Meg gasped, and looked about her for some way of escape. Then she tried to think more calmly, and decided that her one chance lay in gaining time. To do this, she began to talk to the Gray Dwarf as quietly as she could. “I really think,” she said, “that if you are going to boil me, you might tell me what for.” Grump considered this for a minute. “Well,” he said at last, “I have no objection to that. You may sit down if you like, and I will explain.” Meg sat down obediently, though with a quaking heart, and Grump sat opposite her, still beside the pot. The green flames flickered uncannily about him as he talked. “In the first place,” he began, “you must know that I am in the service of the Wicked King, whom you saw appear just now. He lives in the Great Red City, beside the Sea of Glass, and he keeps Mother Goose’s son Humpty Dumpty a prisoner on his city wall. My master is very great and very cruel, and I obey him in everything. You know, probably, about the capture of Humpty Dumpty?” “No, not about the capture,” said Meg. “Only that he _was_ captured. How did it happen?” “That is a long story. I will only take time to tell you that I had a good deal to do with it!” And he grinned again. “Well, there is only one spell which can set him free, and that spell is in the possession of one person,—the Queen of the Fairies. It is a very valuable spell, and she keeps it carefully hidden. A little while ago, Mother Goose heard of the spell, and she and the Fairy Queen have been sending messages to each other ever since. The Queen has promised to give it to the old lady’s messenger, and that is the chief reason why you are being sent to Fairyland,—to bring back the spell. Now that is _one_ reason why the Wicked King wants to have you killed. Do you see?” “I suppose so,” said poor Meg, though it did seem rather unfair. “Is there any other reason?” “Two,” answered Grump, seeming pleased that she saw the matter so clearly. “One is that the Wicked King is planning to steal that spell away from the Queen within another day!” “But how can he steal a spell?” said Meg, puzzled and interested in spite of her own danger. “I thought a spell was a—a—well, some words, you know, or—anyway, I didn’t know that you could really steal it.” “Oh, yes!” the Gray Dwarf assured her. “This spell is written on a piece of sky-coloured paper and kept in a crystal box. Well, the Wicked King is going to have it stolen to-night! Then he can not only keep Humpty Dumpty forever, but he will own the spell besides. A really good spell, you know, is always useful for a great many purposes.”