d sensibly.

But that wasn't Peterkin's way of looking at things.

'It's never like that in my stories,' he said--and I know he was shaking
his curly head,--'and some of them are very, very old--nearly as old as
Bible stories, I believe; so they must be true, you see. There's always
somebody that comes to break the--the--I forget the proper word.'

'The enchantment, you mean,' I said.

'No, no; a shorter word. Oh, I know--the spell,' he replied. 'Yes,
somebody comes to break the _spell_. And that's what we've got to do,
Gilley. At least, I'm sure I've got to, and you must help me. You see,
it's all been so funny. The parrot knows, I should think, for I'm sure
he's partly fairy. But, very likely, he daren't say it right out, for
fear of the bad fairy, and----'

'Perhaps he's the bad fairy himself,' I interrupted, half joking, but
rather interested, all the same, in Peterkin's ideas.

'Oh no,' he replied, 'I know he's not, and I'm sure Mrs. Wylie has
nothing to do with the bad fairy.'

'Then why do you think she won't talk about the little girl, or invite
her, or anything?' I asked.

Pete seemed puzzled.

'I don't know,' he said. 'There's a lot to find out. P'raps Mrs. Wylie
doesn't know anything about the spell, and has just got some stupid,
common reason for not wanting us to play with the little girl, or
p'raps'--and this was plainly a brilliant idea--'_p'raps_ the spell's
put on her without her knowing, and stops her when she begins to speak
about it. Mightn't it very likely be that, Giles?'

But I had not time to answer, for we had got to our own door by now, and
it was already opened, as some tradesman was giving James a parcel. So
we ran in.

CHAPTER V

'STRATAGEMS'

I REALLY don't quite know what made me listen to Peterkin's fancies
about his invisible princess, as I got into the habit of calling her. It
was partly, I suppose, because it amused me--we had nothing much to take
us up just then: there was no skating that winter, and the weather was
dull and muggy--and partly that somehow he managed to make me feel as if
there might really be something in it. I suppose when anybody quite
believes in a thing, it's rather catching; and Peterkin's head was so
stuffed and crammed with fairy stories that at that time, I think, they
were almost more real to him than common things.

He went about, dreaming of ogres and magicians, and all the rest, so
much, that I scarcely think anything marvellous w