“Perhaps if it’s going to be magic,” Mavis whispered to Francis, “outsiders wouldn’t notice. They don’t sometimes—I believe. Suppose you just said a bit of ‘Sabrina’ to start the magic.” “Wouldn’t be safe,” Francis returned in the same low tones. “Suppose he _wasn’t_ an outsider, and _did_ notice.” So there they stood helpless. What the label was hung on was a large zinc tank—the kind that they have at the tops of houses for the water supply—you must have seen one yourself often when the pipes burst in frosty weather, and your father goes up into the roof of the house with a candle and pail, and the water drips through the ceilings and the plumber is sent for, and comes when it suits him. The tank was full of water and at the bottom of it could be seen a mass of something dark that looked as if it were partly browny-green fish and partly greeny-brown seaweed. “Sabrina fair,” Francis suddenly whispered, “send him away.” And immediately a voice from outside called “Rube—Reuben—drat the boy, where’s he got to?”—and the little spangled intruder had to go. “There, now,” said Mavis, “if _that_ isn’t magic!” Perhaps it was, but still the dark fish-and-seaweed heap in the tank had not stirred. “Say it all through,” said Mavis. “Yes, do,” said Bernard, “then we shall know for certain whether it’s a seal or not.” So once again— “‘_Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting, Under the glassie, cool, translucent wave_,’” He got no further. There was a heaving and stirring of the seaweed and fish tail, something gleamed white, through the brown something white parted the seaweed, two white hands parted it, and a face came to the surface of the rather dirty water and—there was no doubt about it—spoke. “‘Translucent wave,’indeed!” was what the face said. “I wonder you’re not ashamed to speak the invocation over a miserable cistern like this. What do you want?” Brown hair and seaweed still veiled most of the face, but all the children, who, after their first start back had pressed close to the tank again, could see that the face looked exceedingly cross. “We want,” said Francis in a voice that would tremble though he told himself again and again that he was not a baby and wasn’t going to behave like one—“we want to help you.” “Help _me_? You?” She raised herself a little more in the tank and looked contemptuously at them. “Why, don’t you know that I am mistress of all water magic? I can raise a storm that will sweep away this horrible place and my detestable captors and you with them, and carry me on the back of a great wave down to the depths of the sea.” “Then why on earth don’t you?” Bernard asked. “Well, I was thinking about it,” she said, a little awkwardly, “when you interrupted with your spells. Well, you’ve called and I’ve answered—now tell me what I can do for you.”