she was leaving the room, to ask what I knew
Peterkin was longing to hear.

'Mamma will take us home, of course,' I said, 'but what do you think
will be done about Margaret?'

'They--' whom he meant by 'they' I don't know, and I don't think he knew
himself--'they won't send her back to the witch, you don't think, do
you?' he burst out, growing very red.

Beryl hesitated. Then she said quietly--

'No, I _don't_ think so,' and Peterkin gave a great sigh of relief. If
she had answered that she _did_ think so, I believe he would have broken
into a howl. I really do.

It seemed rather a long time that we had to wait in Beryl's room before
anything else happened. Peterkin said it felt a good deal like waiting
at the dentist's, and I agreed with him. It was the looking at the
picture-papers that put it into his head, I think.

We heard the front-door bell ring several times, and once I was sure I
caught Beryl's voice calling, 'Auntie, is it you?' but it must have been
nearly twelve o'clock--breakfast had been a good deal later than at
home--before the door of the room where we were, opened, and some one
came in. I was standing staring out of the window, which looked into a
very small sort of fernery or conservatory, and wishing Beryl had told
me to water the plants, when I heard a voice behind me.

'Boys!' it said; 'Giles?' and turning round, I saw that it was mamma. I
forgot all about being found fault with and everything else, and just
flew to her, and so did poor old Pete, and then--I am almost ashamed to
tell it, though perhaps I should not be--I broke out crying!

Mamma put her arms round me. I don't know what she had been meaning to
say to us, or to me, perhaps, in the way of blame, but it ended in her
hugging me, and saying 'poor old Gilley.' She hugged Peterkin too,
though he wasn't crying, and had no intention of it, _unless_ his
beloved Margaret was to be sent back to Miss Bogle, and then, I have no
doubt, he would have howled loudly enough. His whole mind was fixed on
this point, and he had hardly patience even to be hugged, before he
burst out with it.

'Mummy, mummy,' he said,'they're not going to send her back to the
witch, are they?'

Mamma understood. She knew Peterkin's little ways so well,--how he got
his head full of a thing, and could take in nothing else,--and she saw
that it was best to satisfy him at once if we were to have any peace.

'No,' she said. 'The little girl is not to go back to M