Wet Magic by E. Nesbit (read 50 shades of grey txt) 📕

boy briefly. “Ain’t you going⁠—to see her again, I mean?”

“No,” said Francis, “I’ve had enough dead of night to last me a long time.”

“You a-going, miss?” the boy asked. “No? You are a half-livered crew. It’ll be only me, I suppose.”

“You’re going, then?”

“Well,” said the boy, “what do you think?”

“I should go if I were you,” said Bernard impartially.

“No, you wouldn’t; not if you were me,” said Francis. “You don’t know how disagreeable she was. I’m fed up with her. And besides, we simply can’t get out at dead of night now. Mrs. Pearce’ll be on the lookout. No⁠—it’s no go.”

“But you must manage it somehow,” said Kathleen; “you can’t let it drop like this. I shan’t believe it was magic at all if you do.”

“If you were us, you’d have had enough of magic,” said Francis. “Why don’t you go yourselves⁠—you and Bernard.”

“I’ve a good mind to,” said Bernard unexpectedly. “Only not in the middle of the night, because of my being certain to drop my boots. Would you come, Cathay?”

“You know I wanted to before,” said Kathleen reproachfully.

“But how?” the others asked.

“Oh,” said Bernard, “we must think about that. I say, you chap, we must get to our dinner. Will you be here after?”

“Yes. I ain’t going to move from here. You might bring me a bit of grub with you⁠—I ain’t had a bite since yesterday teatime.”

“I say,” said Francis kindly, “did they stop your grub to punish you for getting wet?”

“They didn’t know nothing about my getting wet,” he said darkly. “I didn’t never go back to the tents. I’ve cut my lucky, I ’ave ’ooked it, skedaddled, done a bunk, run away.”

“And where are you going?”

“I dunno,” said the Spangled Boy. “I’m running from, not to.”

VI The Mermaid’s Home

The parents of Mavis, Francis, Kathleen and Bernard were extremely sensible people. If they had not been, this story could never have happened. They were as jolly as any father and mother you ever met, but they were not always fussing and worrying about their children, and they understood perfectly well that children do not care to be absolutely always under the parental eye. So that, while there were always plenty of good times in which the whole family took part, there were also times when Father and Mother went off together and enjoyed themselves in their own grown-up way, while the children enjoyed themselves in theirs. It happened that on this particular afternoon there was to be a concert at Lymington⁠—Father and Mother were going. The children were asked whether they would like to go, and replied with equal courtesy and firmness.

“Very well then,” said Mother, “you do whatever you like best. I should play on the shore, I think, if I were you. Only don’t go around the corner of the cliff, because that’s dangerous at high tide. It’s safe so long as you’re within sight of the coast guards. Anyone have any more pie? No⁠—then I think I’ll run and dress.”

“Mother,” said Kathleen suddenly, “may we take some pie and things to a little boy who said he hadn’t had anything to eat since yesterday?”

“Where is he?” Father asked.

Kathleen blushed purple, but Mavis cautiously replied, “Outside. I’m sure we shall be able to find him.”

“Very well,” said Mother, “and you might ask Mrs. Pearce to give you some bread and cheese as well. Now, I must simply fly.”

“Cathay and I’ll help you, Mother,” said Mavis, and escaped the further questioning she saw in her father’s eye. The boys had slipped away at the first word of what seemed to be Kathleen’s amazing indiscretion about the waiting Rube.

“It was quite all right,” Kathleen argued later, as they went up the field, carefully carrying a plate of plum pie and the bread and cheese with not so much care and a certain bundle not carefully at all. “I saw flying in Mother’s eye before I spoke. And if you can ask leave before you do a thing it’s always safer.”

“And look here,” said Mavis. “If the Mermaid wants to see us we’ve only got to go down and say ‘Sabrina fair,’ and she’s certain to turn up. If it’s just seeing us she wants, and not another deadly night adventure.”

Reuben did not eat with such pretty manners as yours, perhaps, but there was no doubt about his enjoyment of the food they had brought, though he only stopped eating for half a second, to answer, “Prime. Thank you,” to Kathleen’s earnest inquiries.

“Now,” said Francis when the last crumb of cheese had disappeared and the last trace of plum juice had been licked from the spoon (a tin one, because, as Mrs. Pearce very properly said, you never know)⁠—“now, look here. We’re going straight down to the shore to try and see her. And if you like to come with us we can disguise you.”

“What in?” Reuben asked. “I did disguise myself once in a false beard and a green-colored mustache, but it didn’t take no one in for a moment, not even the dogs.”

“We thought,” said Mavis gently, “that perhaps the most complete disguise for you would be girl’s clothes⁠—because,” she added hastily to dispel the thundercloud on Reuben’s brow⁠—“because you’re such a manly boy. Nobody would give vent to a moment’s suspicion. It would be so very unlike you.”

“G’a long⁠—” said the Spangled Child, his dignity only half soothed.

“And I’ve brought you some of my things and some sandshoes of France’s, because, of course, mine are just kiddy shoes.”

At that Reuben burst out laughing and then hummed: “ ‘Go, flatterer, go, I’ll not trust to thy vow,’ ” quite musically.

“Oh, do you know the ‘Gypsy Countess’? How jolly!” said Kathleen.

“Old Mother Romaine knew a power of songs,” he said, suddenly grave. “Come on, chuck us in the togs.”

“You just take off your coat and come out and I’ll help you dress up,” was Francis’s offer.

“Best get a skirt over my kicksies first,” said Reuben, “case anyone comes by and recognizes the gypsy cheild. Hand