‘How dreadful of her!’ cried little William John indignantly. ‘Will you never be able to get back your real shape, you poor little thing?’
‘I am afraid not,’ said the little White Hare sadly, ‘unless somebody who is really sorry for me, and is not afraid of me, can find the Magic Horn—by the blast of which Jack the Giant-Killer overthrew the Giant Galligantus and Hocus-Pocus the Conjurer—and blow over me three strong, clear blasts.’
‘Where is the Magic Horn?’ asked little William John.
‘I do not know the exact spot, but it is buried somewhere in the ruins of an old castle called the Castle of Porthmeor, which is on a cliff above Porthmeor Cove.’
‘Why, that old castle is mine, or will be, I am told, when I am of age!’ cried little William John. ‘It is not a great way from where I live, and often I go there to play. I wish I wasn’t only a little boy, and could look for the Magic Horn,’ he added, after a moment’s silence.
‘Age is no barrier to your seeking it,’ said the little White Hare. ‘All that is needed to loosen the wicked old Witch’s spell is what I have now told you.’
‘Then I will look for the Magic Horn directly I get home,’ cried little William John, ‘and if I can find it I’ll come back and blow it over you, if you think I can.’
‘I am sure you can,’ answered the little White Hare. ‘You must go now, for your Great-Aunt is coming into the valley. It is not wrong to come into this orchard, since she has not forbidden you; but she knows it is haunted by a little White Hare, and is afraid if you see it it will work you harm. So you must be patient with her.’
The Hare vanished as it spoke, and little William John found himself alone with the yellow-headed daffadillies, and the trees and dear little birds, and he soon went back to the house.
‘Have you been out anywhere?’ asked Great-Aunt Ann, when she had come in and taken off her bonnet.