Wet Magic
"Well, if you do," said Mavis, a little hot and cross from the ironing board, "I'll never wash anything for you again, not even your face."
Kathleen somehow felt as if she could bear that.
"But mayn't I have just one of the dolls" was, however, all she said, "just the teeniest, weeniest one? Let me have Lord Edward. His head's half gone as it is, and I could dress him in a clean hanky and pretend it was kilts."
Mavis could not object to this, because, of course, whatever else she washed she didn't wash hankies. So Lord Edward had his pale kilts, and the other dolls were put away in a row in Mavis's corner drawer. It was after that that Mavis and Francis had long secret consultations—and when the younger ones asked questions they were told, "It's secrets. You'll know in good time." This, of course, excited everyone very much indeed—and it was rather a comedown when the good time came, and the secret proved to be nothing more interesting than a large empty aquarium which the two elders had clubbed their money together to buy, for eight- and ninepence in the Old Kent Road. They staggered up the front garden path with it, very hot and tired.
"But what are you going to do with it?" Kathleen asked, as they all stood around the nursery table looking at it.
"Fill it with seawater," Francis explained, "to put sea anemones in."
"Oh yes," said Kathleen with enthusiasm, "and the crabs and starfish and prawns and the yellow periwinkles—and all the common objects of the seashore."
"We'll stand it in the window," Mavis added: "it'll make the lodgings look so distinguished."
"And then perhaps some great scientific gentleman, like Darwin or Faraday, will see it as he goes by, and it will be such a
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