Free Bed-Knob and Broomstick by Mary Norton Page B

moving moment. Paul looked glum, a little bewildered. He had an uneasy
feeling that Miss Price was turning over a new leaf before he had finished with
the old one. It was almost a relief when the milk cart rattled up to the gate.
Miss Price wiped her eyes.

       
"Now you must go," she said, straightening her hat as Charles jumped
down off the milk cart to shake her hand. She tried to smile. "Good luck,
dear children, and good-by. Keep your warm hearts, your gentleness, and your
courage. These will do," said Miss Price, sniffing audibly, "just
as well as magic."
She turned away hurriedly; squaring her shoulders, she picked up the handles
of the wheelbarrow and trundled it off toward the rubbish heap.

       
The milkman cracked his whip, and they clattered away amid the cheerful jangle
of empty cans.

       
"She won't keep it up," said Paul, who, unobserved, had edged himself
into the place nearest the pony.

       
In the train, Charles frowned through the narrow square of window. Carey had
told him of the conversation with Miss Price.

       
"Magic may be just a weakness," he said, "but it's better than
some weaknesses."
"I know," agreed Carey.

       
"If we still had the bed, I think I'd use it," Charles went on. "Sometimes."
"Yes," said Carey. "Just sometimes."
"The bed wasn't magic," put in Paul consolingly. "It was only
the bed-knob that was magic."
"Well, it's the same thing," said Carey, turning irritably from Paul,
who, kneeling up on his seat, was breathing in her face. "One thing's no
good without the other."
"Couldn't you use a magic bed-knob on another bed the same make?"
"Oh, I don't know, Paul." Carey edged away from him, closer to the
window. "What's the good of talking about it if we haven't got either.
Do sit down properly!"
Paul meekly put his legs down, so that they dangled just above the floor. He
leaned back, sucking his cheeks in. One hand was in his pocket, fidgeting. He
looked worried. "But," he protested, after some moments of silent
thought, "I did bring the bed-knob."
II
BONFIRES AND BROOMSTICKS
LOST AND FOUND
Two years went by. Aunt Beatrice died and the house was sold, so they did not
go back to Much Frensham. The memory of that summer became a secret thing, seldom
spoken of-and never with Paul. "He might tell, you see," Carey pointed
out. "We must let him just think it's a dream. . . ."
Sometimes in company Paul could become a menace. "When we were in prison-"
he would exclaim, and Carey, blushing, would correct him quickly with "When
you dreamed you were in prison, Paul!" After a while, Paul grew confused;
he would say-one eye on Carey-things like: "Yesterday, when I dreamed I
had an egg for tea-"
"But you did have an egg for tea," his mother would point out.

       
"Oh," he would say, becoming suddenly thoughtful, "and did I
see the cannon balls?"
"What cannon balls?"
"Cannibals, he means," Carey would explain quickly. "No, you
didn't, Paul. You dreamed those," and would quickly change the subject.

       
Even to Charles, the thing became unreal. Back among
his school friends, just the word became embarrassing. Magic? One didn't . .
. one couldn't ... I mean, the whole thing was rather. . . . He took up boxing,
started on First Year Latin, and began a stamp collection. He pushed other events
to the back of his mind and pretended they had not happened.

       
One cannot do this successfully. It seldom works; sooner or later Fate takes
a hand, and back comes the past like a bombshell. It came to Carey and Charles,
some two years later, on a cold, dull winter's morning, in the form of a daily
paper. It came in innocently with the bacon and porridge, disguised as the London
Times.

       
"Look," said Carey faintly. She was leaning over, spoon in hand, reading
the personal column.

       
Charles glanced up. They were alone in the room at the time. Mrs. Wilson, their
mother, had