Then he thought of his precious bottle of the Water of Bounceability. Perhaps, if he took a sip, he might be able to break the spell and to leap to the marshes below. He would try it.
He took out the bottle and uncorked it. He lifted it to his lips and let half of what remained in it gurgle down his throat. Then down he dived, head first. Down, down—yes, the spell was broken! Down to earth, just where the narrow strip of sands met the straggly marshes. He landed with a mighty somersault, roly-poly, into the muddy bog. He rolled over and over, crashing through the slimy rushes and the sand, to where the waves were churning. He was sprawling face downward, dizzy and dazed. He staggered to his feet, looking about him mournfully.
“All sea and sand and dreary marsh,” he sighed. “Over there, lost in the blue of the sea, must be the city whence I set out—the city of Princess Clem. Well, I shall have to finish my bottle of Water of Bounceability now—and fly in that direction.”
So he groped in his pockets for the bottle. But oh, the saddest of all things had happened now! He found the bottle broken—and the water all spilled and wasted!
Aye, his fall had smashed the precious vial—and there was no more of the magic liquid left to carry him home!
What now? Peterkin looked mournfully out across the blue sea, towards where the city of the palace and the Princess Clem must lie; then he looked back across the marsh, where poisonous mists were gathering in low, curling clouds; he searched the shore in vain for the trace of anything or anybody.... No, he was alone and helpless!
Ah, well, he did not know the great surprise which was in store for him!
XXIII
THE LOST PUMPERKIN
