“Tons of ’em. When they have gorged a rabbit or a lamb or a girl whole, they lie down and sleep for about a week.”
“They don’t gorge girls!”
“They think nothing of it; that is, if the girl is the sort of child they don’t like.”
“I won’t go,” said Pen. “I am not the sort of child the wild beasts would love. I think maybe I might be crunched up by the lions. I shan’t go.”
“Well, no one asked you,” said Harry. “You are quite certain to be eaten, so you had best stay away.”
“Why do you say that?”
Harry glanced at his sister. Nellie laughed. Harry laughed also.
“Why do you talk in that way, you horrid boy?” said Pen, stamping her foot. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you, only you need not try to kill me with your eyes. The wild beasts only like good uns. You ain’t good. The wild beasts would soon find that out.”
For some extraordinary reason Pen found herself turning pale. She had a moment of actual fear. At this instant she would have resigned the thimble—the golden thimble, with its sapphire top and turquoise rim—to the safe keeping of Pauline. For if Pauline had the thimble Pen would have very little to say against her. As long as she possessed the thimble she felt that Pauline was in her power. She liked the sensation, and she was honest enough to own as much.