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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/836-0.txt b/836-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c54946 --- /dev/null +++ b/836-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8149 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Phoenix and the Carpet, by E. Nesbit + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Phoenix and the Carpet + +Author: E. Nesbit + +Posting Date: August 2, 2008 [EBook #836] +Release Date: March, 1997 +Last Updated: October 11, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHOENIX AND THE CARPET *** + + + + +Produced by Jo Churcher + + + + + +THE PHOENIX AND THE CARPET + +E. Nesbit + + + + TO + + My Dear Godson + HUBERT GRIFFITH + and his sister + MARGARET + + + TO HUBERT + + Dear Hubert, if I ever found + A wishing-carpet lying round, + I’d stand upon it, and I’d say: + ‘Take me to Hubert, right away!’ + And then we’d travel very far + To where the magic countries are + That you and I will never see, + And choose the loveliest gifts for you, from me. + + But oh! alack! and well-a-day! + No wishing-carpets come my way. + I never found a Phoenix yet, + And Psammeads are so hard to get! + So I give you nothing fine-- + Only this book your book and mine, + And hers, whose name by yours is set; + Your book, my book, the book of Margaret! + + E. NESBIT + DYMCHURCH + September, 1904 + + + + +CONTENTS + + 1 The Egg + 2 The Topless Tower + 3 The Queen Cook + 4 Two Bazaars + 5 The Temple + 6 Doing Good + 7 Mews from Persia + 8 The Cats, the Cow, and the Burglar + 9 The Burglar’s Bride + 10 The Hole in the Carpet + 11 The Beginning of the End + 12 The End of the End + + + + +CHAPTER 1. THE EGG + + +It began with the day when it was almost the Fifth of November, and a +doubt arose in some breast--Robert’s, I fancy--as to the quality of the +fireworks laid in for the Guy Fawkes celebration. + +‘They were jolly cheap,’ said whoever it was, and I think it was Robert, +‘and suppose they didn’t go off on the night? Those Prosser kids would +have something to snigger about then.’ + +‘The ones _I_ got are all right,’ Jane said; ‘I know they are, because +the man at the shop said they were worth thribble the money--’ + +‘I’m sure thribble isn’t grammar,’ Anthea said. + +‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Cyril; ‘one word can’t be grammar all by +itself, so you needn’t be so jolly clever.’ + +Anthea was rummaging in the corner-drawers of her mind for a very +disagreeable answer, when she remembered what a wet day it was, and how +the boys had been disappointed of that ride to London and back on the +top of the tram, which their mother had promised them as a reward for +not having once forgotten, for six whole days, to wipe their boots on +the mat when they came home from school. + +So Anthea only said, ‘Don’t be so jolly clever yourself, Squirrel. And +the fireworks look all right, and you’ll have the eightpence that your +tram fares didn’t cost to-day, to buy something more with. You ought to +get a perfectly lovely Catharine wheel for eightpence.’ + +‘I daresay,’ said Cyril, coldly; ‘but it’s not YOUR eightpence anyhow--’ + +‘But look here,’ said Robert, ‘really now, about the fireworks. We don’t +want to be disgraced before those kids next door. They think because +they wear red plush on Sundays no one else is any good.’ + +‘I wouldn’t wear plush if it was ever so--unless it was black to be +beheaded in, if I was Mary Queen of Scots,’ said Anthea, with scorn. + +Robert stuck steadily to his point. One great point about Robert is the +steadiness with which he can stick. + +‘I think we ought to test them,’ he said. + +‘You young duffer,’ said Cyril, ‘fireworks are like postage-stamps. You +can only use them once.’ + +‘What do you suppose it means by “Carter’s tested seeds” in the +advertisement?’ + +There was a blank silence. Then Cyril touched his forehead with his +finger and shook his head. + +‘A little wrong here,’ he said. ‘I was always afraid of that with poor +Robert. All that cleverness, you know, and being top in algebra so +often--it’s bound to tell--’ + +‘Dry up,’ said Robert, fiercely. ‘Don’t you see? You can’t TEST seeds if +you do them ALL. You just take a few here and there, and if those +grow you can feel pretty sure the others will be--what do you call +it?--Father told me--“up to sample”. Don’t you think we ought to sample +the fire-works? Just shut our eyes and each draw one out, and then try +them.’ + +‘But it’s raining cats and dogs,’ said Jane. + +‘And Queen Anne is dead,’ rejoined Robert. No one was in a very good +temper. ‘We needn’t go out to do them; we can just move back the table, +and let them off on the old tea-tray we play toboggans with. I don’t +know what YOU think, but _I_ think it’s time we did something, and +that would be really useful; because then we shouldn’t just HOPE the +fireworks would make those Prossers sit up--we should KNOW.’ + +‘It WOULD be something to do,’ Cyril owned with languid approval. + +So the table was moved back. And then the hole in the carpet, that +had been near the window till the carpet was turned round, showed most +awfully. But Anthea stole out on tip-toe, and got the tray when cook +wasn’t looking, and brought it in and put it over the hole. + +Then all the fireworks were put on the table, and each of the four +children shut its eyes very tight and put out its hand and grasped +something. Robert took a cracker, Cyril and Anthea had Roman candles; +but Jane’s fat paw closed on the gem of the whole collection, the +Jack-in-the-box that had cost two shillings, and one at least of the +party--I will not say which, because it was sorry afterwards--declared +that Jane had done it on purpose. Nobody was pleased. For the worst of +it was that these four children, with a very proper dislike of anything +even faintly bordering on the sneakish, had a law, unalterable as those +of the Medes and Persians, that one had to stand by the results of a +toss-up, or a drawing of lots, or any other appeal to chance, however +much one might happen to dislike the way things were turning out. + +‘I didn’t mean to,’ said Jane, near tears. ‘I don’t care, I’ll draw +another--’ + +‘You know jolly well you can’t,’ said Cyril, bitterly. ‘It’s settled. +It’s Medium and Persian. You’ve done it, and you’ll have to stand by +it--and us too, worse luck. Never mind. YOU’LL have your pocket-money +before the Fifth. Anyway, we’ll have the Jack-in-the-box LAST, and get +the most out of it we can.’ + +So the cracker and the Roman candles were lighted, and they were +all that could be expected for the money; but when it came to the +Jack-in-the-box it simply sat in the tray and laughed at them, as Cyril +said. They tried to light it with paper and they tried to light it with +matches; they tried to light it with Vesuvian fusees from the pocket +of father’s second-best overcoat that was hanging in the hall. And then +Anthea slipped away to the cupboard under the stairs where the brooms +and dustpans were kept, and the rosiny fire-lighters that smell so nice +and like the woods where pine-trees grow, and the old newspapers and the +bees-wax and turpentine, and the horrid an stiff dark rags that are used +for cleaning brass and furniture, and the paraffin for the lamps. She +came back with a little pot that had once cost sevenpence-halfpenny when +it was full of red-currant jelly; but the jelly had been all eaten long +ago, and now Anthea had filled the jar with paraffin. She came in, and +she threw the paraffin over the tray just at the moment when Cyril was +trying with the twenty-third match to light the Jack-in-the-box. The +Jack-in-the-box did not catch fire any more than usual, but the paraffin +acted quite differently, and in an instant a hot flash of flame leapt +up and burnt off Cyril’s eyelashes, and scorched the faces of all +four before they could spring back. They backed, in four instantaneous +bounds, as far as they could, which was to the wall, and the pillar of +fire reached from floor to ceiling. + +‘My hat,’ said Cyril, with emotion, ‘You’ve done it this time, Anthea.’ + +The flame was spreading out under the ceiling like the rose of fire in +Mr Rider Haggard’s exciting story about Allan Quatermain. Robert and +Cyril saw that no time was to be lost. They turned up the edges of the +carpet, and kicked them over the tray. This cut off the column of fire, +and it disappeared and there was nothing left but smoke and a dreadful +smell of lamps that have been turned too low. + +All hands now rushed to the rescue, and the paraffin fire was only a +bundle of trampled carpet, when suddenly a sharp crack beneath their +feet made the amateur firemen start back. Another crack--the carpet +moved as if it had had a cat wrapped in it; the Jack-in-the-box had at +last allowed itself to be lighted, and it was going off with desperate +violence inside the carpet. + +Robert, with the air of one doing the only possible thing, rushed to the +window and opened it. Anthea screamed, Jane burst into tears, and +Cyril turned the table wrong way up on top of the carpet heap. But the +firework went on, banging and bursting and spluttering even underneath +the table. + +Next moment mother rushed in, attracted by the howls of Anthea, and in a +few