ruck me that I had never heard her last name!

'Margaret Fothergill,' she said quickly. 'I live next door but one to
Mrs. Wylie, and next door to the parrot. Do you know the parrot in Rock
Terrace?'

Beryl nodded again.

'I have heard of him too,' she said.

But suddenly a new idea--I should rather say the old one--struck
Margaret again. Her voice changed, and she clasped her hands piteously.

'You won't, oh, you won't send me back to the witch? Say you won't.'

'What does she mean?' asked Beryl, turning to me, as if she thought
Margaret was half out of her mind, though, all the same, she drew her
still closer.

'She--we--' I began, and Peterkin opened his mouth too. But I suppose I
must have glanced at the servant, for Beryl turned towards her, as if to
tell her not to wait. Then she changed and said instead--

'Bring tea in here, Browner, as quickly as you can. You can put it on
the side table.'

Browner went off at once; she seemed a very good-natured girl. And then,
as quickly as I could, helped here and there by Margaret and by Peterkin
(though to any one less 'understanding' than Beryl, his funny way of
muddling up real and fancy would certainly not have 'helped'), I told
our story. It was really wonderful how Beryl took it all in. When I
stopped at last, almost out of breath, she nodded her head quietly.

'We won't talk it over just yet,' she said. 'The first thing to do is to
see my auntie. You three stay here while I run round to her, and try to
enjoy your tea. I shall not be long. It is very near.'

The idea of tea did seem awfully tempting, but a new thought struck me.

'The cab!' I exclaimed, 'the four-wheeler! It's waiting all this time,
and if we send it away, most likely we shan't be able to get another in
the fog. There'll be such a lot to pay, too. Don't you think we'd better
go with you in it to Mrs. Wylie, and perhaps she'd lend us money to go
to the Junction by the first train? I don't think we should stay to
have tea, thank you,' though, as I said it, a glance at Margaret's poor
little white face made me wish I needn't say it. She was clinging to
Beryl so by this time as if she felt safe.

And Peterkin looked almost as piteous as she did.

Beryl gently loosened Margaret's hold of her, and got up from the big
leather arm-chair where she had been sitting.

'Never mind about the cab,' she said. 'I will go round in it to my aunt,
and perhaps bring her back in it. I will settle with the