“THE STREAM CAME OUT UNDER A ROUGH, LOW ARCH OF STONE.”
“If we stay here we shall only be dragged into some new adventure,” she urged, “I know we shall. I never in my life knew such a place as history for adventures to happen in. And I’m tired, besides. Oh, Edred, do come along!”
“I believe it’s ducks,” said Edred, and he sniffed questioningly; “it smells like onion stuffing.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” said Elfrida; “that’s for dinner, most likely. I expect breakfast for us would be bread and water. You’d find we’d done something wrong, as likely as not. Oh, come along, do, before we get punished for it. Besides, don’t you want to know whether what Cousin Richard said about the cricket was right?”
“Well, yes,” said Edred, “and we can always come back here, can’t we?”
“Of course we can,” Elfrida said eagerly. “Oh, come on.”
So they climbed up to the twisty-twiny, corkscrew staircase, and found the door of the room where they had slept under the wonderful white coverlets that now were coats. Then they stood still and looked at each other, with a sudden shock.
“How are we to get back?” was the unspoken question that trembled on each lip.
The magic white coats cuddled close round their necks. There was, somehow, comfort and confidence in the soft, friendly touch of that magic fur. When you are wearing that sort of coat, it is quite impossible to feel that everything will not come perfectly right the moment you really, earnestly, and thoroughly wish that it should come right.