Wet Magic
ther knot, stepped forward, and spoke in tones which the other three thought the most noble they had ever heard.
"She give me the plum pie," he said, and leaped into the water.
He sank at once. And this, curiously enough, gave the others confidence. If he had struggled—but no—he sank like a stone, or like a diver who means diving and diving to the very bottom.
"She's my special sister," said Bernard, and leaped.
"If it's magic it's all right—and if it isn't we couldn't go back home without her," said Mavis hoarsely. And she and Francis took hands and jumped together.
It was not so difficult as it sounds. From the moment of Kathleen's disappearance the sense of magic—which is rather like very sleepy comfort and sweet scent and sweet music that you just can't hear the tune of—had been growing stronger and stronger. And there are some things so horrible that if you can bring yourself to face them you simply can't believe that they're true. It did not seem possible—when they came quite close to the idea—that a Mermaid could really come and talk so kindly and then drown the five children who had rescued her.
"It's all right," Francis cried as they jumped.
"I . . ." He shut his mouth just in time, and down they went. You have probably dreamed that you were a perfect swimmer? You know the delight of that dream—swimming, which is no effort at all, and yet carries you as far and as fast as you choose. It was like that with the children. The moment they touched the water they felt that they belonged in it—that they were as much at home in water as in air. As they sank beneath the water their feet went up and their heads went down, and there they were swimming downward with long, steady, easy strokes. It was like swimming down a well that presently widened to a cavern. Suddenly Francis found that his head was above water. So was Mavis's.
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