"You'd see a lump or something. The outline of the bed looks too thin. Oh, dear, Charles," Carey burst out unhappily, "it'll be dark soon."

"Carey!" cried Charles suddenly.

She wheeled round, frightened by the note in his voice. He was looking up the beach towards the shadow of the trees. Three figures stood there, silent, and none of them was Miss Price or Paul; three dark figures, so still that at first Carey thought they could not be human. Then she shrieked, "Cannibals!" and ran toward the sea. She did not stop to see if Charles was following her; she ran without thinking, without hearing, and almost without seeing, as a rabbit runs from the hunter or the cook from a mouse.

They caught her at the water's edge. She felt their breath on the back of her neck, and then they gripped her by the arms. She screamed and kicked and bit and wriggled. There was nothing ladylike about Carey for quite five minutes. Then, all at once, she gave in. Sobbing and panting, she let them carry her up the beach, head downwards. In spite of her terror, she tried to look around for Charles. They had got him too, in the same position. "Charles! Charles!" she cried. He did not, or could not, reply.

The man who had caught her made for the woods, and at each stride he took, her head b.u.mped dizzily against his spine. He smelt of coconut oil and wore a belt of threaded teeth, which, after a while, she took hold of to steady herself a little as she hung down his back. She could see the legs of Charles's captor and glimpses of the third man who ran along beside them. It was very dark in the woods, and, after a while, she heard the faint sound of drums. Of one thing we may be certain; Carey thought very little of the man who had described the island as being uninhabited. "People should be careful," she almost sobbed, pressing her face against the oily back to keep it out of the way of scratchy creepers, "what they write in encyclopedias."

"Charles!" she called once when it had grown too dark to see.

"I'm here," he shouted back in a panting, suffocated voice.

After a while, as the throb of the drums grew closer, she heard another sound, the chant of human voices: "Ay oh ... ay oh ... ay ... oh. . . ." Then she saw a gleam of light. It shone on the boles of trees and the fronds of creepers. It became stronger and brighter until, at last, they found themselves in an open, firelit s.p.a.ce where shadows moved and danced, and the earth vibrated to their dancing. "Ay ... oh ... ay ... oh ... ay ... oh," went the voices.

It seemed to Carey, from what she could see in her upside-down position, that they had broken through the ring of dancers, because the firelight shone straight in her eyes, and the voices, without changing their tune, swelled to a shout of pleased surprise-"Ay ... oh ... ay ... oh."

b.u.mp. Her captor let her drop on her head, as if she were a sack of potatoes. Dizzily she rolled into a sitting position and looked around for Charles. He crawled up to her. His forehead was bleeding, and he looked quite stunned.

Suddenly something pulled her hair. She jumped as if a snake had bitten her. She turned-and there was Paul. He looked very dirty-she could see that even by firelight-but he was smiling and saying something that she couldn't hear because of the noise of drums and voices.

"Paul!" she cried, and suddenly she felt less frightened. "Where's Miss Price?"

Paul pointed-it was the easiest way. There sat poor Miss Price in the very middle of the circle. She was trussed up like a chicken, tied hand and foot with creepers. She still wore her sun helmet and a pair of dark gla.s.ses, which glinted in the firelight.

Paul was shouting something in Carey's ear. She leaned closer.

"They're going to eat us," Paul was saying. "They've got the pot back there. They're cannibals."

Carey marveled at Paul's cheerfulness. "Perhaps he imagines it's a dream," she thought wonderingly.

The dance began to quicken. The writhing bodies twisted and swayed. The voices became babbling so that the "Ay ... oh ... ay ... oh" became one word, and the drums increased their speed to a single humming note. There was a sudden shout. Then the dance stopped. There was a shuffling of feet; then silence.

Paul crept up between Charles and Carey. Carey took his hand.

The dancers stood quite still, like statues. They all looked inwards toward the children. Carey never knew what made her do it, but after a moment's hesitation, she let go Paul's hand and began to clap. Charles followed suit, and Paul joined in, enthusiastically, as if he were at the theater.

