o have someone to protect him
from that trap he was so certain of.

When the wagonette reached their own house, between the chalk-quarry and
the gravel-pit, the children were very sleepy, but they felt that they
and the keeper were friends for life.

Andrew dumped the children down at the iron gate without a word.

"You get along home," said the Vicarage cook's cousin, who was a
gamekeeper. "I'll get me home on shanks' mare."

So Andrew had to drive off alone, which he did not like at all, and it
was the keeper that was cousin to the Vicarage cook who went with the
children to the door, and, when they had been swept to bed in a
whirlwind of reproaches, remained to explain to Martha and the cook and
the housemaid exactly what had happened. He explained so well that
Martha was quite amicable the next morning.

After that he often used to come over and see Martha, and in the
end--but that is another story, as dear Mr. Kipling says.

Martha was obliged to stick to what she had said the night before about
keeping the children indoors the next day for a punishment. But she
wasn't at all ugly about it, and agreed to let Robert go out for half an
hour to get something he particularly wanted.

This, of course, was the day's wish.

Robert rushed to the gravel-pit, found the Psammead, and presently
wished for--

But that, too, is another story.

CHAPTER VI

A CASTLE AND NO DINNER

The others were to be kept in as a punishment for the misfortunes of the
day before. Of course Martha thought it was naughtiness, and not
misfortune--so you must not blame her. She only thought she was doing
her duty. You know, grown-up people often say they do not like to punish
you, and that they only do it for your own good, and that it hurts them
as much as it hurts you--and this is really very often the truth.

Martha certainly hated having to punish the children quite as much as
they hated to be punished. For one thing, she knew what a noise there
would be in the house all day. And she had other reasons.

"I declare," she said to the cook, "it seems almost a shame keeping of
them indoors this lovely day; but they are that audacious, they'll be
walking in with their heads knocked off some of these days, if I don't
put my foot down. You make them a cake for tea to-morrow, dear. And
we'll have Baby along of us soon as we've got a bit forrard with our
work. Then they can have a good romp with him, out of the way. Now,
Eliza, c