Meg listened with open eyes. And as she heard these things she thought not only of her own safety, but of poor Humpty Dumpty, who would never be free, and Mother Goose, who must grieve over her son forever, and the good Fairy Queen, who would be robbed of her treasure by the Wicked King. And then she thought of her errand, and Mother Goose’s trust in her; she had forgotten all about what she had been told to do, and she felt ashamed of herself. Perhaps, if she had kept her wits about her as she passed through the Wonderful Wood, and thought steadily of what she had been sent for, she would have escaped the clutches of the cruel Gray Dwarf. Suddenly she felt that she must get away, if only to warn the Fairy Queen and ask Mother Goose’s pardon. Her determination sharpened her wits. Once more she tried to gain time. She looked about her to find the way by which she had come. The hole in the earth wall looked smaller than ever, and moreover it was some distance away and on the side nearest Grump. There did not seem to be much hope of escape, but she did not feel entirely discouraged. “You said there was another reason,” she reminded her jailer. Grump had started to blow up the fire again, with glances of wicked glee in her direction. As she spoke, he stopped and sat down once more. “Oh, yes!” he said. “Well, the other reason for your death is this: In that caldron is all the magic power I have. It was that which made you obliged to follow me when I stopped you in the Wonderful Wood. It was that which brought me the vision of the Wicked King a few minutes ago. Without it I should be just an ordinary, commonplace, every-day gnome. The contents of the caldron is made of souls,—the souls of all sorts of things,—the soul of a flower, the soul of a tiger, the soul of a butterfly, a nightingale, a lizard, a sea-gull, a snake, a bat, a porcupine, a goblin, an ogre, a dove! All kinds and conditions of souls, you see! But the magic essence will be complete only when the soul of a mortal is added to it. _Then_ my master the King and I shall be the lords of all this land! Therefore _you_ must go into the pot!” Meg’s heart leaped. She had thought of something! It was a tiny chance, but still a chance. “Did you say,” she asked, looking at the caldron as though in awe, “that all your power comes from that?” Grump laughed. “Every bit!” he returned. “Why, if that were tipped over—” He stopped short, and looked at her as though he were afraid he might have told her too much. Meg’s heart beat faster and faster, but she managed to speak in a sad, frightened tone: “Oh, I hate the thought of having my soul used in a magic essence—Oh, must I really be put into the pot?” She had risen to her feet, and was moving slowly toward the pot, looking very much afraid. Grump had risen too, and was blowing the fire into big, green flames. “You really must!” he said cheerfully. “It won’t hurt, so you needn’t mind in the least!”