The dancers smiled, and looked quite shy. Then there was a mumble of unintelligible conversation, and everybody sat down cross-legged, like boy scouts round a campfire. Miss Price was in the middle of the circle and nearest to the fire. The three children were grouped together, a little to one side.

After a moment there was a rattle of drums. The circle of eyes turned expectantly toward a path that wound between the trees. Then there was a weird inhuman shout, and a curious figure whirled into the firelight. If it had a face, you couldn't see it for paint. Daubs of scarlet and white hid the features. A great tail of shimmering feathers was attached to his belt at the back, and, as he whirled about, it shook as if he wagged it. He wore anklets of monkey's fur, and in one hand he carried a shinbone and in the other-of all things- Miss Price's broomstick!

"It's the witch doctor," said Charles in Carey's ear. Carey shivered. As she looked round at the seated dancers, it seemed as if they had all drawn into themselves, as if they, too, were afraid. The weird object, his legs apart and knees bent, came jumping toward Miss Price. Every jump or so, he would whirl completely round. Each time he shook his feathers Paul laughed.

"Be quiet, Paul," Carey urged him. "You'll make him angry." Paul put his hand over his mouth, but he laughed just the same.

At last the witch doctor stopped, just in front of Miss Price. He threw back his head and made a weird howl, a howl that seemed to echo across the island. Miss Price looked back at him through her dark gla.s.ses. The children could not see her expression.

Suddenly, after a moment, there was another howl, higher, weirder, more piercing. The witch doctor lowered the broomstick. There was something about his att.i.tude that seemed bewildered.

Suddenly Carey laughed. She gripped her hands together. "Charles," she whispered excitedly, "Miss Price did it. She did that last one."

The witch doctor recovered from his surprise. He gave two jumps in the air, and then he howled again. It was a howl to end all howls. It went on and on. Carey imagined it echoing out across the reef, across the lagoon, across the darkening sea. Then the witch doctor stopped. He stared at Miss Price. He seemed to be saying, "Beat that if you can."

Miss Price moistened her lips. She wriggled her shoulders as if her bonds constrained her. Then she pursed up her mouth.

This time it was a whistle-a whistle so agonizingly piercing that it hurt one to hear it. It was like a steam engine in anguish, a needlepoint of aching shrillness. The audience began to move, Carey gasped, and the witch doctor clapped his hands to his ears and hopped round as if he were in pain.

When it stopped, there was a murmur among the dancers. The witch doctor swung round. He glared at them angrily.

"Hrrmph!" he grunted, and approached Miss Price once more.

She looked back at him impa.s.sively. The dark gla.s.ses were a great help. Carey crossed her thumbs. She remembered all Miss Price had said in the garden, about how few spells she knew by heart, how everything went out of her head if she were fussed, how you had to have something to turn into something and something to turn it 'with. "Oh, Miss Price!" she breathed, "Miss Price!" as people call the name of their side at a football match.

The witch doctor held up the broomstick; with a twist he flung it into the air. It circled up into the darkness and came down turning slowly. He caught it with his other hand without looking at it.

There was a murmur of approbation among the crowd. They thought that was clever. The witch doctor did a few satisfied jumps.

Miss Price laughed. (Good, thought Carey, she isn't fussed.) The witch doctor glared at her. She sat quite still; curiously still, thought Carey-but something was happening. The children stared hard. There was a s.p.a.ce between Miss Price and the ground-a s.p.a.ce that grew. Miss Price, still in a sitting position, had risen three feet in the air.

There was a murmur of amazement. Miss Price held her position. Carey could see her teeth were clenched and her face had become red. "Go it, Miss Price," she murmured. "Hold it." She gripped Charles's arm. Miss Price came down, plonk, rather suddenly. From her pained expression Carey guessed she had bitten her tongue, but the shock had broken the creepers that bound her hands. Miss Price put her fingers in her mouth as if to feel if her tongue were still there; then she rubbed her wrists and glanced sideways at the children.

