And it was, indeed, some time before he could be induced to say
anything, and when he did it wasn't much. He said:--

"The only reason why I won't tell you my idea that I'm going to do
is because it MAY be wrong, and I don't want to drag you into it."

"Don't you do it if it's wrong, Peter," said Bobbie; "let me do it."
But Phyllis said:--

"_I_ should like to do wrong if YOU'RE going to!"

"No," said Peter, rather touched by this devotion; "it's a forlorn
hope, and I'm going to lead it. All I ask is that if Mother asks
where I am, you won't blab."

"We haven't got anything TO blab," said Bobbie, indignantly.

"Oh, yes, you have!" said Peter, dropping horse-beans through his
fingers. "I've trusted you to the death. You know I'm going to do
a lone adventure--and some people might think it wrong--I don't.
And if Mother asks where I am, say I'm playing at mines."

"What sort of mines?"

"You just say mines."

"You might tell US, Pete."

"Well, then, COAL-mines. But don't you let the word pass your lips
on pain of torture."