Wet Magic
"That's all," whispered Francis, and glanced at Aunt Enid. "I say—she's asleep." He beckoned the others, and they screwed themselves along to that end of the carriage farthest from the slumbering aunt. "Just listen to this," he said. Then in hoarse undertones he read all about the Mermaid.
"I say," said Bernard, "I do hope it's a seal. I've never seen a seal."
"I hope they do catch it," said Kathleen. "Fancy seeing a real live Mermaid."
"If it's a real live Mermaid I jolly well hope they don't catch her," said Francis.
"So do I," said Mavis. "I'm certain she would die in captivity."
"But I'll tell you what," said Francis, "we'll go and look for her, first thing tomorrow. I suppose," he added thoughtfully, "Sabrina was a sort of Mermaid."
"She hasn't a tail, you know," Kathleen reminded him.
"It isn't the tail that makes the Mermaid," Francis reminded her. "It's being able to live underwater. If it was the tail, then mackerels would be Mermaids."
"And, of course, they're not. I see," said Kathleen.
"I wish," said Bernard, "that she'd given us bows and arrows instead of pails and spades, and then we could have gone seal-shooting—"
"Or Mermaid-shooting," said Kathleen. "Yes, that would have been ripping."
Before Francis and Mavis could say how shocked they were at the idea of shooting Mermaids, Aunt Enid woke up and took the newspaper away from them, because newspapers are not fit reading for children.
She was somehow the kind of person before whom you never talk about anything that you really care for, and it was impossible
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