moments the firework desisted and there was a dead silence, and +the children stood looking at each other’s black faces, and, out of the +corners of their eyes, at mother’s white one. + +The fact that the nursery carpet was ruined occasioned but little +surprise, nor was any one really astonished that bed should prove the +immediate end of the adventure. It has been said that all roads lead to +Rome; this may be true, but at any rate, in early youth I am quite sure +that many roads lead to BED, and stop there--or YOU do. + +The rest of the fireworks were confiscated, and mother was not pleased +when father let them off himself in the back garden, though he said, +‘Well, how else can you get rid of them, my dear?’ + +You see, father had forgotten that the children were in disgrace, and +that their bedroom windows looked out on to the back garden. So that +they all saw the fireworks most beautifully, and admired the skill with +which father handled them. + +Next day all was forgotten and forgiven; only the nursery had to +be deeply cleaned (like spring-cleaning), and the ceiling had to be +whitewashed. + +And mother went out; and just at tea-time next day a man came with a +rolled-up carpet, and father paid him, and mother said-- + +‘If the carpet isn’t in good condition, you know, I shall expect you to +change it.’ And the man replied-- + +‘There ain’t a thread gone in it nowhere, mum. It’s a bargain, if ever +there was one, and I’m more’n ‘arf sorry I let it go at the price; but +we can’t resist the lydies, can we, sir?’ and he winked at father and +went away. + +Then the carpet was put down in the nursery, and sure enough there +wasn’t a hole in it anywhere. + +As the last fold was unrolled something hard and loud-sounding bumped +out of it and trundled along the nursery floor. All the children +scrambled for it, and Cyril got it. He took it to the gas. It was shaped +like an egg, very yellow and shiny, half-transparent, and it had an odd +sort of light in it that changed as you held it in different ways. It +was as though it was an egg with a yolk of pale fire that just showed +through the stone. + +‘I MAY keep it, mayn’t I, mother?’ Cyril asked. + +And of course mother said no; they must take it back to the man who had +brought the carpet, because she had only paid for a carpet, and not for +a stone egg with a fiery yolk to it. + +So she told them where the shop was, and it was in the Kentish Town +Road, not far from the hotel that is called the Bull and Gate. It was +a poky little shop, and the man was arranging furniture outside on the +pavement very cunningly, so that the more broken parts should show as +little as possible. And directly he saw the children he knew them again, +and he began at once, without giving them a chance to speak. + +‘No you don’t’ he cried loudly; ‘I ain’t a-goin’ to take back no +carpets, so don’t you make no bloomin’ errer. A bargain’s a bargain, and +the carpet’s puffik throughout.’ + +‘We don’t want you to take it back,’ said Cyril; ‘but we found something +in it.’ + +‘It must have got into it up at your place, then,’ said the man, with +indignant promptness, ‘for there ain’t nothing in nothing as I sell. +It’s all as clean as a whistle.’ + +‘I never said it wasn’t CLEAN,’ said Cyril, ‘but--’ + +‘Oh, if it’s MOTHS,’ said the man, ‘that’s easy cured with borax. But I +expect it was only an odd one. I tell you the carpet’s good through and +through. It hadn’t got no moths when it left my ‘ands--not so much as an +hegg.’ + +‘But that’s just it,’ interrupted Jane; ‘there WAS so much as an egg.’ + +The man made a sort of rush at the children and stamped his foot. + +‘Clear out, I say!’ he shouted, ‘or I’ll call for the police. A nice +thing for customers to ‘ear you a-coming ‘ere a-charging me with finding +things in goods what I sells. ‘Ere, be off, afore I sends you off with a +flea in your ears. Hi! constable--’ + +The children fled, and they think, and their father thinks, that they +couldn’t have done anything else. Mother has her own opinion. + +But father said they might keep the egg. + +‘The man certainly didn’t know the egg was there when he brought the +carpet,’ said he, ‘any more than your mother did, and we’ve as much +right to it as he had.’ + +So the egg was put on the mantelpiece, where it quite brightened up the +dingy nursery. The nursery was dingy, because it was a basement room, +and its windows looked out on a stone area with a rockery made of +clinkers facing the windows. Nothing grew in the rockery except London +pride and snails. + +The room had been described in the house agent’s list as a ‘convenient +breakfast-room in basement,’ and in the daytime it was rather dark. This +did not matter so much in the evenings when the gas was alight, but then +it was in the evening that the blackbeetles got so sociable, and used to +come out of the low cupboards on each side of the fireplace where their +homes were, and try to make friends with the children. At least, I +suppose that was what they wanted, but the children never would. + +On the Fifth of November father and mother went to the theatre, and +the children were not happy, because the Prossers next door had lots of +fireworks and they had none. + +They were not even allowed to have a bonfire in the garden. + +‘No more playing with fire, thank you,’ was father’s answer, when they +asked him. + +When the baby had been put to bed the children sat sadly round the fire +in the nursery. + +‘I’m beastly bored,’ said Robert. + +‘Let’s talk about the Psammead,’ said Anthea, who generally tried to +give the conversation a cheerful turn. + +‘What’s the good of TALKING?’ said Cyril. ‘What I want is for something +to happen. It’s awfully stuffy for a chap not to be allowed out in the +evenings. There’s simply nothing to do when you’ve got through your +homers.’ + +Jane finished the last of her home-lessons and shut the book with a +bang. + +‘We’ve got the pleasure of memory,’ said she. ‘Just think of last +holidays.’ + +Last holidays, indeed, offered something to think of--for they had +been spent in the country at a white house between a sand-pit and a +gravel-pit, and things had happened. The children had found a Psammead, +or sand-fairy, and it had let them have anything they wished for--just +exactly anything, with no bother about its not being really for their +good, or anything like that. And if you want to know what kind of things +they wished for, and how their wishes turned out you can read it all in +a book called Five Children and It (It was the Psammead). If you’ve not +read it, perhaps I ought to tell you that the fifth child was the baby +brother, who was called the Lamb, because the first thing he ever said +was ‘Baa!’ and that the other children were not particularly handsome, +nor were they extra clever, nor extraordinarily good. But they were not +bad sorts on the whole; in fact, they were rather like you. + +‘I don’t want to think about the pleasures of memory,’ said Cyril; ‘I +want some more things to happen.’ + +‘We’re very much luckier than any one else, as it is,’ said Jane. ‘Why, +no one else ever found a Psammead. We ought to be grateful.’ + +‘Why shouldn’t we GO ON being, though?’ Cyril asked--‘lucky, I mean, not +grateful. Why’s it all got to stop?’ + +‘Perhaps something will happen,’ said Anthea, comfortably. ‘Do you know, +sometimes I think we are the sort of people that things DO happen to.’ + +‘It’s like that in history,’ said Jane: ‘some kings are full of +interesting things, and others--nothing ever happens to them, except +their being born and crowned and buried, and sometimes not that.’ + +‘I think Panther’s right,’ said Cyril: ‘I think we are the sort of +people things do happen to. I have a sort of feeling things would happen +right enough if we could only give them a shove. It just wants something +to start it. That’s all.’ + +‘I wish they taught magic at school,’ Jane sighed. ‘I believe if we +could do a little magic it might make something happen.’ + +‘I wonder how you begin?’ Robert looked round the room, but he got no +ideas from the faded green curtains, or the drab Venetian blinds, or +the worn brown oil-cloth on the floor. Even the new carpet suggested +nothing, though its pattern was a very wonderful one, and always seemed +as though it were just going to make you think of something. + +‘I could begin right enough,’ said Anthea; ‘I’ve read lots about it. But +I believe it’s wrong in the Bible.’ + +‘It’s only wrong in the Bible because people wanted to hurt other +people. I don’t see how things can be wrong unless they hurt somebody, +and we don’t want to hurt anybody; and what’s more, we jolly well +couldn’t if we tried. Let’s get the Ingoldsby Legends. There’s a thing +about Abra-cadabra there,’ said Cyril, yawning. ‘We may as well play at +magic. Let’s be Knights Templars. They were awfully gone on magic. They +used to work spells or something with a goat and a goose. Father says +so.’ + +‘Well, that’s all right,’ said Robert, unkindly; ‘you can play the goat +right enough, and Jane knows how to be a goose.’ + +‘I’ll get Ingoldsby,’ said Anthea, hastily. ‘You turn up the hearthrug.’ + +So they traced strange figures on the linoleum, where the hearthrug had +kept it clean. They traced them with chalk that Robert had nicked +from the top of the mathematical master’s desk at school. You know, of +course, that it is stealing to take a new stick of chalk, but it is not +wrong to take a broken piece, so long as you only take one. (I do not +know the reason of this rule, nor who made it.) And they chanted all the +gloomiest songs they could think of. And, of course, nothing happened. +So then Anthea said, ‘I’m sure a magic fire ought to be made of +sweet-smelling wood, and have magic gums and essences and things in it.’ + +‘I don’t know any sweet-smelling wood, except cedar,’ said Robert; ‘but +I’ve got some ends of cedar-wood lead pencil.’ + +So they burned the ends of lead pencil. And still nothing happened. + +‘Let’s burn some of the eucalyptus oil we have for our colds,’ said +Anthea. + +And they did. It certainly smelt very strong. And they burned lumps +of camphor out of the big chest. It was very bright, and made a horrid +black smoke, which looked very magical. But still nothing happened. Then +they got some clean tea-cloths from the dresser drawer in the kitchen, +and waved them over the magic chalk-tracings, and sang ‘The Hymn of the +Moravian Nuns at Bethlehem’, which is very impressive. And still nothing +happened. So they waved more and more wildly, and Robert’s tea-cloth +caught the golden egg and whisked it off the mantelpiece, and it fell +into the fender and rolled under the grate. + +‘Oh, crikey!’ said more than one voice. + +And every one instantly fell down flat on its front to look under the +grate, and there lay the egg, glowing in a nest of hot ashes. + +‘It’s not smashed, anyhow,’ said Robert, and he put his hand under the +grate and picked up the egg. But the egg was much hotter than any one +would have believed it could possibly get in such a short time, and +Robert had to drop it with a cry of ‘Bother!’ It fell on the top bar of +the grate, and bounced right into the glowing red-hot heart of the fire. + +‘The tongs!’ cried Anthea. But, alas, no one could remember where they +were. Every one had forgotten that the tongs had last been used to fish +up the doll’s teapot from the bottom of the water-butt, where the Lamb +had dropped it. So the nursery tongs were resting between the water-butt +and the dustbin, and cook refused to lend the kitchen ones. + +‘Never mind,’ said Robert, ‘we’ll get it out with the poker and the +shovel.’ + +‘Oh, stop,’ cried Anthea. ‘Look at it! Look! look! look! I do believe +something IS going to happen!’ + +For the egg was now red-hot, and inside it something was moving. Next +moment there was a soft cracking sound; the egg burst in two, and out of +it came a flame-coloured bird. It rested a moment among the flames, and +as it rested there the four children could see it growing bigger and +bigger under their eyes. + +Every mouth was a-gape, every eye a-goggle. + +The bird rose in its nest of fire, stretched its wings, and flew out +into the room. It flew round and round, and round again, and where it +passed the air was warm. Then it perched on the fender. The children +looked at each other. Then Cyril put out a hand towards the bird. It put +its head on one side and looked up at him, as you may have seen a parrot +do when it is just going to speak, so that the children were hardly +astonished at all when it said, ‘Be careful; I am not nearly cool yet.’ + +They were not astonished, but they were very, very much interested. + +They looked at the bird, and it was certainly worth looking at. Its +feathers were like gold. It was about as large as a bantam, only its +beak was not at all bantam-shaped. ‘I believe I know what it is,’ said +Robert. ‘I’ve seen a picture.’ + +He hurried away. A hasty dash and scramble among the papers on father’s +study table yielded, as the sum-books say, ‘the desired result’. But +when he came back into the room holding out a paper, and crying, ‘I say, +look here,’ the others all said ‘Hush!’ and he hushed obediently and +instantly, for the bird was speaking. + +‘Which of you,’ it was saying, ‘put the egg into the fire?’ + +‘He did,’ said three voices, and three fingers pointed at Robert. + +The bird bowed; at least it was more like that than anything else. + +‘I am your grateful debtor,’ it said with a high-bred air. + +The children were all choking with wonder and curiosity--all except +Robert. He held the paper in his hand, and he KNEW. He said so. He +said-- + +‘_I_ know who you are.’ + +And he opened and displayed a printed paper, at the head of which was a +little picture of a bird sitting in a nest of flames. + +‘You are the Phoenix,’ said Robert; and the bird was quite pleased. + +‘My fame has lived then for two thousand years,’ it said. ‘Allow me to +look at my portrait.’ It looked at the page which Robert, kneeling down, +spread out in the fender, and said-- + +‘It’s not a flattering likeness... And what are these characters?’ it +asked, pointing to the printed part. + +‘Oh, that’s all dullish; it’s not much about YOU, you know,’ said Cyril, +with unconscious politeness; ‘but you’re in lots of books.’ + +‘With portraits?’ asked the Phoenix. + +‘Well, no,’ said Cyril; ‘in fact, I don’t think I ever saw any portrait +of you but that one, but I can read you something about yourself, if you +like.’ + +The Phoenix nodded, and Cyril went off and fetched Volume X of the old +Encyclopedia, and on page 246 he found the following:-- + +‘Phoenix--in ornithology, a fabulous bird of antiquity.’ + +‘Antiquity is quite correct,’ said the Phoenix, ‘but fabulous--well, do +I look it?’ + +Every one shook its head. Cyril went on-- + + +‘The ancients speak of this bird as single, or the only one of its +kind.’ + +‘That’s right enough,’ said the Phoenix. + +‘They describe it as about the size of an eagle.’ + +‘Eagles are of different sizes,’ said the Phoenix; ‘it’s not at all a +good description.’ + +All the children were kneeling on the hearthrug, to be as near the +Phoenix as possible. + +‘You’ll boil your brains,’ it said. ‘Look out, I’m nearly cool now;’ and +with a whirr of golden wings it fluttered from the fender to the table. +It was so nearly cool that there was only a very faint smell of burning +when it had settled itself on the table-cloth. + +‘It’s only a very little scorched,’ said the Phoenix, apologetically; +‘it will come out in the wash. Please go on reading.’ + +The children gathered round the table. + +‘The size of an eagle,’ Cyril went on, ‘its head finely crested with a +beautiful plumage, its neck covered with feathers of a gold colour, and +the rest of its body purple; only the tail white, and the eyes sparkling +like stars. They say that it lives about five hundred years in the +wilderness, and when advanced in age it builds itself a pile of sweet +wood and aromatic gums, fires it with the wafting of its wings, and thus +burns itself; and that from its ashes arises a worm, which in time grows +up to be a Phoenix. Hence the Phoenicians gave--’ + +‘Never mind what they gave,’ said the Phoenix, ruffling its golden +feathers. ‘They never gave much, anyway; they always were people who +gave nothing for nothing. That book ought to be destroyed. It’s +most inaccurate. The rest of my body was never purple, and as for +my--tail--well, I simply ask you, IS it white?’ + +It turned round and gravely presented its golden tail to the children. + +‘No, it’s not,’ said everybody. + +‘No, and it never was,’ said the Phoenix. ‘And that about the worm +is just a vulgar insult. The Phoenix has an egg, like all respectable +birds. It makes a pile--that part’s all right--and it lays its egg, and +it burns itself; and it goes to sleep and wakes up in its egg, and comes +out and goes on living again, and so on for ever and ever. I can’t tell +you how weary I got of it--such a restless existence; no repose.’ + +‘But how did your egg get HERE?’ asked Anthea. + +‘Ah, that’s my life-secret,’ said the Phoenix. ‘I couldn’t tell it to +any one who wasn’t really sympathetic. I’ve always been a misunderstood +bird. You can tell that by what they say about the worm. I might tell +YOU,’ it went on, looking at Robert with eyes that were indeed starry. +‘You put me on the fire--’ Robert looked uncomfortable. + +‘The rest of us made the fire of sweet-scented woods and gums, though,’ +said Cyril. + +‘And--and it was an accident my putting you on the fire,’ said Robert, +telling the truth with some difficulty, for he did not know how the +Phoenix might take it. It took it in the most unexpected manner. + +‘Your candid avowal,’ it said, ‘removes my last scruple. I will tell you +my story.’ + +‘And you won’t vanish, or anything sudden will you? asked Anthea, +anxiously. + +‘Why?’ it asked, puffing out the golden feathers, ‘do you wish me to +stay here?’ + +‘Oh YES,’ said every one, with unmistakable sincerity. + +‘Why?’ asked the Phoenix again, looking modestly at the table-cloth. + +‘Because,’ said every one at once, and then stopped short; only Jane +added after a pause, ‘you are the most beautiful person we’ve ever +seen.’ ‘You are a sensible child,’ said the Phoenix, ‘and I will NOT +vanish or anything sudden. And I will tell you my tale. I had resided, +as your book says, for many thousand years in the wilderness, which is +a large, quiet place with very little really good society, and I was +becoming weary of the monotony of my existence. But I acquired the habit +of laying my egg and burning myself every five hundred years--and you +know how difficult it is to break yourself of a habit.