They all crowded around and peered over the glass walls. Nothing, of course, but the sand and the grass and the shells, the clinkers and the dahlias and the little suspended tin goldfish. “I expect the goldfish swung a bit,” said Bernard. “That’s what it must have been.” “It didn’t look like that,” Francis answered. “It looked more like—” “Like what?” “I don’t know—get out of the light. Let’s have another squint.” He stooped down and looked again through the glass. “It’s not the goldfish,” he said. “That’s as quiet as a trout asleep. No—I suppose it was a shadow or something.” “You might tell us what it looked like,” said Kathleen. “Was it like a rat?” Bernard asked with interest. “Not a bit. It was more like—” “Well, like what?” asked three aggravated voices. “Like Sabrina—only very, very tiny.” “A sort of doll—Sabrina,” said Kathleen, “how awfully jolly!” “It wasn’t at all like a doll, and it wasn’t jolly,” said Francis shortly—“only I wish it would come again.” It didn’t, however. “I say,” said Mavis, struck by a new idea, “perhaps it’s a magic aquarium.” “Let’s play it is,” suggested Kathleen—“let’s play it’s a magic glass and we can see what we like in it. I see a fairy palace with gleaming spires of crystal and silver.” “I see a football match, and our chaps winning,” said Bernard heavily, joining in the new game. “Shut up,” said Francis. “That isn’t play. There was something.” “Suppose it is magic,” said Mavis again. “We’ve played magic so often, and nothing’s ever happened—even when we made the fire of sweet-scented woods and eastern gums, and all that,” said Bernard; “it’s much better to pretend right away. We always have to in the end. Magic just wastes time. There isn’t any magic really, is there, Mavis?” “Shut up, I tell you,” was the only answer of Francis, his nose now once more flattened against the smooth green glass. Here Aunt Enid’s voice was heard on the landing outside, saying, “Little ones—bed,” in no uncertain tones. The two grunted as it were in whispers, but there was no appeal against Aunt Enid, and they went, their grunts growing feebler as they crossed the room, and dying away in a despairing silence as they and Aunt Enid met abruptly at the top of the stairs. “Shut the door,” said Francis, in a strained sort of voice. And Mavis obeyed, even though he hadn’t said “please.” She really was an excellent sister. Francis, in moments of weakness, had gone so far as to admit that she wasn’t half bad. “I say,” she said when the click of the latch assured her that they were alone, “how could it be magic? We never said any spell.” “No more we did,” said Francis, “unless—And besides, it’s all nonsense, of course, about magic. It’s just a game we play, isn’t it?” “Yes, of course,” Mavis said doubtfully; “but what did you mean by ‘unless’?” “We weren’t saying any spells, were we?” “No, of course we weren’t—we weren’t saying anything—” “As it happens _I_ was.” “Was what? When?” “When it happened.”