'And what will they do to us if we can't pay,' she went on, growing still whiter. 'Could we—could we possibly be sent to prison?'
'Oh no, no. I don't think so,' I answered, though I was really not at all sure about it; I had so often seen notices stuck up on boards at railway stations about the punishments of passengers not paying properly, or trying to travel without tickets. 'But—I'm afraid they would be very horrid to us somehow—perhaps telegraph to papa or mamma.'
'Oh!' cried Margaret, growing now as red as she had been white, 'and that would mean my being shut up again at Rock Terrace—worse than before. I don't know what the witch wouldn't do to me,' and she clasped her poor little hands in a sort of despair.
Then Peterkin burst out—
'I've got my gold half-pound with me,' he said, in rather a queer voice, as if he was proud of being able to help and yet half inclined to cry.
'Goodness!' I exclaimed, 'why on earth didn't you say so before?'
'I—I—wanted it for something else,' said he. 'I don't quite know why I brought it.'
He dived into his pocket, and dug out a very grimy little purse, out of which, sure enough, he produced a half-sovereign.
The relief of knowing that we should not get into trouble as far as our journey to London was concerned, was such a blessing, that just for the moment I forgot all the rest of it.
'Anyway we can't be put in prison now,' said Margaret, and a little colour came into her face. 'Oh, Perkins, you are a nice boy!'