After tea Anthea persuaded the others to allow her to hang the charm round her neck with a piece of string.
“It would be so awful if it got lost,” she said: “it might get lost anywhere, you know, and it would be rather beastly for us to have to stay in the Past for ever and ever, wouldn’t it?”
Next morning Anthea got old Nurse to allow her to take up the “poor learned gentleman’s” breakfast. He did not recognize her at first, but when he did he was vaguely pleased to see her.
“You see I’m wearing the charm round my neck,” she said; “I’m taking care of it—like you told us to.”
“That’s right,” said he; “did you have a good game last night?”
“You will eat your breakfast before it’s cold, won’t you?” said Anthea. “Yes, we had a splendid time. The charm made it all dark, and then greeny light, and then it spoke. Oh! I wish you could have heard it—it was such a darling voice—and it told us the other half of it was lost in the Past, so of course we shall have to look for it there!”
The learned gentleman rubbed his hair with both hands and looked anxiously at Anthea.
“I suppose it’s natural—youthful imagination and so forth,” he said. “Yet someone must have... Who told you that some part of the charm was missing?”
“I can’t tell you,” she said. “I know it seems most awfully rude, especially after being so kind about telling us the name of power, and all that, but really, I’m not allowed to tell anybody anything about the—the—the person who told me. You won’t forget your breakfast, will you?”
The learned gentleman smiled feebly and then frowned—not a cross-frown, but a puzzle-frown.
“Thank you,” he said, “I shall always be pleased if you’ll look in—any time you’re passing you know—at least...”
“I will,” she said; “goodbye. I’ll always tell you anything I _may_ tell.”
He had not had many adventures with children in them, and he wondered whether all children were like these. He spent quite five minutes in wondering before he settled down to the fifty-second chapter of his great book on _The Secret Rites of the Priests of Amen Rā_.
It is no use to pretend that the children did not feel a good deal of agitation at the thought of going through the charm into the Past. That idea, that perhaps they might stay in the Past and never get back again, was anything but pleasing. Yet no one would have dared to suggest that the charm should not be used; and though each was in its heart very frightened indeed, they would all have joined in jeering at the cowardice of any one of them who should have uttered the timid but natural suggestion, “Don’t let’s!”