"'Tain't," says Luclarion, with unbeguiled practicality. "It's just ma's best parlor, and you mustn't."
It was the "mustn't" that was the whole of it. If Mark had asserted that the back kitchen, or the cellar-way closet was Colchis, she would have indorsed it with enthusiasm, and followed on like a loyal Argonaut, as she was. But her imagination here was prepossessed. Nothing in old fable could be more environed with awe and mystery than this best parlor.
"And, besides," said Luclarion, "I don't care for the golden fleece; I'm tired of it. Let's play something else."
"I'll tell you what there is in here," persisted Mark. "There's two enchanted children. I've seen 'em!"
"Just as though," said Luke contemptuously. "Ma ain't a witch."
"Tain't ma. She don't know. They ain't visible to her. She thinks it's nothing but the best parlor. But it opens out, right into the witch country,—not for her. 'Twill if we go. See if it don't."
He had got hold of her now; Luclarion could not resist that. Anything might be true of that wonderful best room, after all. It was the farthest Euxine, the witch-land, everything, to them.
So Mark turned the latch and they crept in
"We must open a shutter," Mark said, groping his way.
"Grashy will be back," suggested Luke, fearfully.