Peter, abject coward as he was, had one redeeming virtue—he was not superstitious. He declined to believe in fairies at all, and especially in the particular fairy under discussion. He had, on one occasion, seen the Old Lady cleaning her teeth with a tooth-brush, and he argued, with some show of reason, that this proved she was not a fairy, as fairies did everything with a wand. So, as the Old Lady was a very weak and tottering old lady, he thought that he might venture to tackle her without incurring any serious risk. Moreover, as all the others most firmly believed in her supernatural character, he would no doubt acquire a cheap reputation for courage if he offered to undertake to get her out of the house. So he walked boldly into her room with the firm intention of bullying her out of it.
"Now, Old Lady," said Peter, "we've put up with you long enough. Pack up your tooth-brush, and be off, for your room is wanted, and your company is not."
"Take care, Peter," said the Old Lady.
"Take care! What have I to take care of? Why, I could manage two old women like you any day in the week!" and he stalked about like a swashbuckler.
"Take care, Peter," answered she, "or I shall give you a sound thrashing,"
But Peter didn't care any longer, indeed he was so rude as to put out his tongue at her, and by his general demeanour he expressed the most marked contempt for her physical strength.
"Now, Old Lady, enough of this," said he; "you talk of thrashing me. Me? Come on!" And Peter took off his coat, and squared-up to her with great bravery.
