Free Bed-Knob and Broomstick by Mary Norton

footsteps coming upstairs.

       
"Quick, Miss Price." Carey pushed the broomstick into Miss Price's
unwilling hand. They helped her over the sill.

       
"Oh, dear," Miss Price muttered to herself as gingerly she clung to
the coping. "This is not the way to do things."
"I know," whispered Carey, giving Miss Price a little shove, "but
it can't be helped."
They watched Miss Price float slowly down; then they watched her pick up her
skirts and the broomstick and make for the shelter of the bushes. They drew
a sharp breath of relief as she reached cover, and then they turned-to face
the eyes of Elizabeth.

       
"Breakfast," said Elizabeth, standing in the doorway, "has been
on the table this half-hour-" She paused. Then her mouth fell open. She
was staring at the floor. Carey, looking downwards, saw a large black puddle
spreading slowly from the bed towards Elizabeth's feet. Elizabeth's eyes followed
the stream to its source. Her mouth opened wider, and her gaze traveled slowly
from the bed to the children. It took in their appearance from top to toe, the
smudged faces, the wet hair, the peeling noses, the torn pajamas clinging limply
to the sun-scorched limbs.

       
"Well-" said Elizabeth slowly, "I never!" Then she shut
her mouth with a snap. Her eyes glared. Color mounted slowly to her pallid cheeks.
"This," said Elizabeth, "is the end."
Deliberately she looked round once more. She picked up a corner of the eiderdown.
It was dark red instead of pale pink. It hung heavily between her thumb and
forefinger. Regular clocklike drips drummed gently on the polished
floor. She let it fall. She stared at it a moment unbelievingly, and then once
more she looked at Paul and Carey. She smiled, a grim, menacing little smile
that did not reach her eyes. "All right," she said calmly and, turning,
left the room.

       
The three children stood quiet. In silence and misery they stood while the puddles
deepened round their feet and the drips from the eiderdown ticked off the heavy
seconds. At last Carey moved. She pushed back her wet hair.

       
"Come, Paul," she said huskily. "Let's go to the bathroom and
wash."
"What I don't understand," said Aunt Beatrice for the fourth time,
"is from where you got the water. The bathroom's right down the passage,
and there isn't a jug."
The children gazed back at her. They were in the study. Aunt Beatrice sat at
her desk turning a little sideways so that she could face them as they stood
in a row on the carpet. There was a closed look in their faces, though their
eyes were round and candid. "Whatever happens" Carey had warned them,
"we mustn't give away Miss Price. Except for that, it doesn't matter what
we say because nothing could be worse."
Carey cleared her throat. She did not reply but stood staring unwaveringly at
her aunt's face.

       
"The charitable attitude to adopt, Carey," said Aunt Beatrice in her
precise, cutting voice, "is that you are not quite right in your head.
This story about a South Sea island, cannibals . . . lagoons. ... If it were
necessary to lie, a child of three could do better."
Carey swallowed. -•"A magic bed. . . ." Aunt Beatrice smiled
acidly. "It
might interest you to know, Carey, that I bought that bed myself in 1903, quite
new, from Baring & Willow's-a most reputable firm," she added, "and
not given to innovations."
Carey changed her weight from her left foot to her right.

       
"What I still don't understand," reiterated Aunt Beatrice, "is
from where you got the water."
"From the sea," said Paul suddenly. "Carey told you." Aunt
Beatrice raised her almost hairless eyebrows. She
picked up her pen and turned back to her desk. Her thin
smile was far from reassuring.

       
"No matter," she said. "I have wired your mother, and
Elizabeth is packing your things-the last service Elizabeth
will perform for me. After all these years she has given me