ever have had. When do you find people in books going on like that? They just say ‘This is magic!’ and behave as if it was. They don’t go pretending they’re not sure. Why, no magic would stand it.”
“Aunt Dorothea once told me that all magic was like Prince Rupert’s drop,” Mavis owned: “if once you broke it there was nothing left but a little dust.”
“That’s just what I’m saying, isn’t it? We’ve always felt there was magic right enough, haven’t we? Well, now we’ve come across it, don’t let’s be silly and pretend. Let’s believe in it as hard as ever we can. Mavis—shall we, eh? Believing in things makes them stronger. Aunt Dorothea said that too—you remember.”
They stood up in their shoes.
“Shall we tell the others?” Mavis asked.
“We must,” said Francis, “it would be so sneakish not to. But they won’t believe us. We shall have to be like Cassandra and not mind.”
“I only wish I knew who it is we’ve got to save,” said Mavis.
Francis had a very strong and perfect feeling that they would know this all in good time. He could not have explained this, but he felt it. All he said was, “Let’s run.”
And they ran.
Kathleen and Bernard met them at the gate, dancing with excitement and impatience.
“Where have you been?” they cried and “What on earth?” and “Why, you’re all wet, France.”
“Down to the sea—shut up, I know I am—” their elder brother came in and passed up the path to the gate.
“You might have called us,” said Kathleen in a more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger sort of voice, “but anyhow you’ve lost something by going out so early without us.”
“Lost something. What?”
“Hearing the great news,” said Bernard, and he added, “Aha!”
“What news?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Bernard was naturally annoyed at having been left out of the first expedition of the holidays. Anyone would have. Even you or I.
“Out with it,” said Francis, with a hand on Bernard’s ear. There came a yell from Bernard and Mother’s voice from the window,
