At last hunger and fright and crossness and tiredness--four very nasty
things--all joined together to bring one nice thing, and that was sleep.
The children lay asleep in a row, with their beautiful eyes shut and
their beautiful mouths open. Anthea woke first. The sun had set, and the
twilight was coming on.

Anthea pinched herself very hard, to make sure, and when she found she
could still feel pinching she decided that she was not stone, and then
she pinched the others. They, also, were soft.

"Wake up," she said, almost in tears for joy; "it's all right, we're not
stone. And oh, Cyril, how nice and ugly you do look, with your old
freckles and your brown hair and your little eyes. And so do you all!"
she added, so that they might not feel jealous.

When they got home they were very much scolded by Martha, who told them
about the strange children.

"A good-looking lot, I must say, but that impudent."

"I know," said Robert, who knew by experience how hopeless it would be
to try to explain things to Martha.

"And where on earth have you been all this time, you naughty little
things, you?"

"In the lane."

"Why didn't you come home hours ago?"