Free Bed-Knob and Broomstick by Mary Norton Page A

notice."
"But it's true, Aunt Beatrice," Carey burst out. "It was the
sea. You can prove it."
Aunt Beatrice half turned, the pen delicately suspended in her birdlike hand.

       
"How, may I ask?" she inquired ironically.

       
"By licking the blanket, Aunt Beatrice," said Carey politely.

       
Aunt Beatrice's pink-rimmed eyes became like agates.

       
"You are not my children," she said coldly, "and I am not as
young as I was; there is no reason at all why I should put up with this sort
of thing! Your mother, job or no job, must make other arrangements for you.
I have finished. You may go."
They crept to the door. At the threshold they paused; Aunt Beatrice was speaking
again. "As there are no taxis," she was saying, "Mr. Bisselthwaite,
the milkman, has very kindly consented to pick you up at eleven forty-five at
the end of the lane. Your train leaves at twelve."
Gently, gently they closed the door.

       
1O FAREWELL
The milkman was late. "Perhaps," said Carey, as they stood in the
grass by the side of the lane, "we could just run in and say good-by to
Miss Price."
"One of us had better stay," said Charles, "to look after the
bags and wait for the milk cart. You and Paul go."
Carey hesitated. "All right," she said, after a moment. "And
you can come along in the cart."
Miss Price was in her front garden. When she saw Carey and Paul in coats and
hats, she looked surprised. She set down her wheelbarrow and waited between
the shafts. Carey ran up to her.

       
"Miss Price," she said, "we're going."
"Going where?" asked Miss Price. Her face looked tired and rather
pale except for the sunburn on her long thin nose.

       
"Home. To London."
"Oh, dear," said Miss Price. She looked distressed. She began to pull
off her gardening gloves.

       
"It was the bed and the water and everything. We're being sent away. But
we did keep our promise, Miss Price. We never told about you."
"Oh, dear," said Miss Price again. She sat down on the edge of the
wheelbarrow.

       
Paul, very subdued, began to collect dead flower heads from the rubbish.

       
"We came to say good-by," went on Carey.

       
"Oh, dear," said Miss Price for the third time. "I feel very
much to blame. We shouldn't have gone to that island, but," she went on,
"I thought a nice quiet day, a breath of sea air . . ." She paused.

       
"Look," Paul broke in. "A pink cabbage."
Carey looked down. There it lay among the rubbish, Miss Price's giant rosebud!
"Oh, Miss Price-" exclaimed Carey, staring at it. It must have weighed
a couple of pounds.

       
Miss Price colored. "I have done a lot of thinking since yesterday, Carey.
I've been thinking about last night and what you said about the flower show-"
She glanced at Paul as if to include him in her observations. "I've been
thinking that magic may be a kind of cheating. It looks good to start with,
but perhaps it doesn't bring good results in the end."
Paul frowned. "I've had wonderful results from cheating," he said
stubbornly.

       
"I don't suppose I'll give it up altogether," went on Miss Price,
ignoring Paul and holding on to her gentle smile. "But I thought I'd try
to give it up for a while."
They were all silent. "Oh, Miss Price," murmured Carey rather sadly.
She shared Paul's disappointment.

       
"It gets such a hold on one," said Miss Price.

       
There was an awful pause. Paul had turned back the leaves of the pink cabbage.
A sweet dry smell of sun-warmed deadness rose from the barrow.

       
"I have decided," went on Miss Price, watching Paul's fingers, "in
future to regard witchcraft-not as a hobby" -she paused-"but as a
weakness."
"Darling Miss Price," cried Carey suddenly, "you're such a good
sport." She flung her arms round Miss Price's neck. She felt the wetness
of a tear on Miss Price's long nose. "Thank you, Miss Price, for everything,
even the cannibals."
It was a