“Oh, Jack, whatever shall we do?” said Molly, almost crying.
“Knock on the door behind us and go back home,” suggested Jack. “Let’s get out of this old dark hole, and the Pumpkin can go where it jolly well likes.... Leave go my arm a moment, Molly, and I’ll turn round and knock.” He turned to suit the action to his words, tearing the corner of his sleeve out of the crack as he did so.
“But, Jack,” Molly said hurriedly. “Wait a minute.... Somehow ... I’ve got a feeling that we ought to go on, if only we could.... Don’t knock yet, Jack.... I feel as if somebody wants us, through that door on the other side ... if only we could get across. Oh, Jack, do be careful—you’ll slip!”
“Look here,” said Jack, “are you afraid to chance the crossing—do you really think it’s worth it?”
“The Pumpkin must have rolled across without the floor giving way—but then, it—he—I mean, what shall we do, Jack?”
“Shall we try?” suggested Jack.
Molly hesitated. Then “Yes, let’s,” she said. “Only—shall we?” she faltered.
“You stay here while I go across and knock three times on the other door,” said Jack, at once decided. “Then while it’s light you run across.”
“Oh, Jack, do be careful,” cried Molly.
For Jack had already started. He felt with his foot for the thickest branch and stepped recklessly forward. To his delight he found that it was quite easy to walk across, and all their fears had been groundless.