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"Ylf, YLF!" she bellowed. "Oh, for goodness' sake! Ylf! I just did a flying spell. Why doesn't it work?"

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After that, there was no need to ask how to move. Charmain found herself kicking her legs mightily and positively surging toward Great-Uncle William's house. She shot in over its roof and across the front garden, where the spell seemed to leave her. She just had time to jerk herself sideways so that she was above the path, before she came down with a thump and sat on the neat crazy-paving, shaking all over.

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"Are you in charge here now?" this small blue person demanded in a small hoarse voice.

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"At night?" Charmain said.

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"What did I say? Didn't I say spoilsport? And a fat lot of work I can do, if you're going to sit in this path all night."

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"I believe I left the spell in place," the kindly voice said out of the air. "Simply throw into the grate one thing that will burn and say aloud, 'Fire, light,' and you should have your fire."

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"Perhaps not," Charmain said.

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"I need to come in!" the person outside shouted back. "It's pouring with rain!"

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"That's not true!" Charmain shouted back.

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Charmain had drunk. "It looks as if you'd been here for weeks."

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"What are you going to feed your dog on, then?" Peter said.

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Peter uncurled the tail.

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"He isn't a he," Peter said. "He's a she. And she hasn't got any dignity, have you, Waif?"