And as he began to pour, the noise of the battering-ram and the trampling of the foe and the shouts of "Surrender!" and "De Talbot for ever!" all suddenly stopped and went out like the snuff of a candle; the little dark room seemed to whirl round and turn topsy-turvy, and when the children came to themselves there they were, safe and sound, in the big front bedroom of their own house—the house with the ornamental nightmare iron-top to the roof.
They all crowded to the window and looked out. The moat and the tents and the besieging force were all gone—and there was the garden with its tangle of dahlias and marigolds and asters and later roses, and the spiky iron railings and the quiet white road.
Everyone drew a deep breath.
"And that's all right!" said Robert. "I told you so! And, I say, we didn't surrender, did we?"
"Aren't you glad now I wished for a castle?" asked Cyril.
"I think I am now," said Anthea slowly. "But I wouldn't wish for it again, I think, Squirrel dear!"
"Oh, it was simply splendid!" said Jane unexpectedly. "I wasn't frightened a bit."
"Oh, I say!" Cyril was beginning, but Anthea stopped him.
"Look here," she said, "it's just come into my head. This is the very first thing we've wished for that hasn't got us into a row. And there hasn't been the least little scrap of a row about this. Nobody's raging downstairs, we're safe and sound, we've had an awfully jolly day—at least, not jolly exactly, but you know what I mean. And we know now how brave Robert is—and Cyril too, of course," she added hastily, "and Jane as well. And we haven't got into a row with a single grown-up."
The door was opened suddenly and fiercely.