And there she stood, slim and beautiful in the dusk, and looked at Wendell with the utmost gratitude.
“My deliverer!” she breathed softly.
“I suppose you will have to marry her now,” said the Kobold to Wendell. “It is always customary.” Wendell was sure there was malice in the old fellow’s eye this time.
“Why—why—” he stammered, “we didn’t plan that.” And the Beauteous Maiden added quickly,
“Not yet. There are my cruel stepmother and the giant to consider. Come, sit with me on yonder bench, and we will discuss the matter.” So they moved away and left the Kobold standing there, and that was the last that Wendell saw of him, though for all I know, the old fellow may still be living under Flag Staff Hill on Boston Common to this very moment.
“The first thing I must do,” said the Beauteous Maiden, “is to hunt up that moving picture man and sign the contract. Then I shall be independent in case you shouldn’t succeed with my family.”
“Succeed with your family—how do you mean?” asked Wendell.
“Why, in case my cruel stepmother should work a charm on you, or in case the giant should eat you up.”
“Oh, I see,” said Wendell, “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, of course, we’ll hope for the best,” said the Beauteous Maiden. “Here is the address in Brookline. You take the car from Park Street. You know what you have to do,—rob my stepmother of the three magic gifts that give her her power as a witch,—the Cloak of Darkness, the Cap of Thought and the Book of Spells. The Book of Spells has every charm in the world.”