"What I don't see," said Jane, "is how he arranged it so old Miser Cattermole had lived there in the first place."
"That turtle moves in a mysterious way," agreed Mark admiringly.
Of course, they weren't going to get the money right away. It seemed that there were rules about buried treasures, just as there were about magic.
"And about just about everything, I guess!" sighed Jane resignedly.
First they had to advertise for old Mr. Cattermole's heirs. And if none turned up, and everybody at Cold Springs seemed to think none would, then the government had to get a lot of it.
"Not that I begrudge that part," said Jane. "I'm happy to do my bit."
"You mean Mr. Smith's bit," said Mark.
And it was going to be all right about the bookshop, anyway. Because what had kept Mr. Smith in town was that a man had turned up who thought Toledo, Ohio, needed a bookshop, and he was willing to invest some money to make Mr. Smith's bookshop a bigger bookshop.
"And even that didn't happen till after we found the treasure," said Mark. "I checked on the time. So you see the turtle did it all."
And if any of the miser's money did come to Mr. Smith, he was going to buy a summer cottage with it, so they could have a summer by a lake every year. Only not this cottage, because it wasn't for sale.
"And I hope not this lake, either," said Jane. "It would only remind us."
"You're thinking what I'm thinking," said Mark.
"Yes," said Jane. "No more magic for us. It stands to reason. Some people never get any at all, and we've had it twice."
"Three's the magic number," said Katharine wistfully.
"Even so," said Jane firmly, "and notwithstanding.
And in spite of their greedy youth, Katharine and Martha had to agree.
"The only thing that bothers me," said Katharine, "is I thought we'd get to talk to the turtle one more time. I wanted to thank him."
"And I," said Martha, "wanted to ask about those three children we met. I liked them."
There was a pause.
"Children!" called their mother. "Time to go!"
The four children got up. They stood looking at the darkening water.
"I'm going to miss this lake," Mark said.
"Another one just won't be the same," Jane agreed.
"If anybody ever plays 'Back Home in Indiana,' again," said Katharine, "I shall cry."
"It'll be better to start fresh, though," said Jane. "Next year."
And the three of them turned their backs on the lake and started for the car.
Martha lingered. She went close to the rippling edge. "O turtle?" she said softly. She waited, listening.
There was a tiny plashing sound, and a head and two front feet appeared where the water joined the land, with a humped shell behind them.
"Well?" said a cold voice.
"Don't worry," said Martha quickly. "I understand about probably no more magic, and I'm not asking for anything more. I just wondered. About those children we met. That Roger and that Ann. I just wondered, will we ever see them again?"
The turtle blinked once. It put out its tongue after a passing midge. Then it spoke. "Time will tell," it said.
Martha's heart beat faster. "Oh, good," she said. "In books that's always a good sign. At least it's better than no."
"But whether you'll know them or not, if you do," went on the turtle, "is another story." It took a backward step, and the waters closed over its head.
Martha stood on the darkling sand thinking this out.
The horn of the car sounded.
"I'm coming!" she called. She ran up the bank toward it.
The car door slammed. The car lights swung round the driveway. There was a pause, as Mark opened the gate into the field. Then the lights moved on up the hill and out of sight.
The waters of the lake plashed softly against the sand. But nobody was there to hear them now.
Edward Eager (1911–1964) worked primarily as a playwright and lyricist. It wasn't until 1951, while searching for books to read to his young son, Fritz, that he began writing children's stories. In each of his books he carefully acknowledges his indebtedness to E. Nesbit, whom he considered the best children's writer of all time—"so that any child who likes my books and doesn't know hers may be led back to the master of us all."
Edward Eager, Magic by the Lake
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends