“What do you mean?” inquired Dick.
“Why, we’ve got the paper, and you can’t grow any bigger until we allow you to.”
“What a mean trick!” cried Dick, in disgust.
“Well, we don’t think it at all fair,” said the gnomes, “that you should be able to grow any size that you want to, while we have to keep little, so we are going to keep you here for a little while, and teach you to believe in fairies, do you see?”
“But we’ve got to find the Dodo in a week,” expostulated Dick, “and if you keep us here, however are we to do that?”
“Oh, please give us the paper back,” begged Marjorie. “I’m sure the Pater will be so vexed if we never grow any bigger than this any more.” And she began to cry a little.
You see, such a lot of very unusual things had happened that she was a little excited and nervous.
“Well, we’ll think about it,” said the gnomes, running away and hiding among the rocks.
“Don’t cry, Marjorie,” said Dick, bravely, though he too felt a little anxious himself; for, you see, eleven inches is not very tall for any one to be, and he didn’t care to admit what would happen if he went back to school in his present state.
“Chappel Minor has always been cheeky,” he thought, “and so have Martin and Foster, and if I keep this size they will think they can do just as they like with me, and probably will turn me out of the cricket eleven, while that little wretch of a Castleton is sure to sneak all my pencils—he does now when he gets a chance.” However, he kept these doleful thoughts to himself, and devoted himself to the task of consoling his sister and Fidge, and had soon talked them into such a cheerful frame of mind, that they really began to think that it was rather an advantage than otherwise to have lost the paper.