'Because witches are like that,' said Peterkin, answering for his princess.
'And because she hates the bother of having me,' added Margaret. 'She has written to Gran that I am very troublesome—nurse told me so; nurse can't hold her tongue—and I daresay I am,' she added truly. 'And so, if I seemed to be lost, she'd say it wasn't her fault. And as I suppose I'd never be found, there'd be an end of it.'
'You couldn't but be found now,' said Peterkin, 'as, you see, we'd know.'
'If she didn't turn you into something too,' said Margaret, with the sparkle of mischief in her eyes again.
Pete looked rather startled at this new idea.
'The best thing to do is for me to go away to a safe place while I'm still myself,' she added.
'But have you got the exact address? Do you know what station to go to, and all that sort of thing?' I asked. 'And have you got money enough?'
'Plenty,' she said, nodding her head; 'plenty for all I've planned. Of course I know the station—it's the same as for my own home, and nursey lives in the village where the railway comes. Much nearer than our house, which is two miles off. And I know nursey will have me, even if she had to sleep on the floor herself. The only bother is that I'll have to change out of the train from here, and get into another at a place that's called a Junction. Nursey and I had to do that when we came here, and I heard Gran explain it all to her, and I know it's the same going back, for the nurse I have now told me so. When she goes to London she stays in the same railway; but if you're not going to London, you have to get into another one. And nursey and I had to wait nearly half-an-hour, I should think, and that's the part I mind,' and, for the first time, her eager little face looked anxious. 'The railway people would ask me who I was, and where I was going, as, you see, I look so much littler than I am; so I've planned for you two kind boys to come with me to that changing station, and wait till I've got into the train that goes to Hill Horton; that's our station. I've plenty of money,' she went on hurriedly, for, I suppose, she saw that I was looking very grave, and Peterkin's face was pink with excitement.
'It isn't that,' I said; 'it's—it's the whole thing. Supposing you got lost after all, it would be——'
'No, no! I won't get lost,' she said, speaking again in her very grown-up voice. 'And remember, you're on your word of honour as gentlemen!—gentlemen!' she repeated, 'not to tell any one without my leave. If you do, I'll just run away by myself, and very likely get lost or stolen, or something. And how would you feel then?'