“Glasses of milk, as they’re thirsty, and while they’re sipping--as they don’t really like such stuff--just ask quietly if the governor’s alive and kicking--” “And the Jolly Old Moke asleep in his armchair--” “And if mamma’s put up the new red curtains.” “Then they’ll stare--and shriek--” “Recognise and rumpus.” “Huge jollification!” “Everybody tipsy and happy.” “John Young tumbling in the pond.” “Bells ringing.” “I say, ought we to forgive the Bailiff and Polly?” “Hum! I suppose so. But that’s a very long time yet?” “O! a very long time. This duck will never be done.” “We forgot to have tea,” said Mark. “So we did; and tea would be very nice. With dampers like the diggers,” said Bevis. “Let’s have tea now.” “Finish the horrid duck to-morrow,” said Mark. “I’ll hang him up.” “Fire’s gone out,” said Bevis, looking from the gateway. “Can’t see any sparks.” “Gone out long ago,” said Mark. “Pot put it out.” They had left the pot on the ashes. “It would be a good plan to light a fire inside the stockade now,” said Bevis. “It will do to make the tea, and keep things away in the night.” “Lions and tigers,” said Mark. “If they want to jump the fence they won’t dare face the fire. But it’s very warm; we must not make it by the hut.” “Put it on one side,” said Bevis, “in the corner under the cliff. Bring the sticks.” They had plenty of wood in the stockade, piled up, from the chips and branches and ends of the poles with which they had made the roof and fence. The fire was soon lit. Bevis got out the iron rod to swing the kettle. Mark went down and dipped the zinc bucket full of water. “Are there any things about over the New Sea?” he said when he came back. “It’s dark as you go through the wood, and the water looks all strange by moonlight.” “Very curious things are about I dare say,” said Bevis, who had lit the lantern, and was shaking tea into the tin teapot in the hut. “Curious magic things.” “Floating round; all misty, and you can’t see them.” “But you know they’re there.” “Genii.” “Ghouls.” “Vampires. Look, there’s a big bat--and another; they’re coming back again.” “That’s nothing; everything’s magic. Mice are magic, especially if they’re red. I’ll show you in Faust. If they’re only dun they’re not half so much magic.” “More mousey.” “Yes. Besides, if you were in the wood you would see things behind the trees; you might think they were shadows, but they’re not: and lights moving about--sparks--” “Magic?” “Magic. Stars are magic. There’s one up there. And there are things in trees, and satyrs in the fern, and those that come out of the trees and out of the water are ladies--very beautiful, like Frances--” “Frances is very plain.” “That she’s not.” “She’s so short.” “Well, the tree-ladies are not very large. If I had a book of secret lore, that’s the right name--” “A magic book?” “I’d make them come and dance and sing to us.” “But are there no monsters?” said Mark, stirring the fire.