The witch doctor did a'few wild turns round the circle. He leaped into the air. He shouted, he twirled the broomstick. Carey noticed that every time he came too near the audience, they shrank back a little. When he felt the onlookers were sufficiently subdued and suitably impressed, he stopped his caperings and flung Miss Price's broomstick away from him. He then sat down on his heels and stared at the broomstick. Nothing seemed to happen. The man was still. And so was the broomstick. But there was a waiting feeling in the air, something that prevented Carey from turning her eyes away toward Miss Price.

"LOOK," said Charles suddenly. There was a gasp among the spectators, an amazed murmur. The broomstick was moving, in little jerks as if pulled by a string, toward the witch doctor.

"Goodness!" said Charles. A funny feeling was creeping down his spine. This stirred him more than anything Miss Price had done. Miss Price, too, leaned forward. She pushed her dark gla.s.ses up on her forehead. Carey could see her expression. It was the face of one who was deeply and absorb-edly interested. Steadily the broomstick moved on toward the witch doctor, who sat as still as a statue made of stone. Silently he seemed to be calling it. If there had been pins on the island, you could have heard one drop.

Miss Price stared a little longer at the broomstick, and then she pulled her gla.s.ses down over her eyes again and bent her head. She looked almost as though she had fallen into a doze. The broomstick stopped within a few feet of the witch doctor. It moved no further.

After a moment, the witch doctor raised his head. He looked round the circle, and then he looked back again at Miss Price. She still sat with head sunk forward on her chest. The witch doctor edged himself forward, on his behind, a little closer to the broomstick. "Cheating," whispered Carey furiously.

The broomstick again began to move, but this time it moved away from the witch doctor; not in little jerks, but steadily, surely, it slid toward Miss Price. The witch doctor hurriedly resumed his old position. The broomstick stopped.

"Oh, dear," exclaimed Carey. "I can't bear it!"

Then reluctantly, in jerks, it began to move once more toward the witch doctor. Miss Price bent her head still lower and clenched her hands. Carey could see her knuckles shining in the firelight. The broomstick hesitated; then, with a rush, it slid across the sandy ground straight into Miss Price's lap. She gripped it firmly. She threw up her head. The witch doctor leapt to his feet. He gave three jumps, one awful howl, and moved toward Miss Price; in his hand gleamed something long and sharp. Gripping the broomstick, Miss Price faced him sternly. Her feet were tied; she could not move.

Carey cried out and hid her eyes, but Paul, sitting up on his heels, shouted excitedly: "A frog! A yellow frog! Miss Price! You did that lying down!"

Miss Price glanced at Paul, a sideways thankful look. She gasped. Then she held out her two arms toward the witch doctor as if to ward him off with the broomstick. He stopped, with knees bent, about to jump. Then he seemed to shrink and dwindle. He sank downwards into his legs as if the heat of the fire was melting him. The children held their breaths as they watched. Every part of him was shrinking at the same time. It reminded Carey of what happened to a lead soldier when you threw it on the fire, but instead of a blob of silver, the witch doctor melted into a minute blob of gold, a tiny yellowish object, barely distinguishable upon the sandy ground.

"You see!" screamed Paul. "She did it! She couldn't do it quickly, but she did it!"

Carey leaned forward, trying to see better. Suddenly the blob jumped. Carey shrieked. Paul laughed. He was very excited. "It's only a frog," he crowed, "a tuppenny-ha'-penny little frog ... a silly old frog." Carey slapped him.

"Be quiet," she hissed. "We're not safe yet."

There was a strange silence among the dancers. They seemed afraid-afraid of the frog, afraid of Miss Price, afraid even of the children.

"Carey!" called Miss Price. She was untying the creepers that bound her feet. Carey ran to her. Charles and Paul followed.

