“He treats us like grown-ups,” whispered Robert, “and he doesn’t seem to know how many of us there are.” “Hush,” said Anthea, “it isn’t manners to whisper. You say, Cyril—go ahead.” “We’re very sorry to disturb you,” said Cyril politely, “but we did knock three times, and you didn’t say ‘Come in’, or ‘Run away now’, or that you couldn’t be bothered just now, or to come when you weren’t so busy, or any of the things people do say when you knock at doors, so we opened it. We knew you were in because we heard you sneeze while we were waiting.” “Not at all,” said the gentleman; “do sit down.” “He has found out there are four of us,” said Robert, as the gentleman cleared three more chairs. He put the things off them carefully on the floor. The first chair had things like bricks that tiny, tiny birds’ feet have walked over when the bricks were soft, only the marks were in regular lines. The second chair had round things on it like very large, fat, long, pale beads. And the last chair had a pile of dusty papers on it. The children sat down. “We know you are very, very learned,” said Cyril, “and we have got a charm, and we want you to read the name on it, because it isn’t in Latin or Greek, or Hebrew, or any of the languages _we_ know—” “A thorough knowledge of even those languages is a very fair foundation on which to build an education,” said the gentleman politely. “Oh!” said Cyril blushing, “but we only know them to look at, except Latin—and I’m only in Caesar with that.” The gentleman took off his spectacles and laughed. His laugh sounded rusty, Cyril thought, as though it wasn’t often used. “Of course!” he said. “I’m sure I beg your pardon. I think I must have been in a dream. You are the children who live downstairs, are you not? Yes. I have seen you as I have passed in and out. And you have found something that you think to be an antiquity, and you’ve brought it to show me? That was very kind. I should like to inspect it.” “I’m afraid we didn’t think about your liking to inspect it,” said the truthful Anthea. “It was just for _us_—because we wanted to know the name on it—” “Oh, yes—and, I say,” Robert interjected, “you won’t think it rude of us if we ask you first, before we show it, to be bound in the what-do-you-call-it of—” “In the bonds of honour and upright dealing,” said Anthea. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you,” said the gentleman, with gentle nervousness. “Well, it’s this way,” said Cyril. “We’ve got part of a charm. And the Sammy—I mean, something told us it would work, though it’s only half a one; but it won’t work unless we can say the name that’s on it. But, of course, if you’ve got another name that can lick ours, our charm will be no go; so we want you to give us your word of honour as a gentleman—though I’m sure, now I’ve seen you, that it’s not necessary; but still I’ve promised to ask you, so we must. Will you please give us your honourable word not to say any name stronger than the name on our charm?”