On the afternoon of the third day Percival and Melisande came to a
strange little cottage fashioned of gingerbread, but as the children had
never tasted anything so common as gingerbread they did not recognize
it. However, the cottage felt soft and looked pretty enough to eat, so
Percival bit off a piece of the roof and declared it was fine. Melisande
helped herself to the doorknob, and the children might have eaten half
the cottage had not a witch who lived in it come out and frightened them
away. The children ran as fast as their legs could work, for the witch
looked exactly like their governess, who tried to make them learn to
spell and do other disagreeable tasks.
Presently they came out on a road and saw a big red automobile belonging
to nobody in particular. It was the most beautiful car imaginable. The
hubs were set with pigeon blood rubies and the spokes with brilliants;
the tires were set with garnets to prevent skidding, and the hood was
inlaid with diamonds and emeralds. Even Percival and Melisande were
impressed. One door stood invitingly open and the children sprang into
the machine. They were accustomed to helping themselves to everything
that took their fancy; they had inherited the instinct.
Percival turned on the gas. "Hang on to your hair, sis!" he cried, and
he burnt up the road all the way home, capsizing the outfit in front of
the mansion and wrecking the automobile.
Their mamma came slowly down the veranda steps with a strange gentleman
by her side. "These are the children, Edward," she said, picking them
up, uninjured by the spill. "Children, this is your new papa."
The gentleman shook hands with them very pleasantly and said he hoped
that he should be their papa long enough to get really acquainted with
them. At which remark the lady smiled and tapped him with her fan.
And they lived happily, after their fashion, ever afterward.