"You'll all have to hold on to the broomstick. It will be hard, but it won't be for long. We must get to the bed. When I shriek, you must all shriek, and that will help the broomstick to rise."

"Four people on a broomstick," gasped Carey.

"I know. It's dangerous, but it's our only hope. Paul can come on my knee, but you and Charles must just hang on. Now don't forget: when I shriek, you all shriek."

Miss Price took Paul on her knee. She gripped the tip of the broomstick with both hands. Carey and Paul took hold of the wood. Miss Price shut her eyes a moment as if she were trying to recall the spell. The frog had disappeared, but the dancers, watching them suspiciously, suddenly began to move forward. Hurriedly Miss Price gabbled her verse: "Frog's sp.a.w.n; toad's eye. Newts swim, bats FLY .

As she said "FLY," her voice rose to a resounding shriek. The children joined in. The broomstick rose a little off the ground. Carey and Charles were hanging by their hands.

"Bats FLY-Y-Y," shrieked Miss Price again as a hint to the broomstick. It made a valiant effort. It wobbled slowly upward. The natives ran forward. Knives flashed, but Carey and Charles were just out of reach, dangling. Then Carey saw a man was fitting an arrow to a bow.

"FLY-Y-Y," shrieked Miss Price again.

"For goodness' sake!" added Charles. His pajama trousers were slipping off. He felt very vulnerable.

Whether or not this unexpected addition to the spell acted as a spur, it is hard to say, but the broomstick gave a sudden leap forward and upward.

The circle of firelight and the gesticulating dancers dropped away below them, and they were above the moonlit trees, and there ahead lay the glimmer of the sea. The broomstick swayed and plunged but kept its course, making for the point of the reef. Carey and Charles hung on for dear life. Their arms felt numb and almost pulled from their sockets, and a cold wind whistled through their night clothes.

Above the lagoon, the broomstick swerved; sickeningly it began to circle downwards. Carey and Charles floated up sideways as the broomstick dived. Carey strained her eyes. She could only see breakers, breakers and spray and moonlit waters. Was the bed submerged? "Oh," she cried, as the broomstick gathered speed, making straight for the waves. Then suddenly she saw the bed. It was not yet under water. It stood just where they had left it on the rising strip of sand.

But as they landed, she saw a great wave swell up, gather height, and curl.

"Wish, Paul, wish," shrieked Carey madly. Then the wave broke over them. Gasping, spluttering, soaked to the skin, they clung to the slippery bed rails.

Paul must have wished. The bed rolled and lurched, then spun into s.p.a.ce. The darkness thinned as they whistled through it. A pale light grew around them, deepening to gold, and rose and blue and yellow-flowers, twisted into nosegays and tied with blue ribbon. . . . Carey stared, and then she recognized the pattern. It was the early sunlight shining on Paul's wallpaper. . . .

9 ACCOUNT RENDERED.

They were home, but what a mess! All their pajamas were ragged and dirty, their dressing gowns lost, and the bed was soaked. Poor Miss Price was a sorry sight. Her sun helmet was soft and soggy. She had no shoes or stockings, and her coat and skirt dripped puddles on the floor. Of her belongings, all she had left was the broomstick. Haggardly, she peered out of the window.

"It's too light to fly," she muttered. Then an awful thought seemed to strike her. "It must be after nine o'clock." She sat down limply on a chair. As she sat, she squelched. "Goodness me, Carey, here's a nice to-do!"

Charles went to the window. It was open, just as they had left it.

"There's no one about," he said. "Just use the broomstick as far as the ground and then make a run for it."

Miss Price stared at him blankly. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed, "this is terrible."

"Yes, Miss Price, you must," urged Carey, "make a run for it."

Miss Price looked at her naked bony feet. "If I should meet the gardener . . ." she pointed out helplessly.

"You must risk it," said Carey.

"Listen!" whispered Charles, raising his head.

Yes. Unmistakably there were 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 pa.s.sage, 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 att.i.tude 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 rea.s.suring.

"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 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."