The Mermaid's Home
stories just as you have fairy stories and water stories—and the rescuer almost always comes to the castle gate at dead of night, on a coal-black steed or a dapple-gray, you know, or a red-roan steed of might; but as there were four of you, besides me and my tail, I thought it more considerate to suggest a chariot. Now, we really ought to be going."
"Which way?" asked Bernard, and everyone held their breath to hear the answer.
"The way I came, of course," she answered, "down here," and she pointed to the water that rippled around her.
"Thank you so very, very much," said Mavis, in a voice which trembled a little; "but I don't know whether you've heard that people who go down into the water like that—people like us—without tails, you know—they get drowned."
"Not if they're personally conducted," said the Mermaid. "Of course we can't be responsible for trespassers, though even with them I don't think anything very dreadful has ever happened. Someone once told me a story about Water Babies. Did you ever hear of that?"
"Yes, but that was a made-up story," said Bernard stolidly.
"Yes, of course," she agreed, "but a great deal of it's quite true, all the same. But you won't grow fins and gills or anything like that. You needn't be afraid."
The children looked at each other, and then all looked at Francis. He spoke.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you very much, but we would rather not—much rather."
"Oh, nonsense," said the lady kindly. "Look here, it's as easy as easy. I give you each a lock of my hair," she cut off the locks with her shell knife as she spoke, long locks they were and soft. "Look here, tie these round your necks—if I'd had a lock of human hair round my neck I should never have suffered from the
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