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Cyril; ‘Jane used to bite her nails.’ + +‘But I broke myself of it,’ urged Jane, rather hurt, ‘You know I did.’ + +‘Not till they put bitter aloes on them,’ said Cyril. + +‘I doubt,’ said the bird, gravely, ‘whether even bitter aloes (the aloe, +by the way, has a bad habit of its own, which it might well cure before +seeking to cure others; I allude to its indolent practice of flowering +but once a century), I doubt whether even bitter aloes could have cured +ME. But I WAS cured. I awoke one morning from a feverish dream--it was +getting near the time for me to lay that tiresome fire and lay that +tedious egg upon it--and I saw two people, a man and a woman. They were +sitting on a carpet--and when I accosted them civilly they narrated to +me their life-story, which, as you have not yet heard it, I will now +proceed to relate. They were a prince and princess, and the story of +their parents was one which I am sure you will like to hear. In early +youth the mother of the princess happened to hear the story of a certain +enchanter, and in that story I am sure you will be interested. The +enchanter--’ + +‘Oh, please don’t,’ said Anthea. ‘I can’t understand all these +beginnings of stories, and you seem to be getting deeper and deeper in +them every minute. Do tell us your OWN story. That’s what we really want +to hear.’ + +‘Well,’ said the Phoenix, seeming on the whole rather flattered, ‘to +cut about seventy long stories short (though _I_ had to listen to them +all--but to be sure in the wilderness there is plenty of time), this +prince and princess were so fond of each other that they did not want +any one else, and the enchanter--don’t be alarmed, I won’t go into +his history--had given them a magic carpet (you’ve heard of a magic +carpet?), and they had just sat on it and told it to take them right +away from every one--and it had brought them to the wilderness. And as +they meant to stay there they had no further use for the carpet, so they +gave it to me. That was indeed the chance of a lifetime!’ + +‘I don’t see what you wanted with a carpet,’ said Jane, ‘when you’ve got +those lovely wings.’ + +‘They ARE nice wings, aren’t they?’ said the Phoenix, simpering and +spreading them out. ‘Well, I got the prince to lay out the carpet, and I +laid my egg on it; then I said to the carpet, “Now, my excellent carpet, +prove your worth. Take that egg somewhere where it can’t be hatched for +two thousand years, and where, when that time’s up, some one will light +a fire of sweet wood and aromatic gums, and put the egg in to hatch;” + and you see it’s all come out exactly as I said. The words were no +sooner out of my beak than egg and carpet disappeared. The royal lovers +assisted to arrange my pile, and soothed my last moments. I burnt myself +up and knew no more till I awoke on yonder altar.’ + +It pointed its claw at the grate. + +‘But the carpet,’ said Robert, ‘the magic carpet that takes you anywhere +you wish. What became of that?’ + +‘Oh, THAT?’ said the Phoenix, carelessly--‘I should say that that is the +carpet. I remember the pattern perfectly.’ + +It pointed as it spoke to the floor, where lay the carpet which mother +had bought in the Kentish Town Road for twenty-two shillings and +ninepence. + +At that instant father’s latch-key was heard in the door. + +‘OH,’ whispered Cyril, ‘now we shall catch it for not being in bed!’ + +‘Wish yourself there,’ said the Phoenix, in a hurried whisper, ‘and then +wish the carpet back in its place.’ + +No sooner said than done. It made one a little giddy, certainly, and a +little breathless; but when things seemed right way up again, there the +children were, in bed, and the lights were out. + +They heard the soft voice of the Phoenix through the darkness. + +‘I shall sleep on the cornice above your curtains,’ it said. ‘Please +don’t mention me to your kinsfolk.’ + +‘Not much good,’ said Robert, ‘they’d never believe us. I say,’ he +called through the half-open door to the girls; ‘talk about adventures +and things happening. We ought to be able to get some fun out of a magic +carpet AND a Phoenix.’ + +‘Rather,’ said the girls, in bed. + +‘Children,’ said father, on the stairs, ‘go to sleep at once. What do +you mean by talking at this time of night?’ + +No answer was expected to this question, but under the bedclothes Cyril +murmured one. + +‘Mean?’ he said. ‘Don’t know what we mean. I don’t know what anything +means.’ + +‘But we’ve got a magic carpet AND a Phoenix,’ said Robert. + +‘You’ll get something else if father comes in and catches you,’ said +Cyril. ‘Shut up, I tell you.’ + +Robert shut up. But he knew as well as you do that the adventures of +that carpet and that Phoenix were only just beginning. + +Father and mother had not the least idea of what had happened in their +absence. This is often the case, even when there are no magic carpets or +Phoenixes in the house. + +The next morning--but I am sure you would rather wait till the next +chapter before you hear about THAT. + + + +CHAPTER 2. THE TOPLESS TOWER + + +The children had seen the Phoenix-egg hatched in the flames in their own +nursery grate, and had heard from it how the carpet on their own nursery +floor was really the wishing carpet, which would take them anywhere they +chose. The carpet had transported them to bed just at the right +moment, and the Phoenix had gone to roost on the cornice supporting the +window-curtains of the boys’ room. + +‘Excuse me,’ said a gentle voice, and a courteous beak opened, very +kindly and delicately, the right eye of Cyril. ‘I hear the slaves below +preparing food. Awaken! A word of explanation and arrangement... I do +wish you wouldn’t--’ + +The Phoenix stopped speaking and fluttered away crossly to the +cornice-pole; for Cyril had hit out, as boys do when they are awakened +suddenly, and the Phoenix was not used to boys, and his feelings, if not +his wings, were hurt. + +‘Sorry,’ said Cyril, coming awake all in a minute. ‘Do come back! What +was it you were saying? Something about bacon and rations?’ + +The Phoenix fluttered back to the brass rail at the foot of the bed. + +‘I say--you ARE real,’ said Cyril. ‘How ripping! And the carpet?’ + +‘The carpet is as real as it ever was,’ said the Phoenix, rather +contemptuously; ‘but, of course, a carpet’s only a carpet, whereas a +Phoenix is superlatively a Phoenix.’ + +‘Yes, indeed,’ said Cyril, ‘I see it is. Oh, what luck! Wake up, Bobs! +There’s jolly well something to wake up for today. And it’s Saturday, +too.’ + +‘I’ve been reflecting,’ said the Phoenix, ‘during the silent watches +of the night, and I could not avoid the conclusion that you were quite +insufficiently astonished at my appearance yesterday. The ancients were +always VERY surprised. Did you, by chance, EXPECT my egg to hatch?’ + +‘Not us,’ Cyril said. + +‘And if we had,’ said Anthea, who had come in in her nightie when she +heard the silvery voice of the Phoenix, ‘we could never, never have +expected it to hatch anything so splendid as you.’ + +The bird smiled. Perhaps you’ve never seen a bird smile? + +‘You see,’ said Anthea, wrapping herself in the boys’ counterpane, for +the morning was chill, ‘we’ve had things happen to us before;’ and she +told the story of the Psammead, or sand-fairy. + +‘Ah yes,’ said the Phoenix; ‘Psammeads were rare, even in my time. I +remember I used to be called the Psammead of the Desert. I was always +having compliments paid me; I can’t think why.’ + +‘Can YOU give wishes, then?’ asked Jane, who had now come in too. + +‘Oh, dear me, no,’ said the Phoenix, contemptuously, ‘at least--but I +hear footsteps approaching. I hasten to conceal myself.’ And it did. + +I think I said that this day was Saturday. It was also cook’s birthday, +and mother had allowed her and Eliza to go to the Crystal Palace with a +party of friends, so Jane and Anthea of course had to help to make beds +and to wash up the breakfast cups, and little things like that. Robert +and Cyril intended to spend the morning in conversation with the +Phoenix, but the bird had its own ideas about this. + +‘I must have an hour or two’s quiet,’ it said, ‘I really must. My nerves +will give way unless I can get a little rest. You must remember it’s two +thousand years since I had any conversation--I’m out of practice, and I +must take care of myself. I’ve often been told that mine is a valuable +life.’ So it nestled down inside an old hatbox of father’s, which had +been brought down from the box-room some days before, when a helmet was +suddenly needed for a game of tournaments, with its golden head under +its golden wing, and went to sleep. So then Robert and Cyril moved +the table back and were going to sit on the carpet and wish themselves +somewhere else. But before they could decide on the place, Cyril said-- + +‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s rather sneakish to begin without the girls.’ + +‘They’ll be all the morning,’ said Robert, impatiently. And then a thing +inside him, which tiresome books sometimes call the ‘inward monitor’, +said, ‘Why don’t you help them, then?’ + +Cyril’s ‘inward monitor’ happened to say the same thing at the same +moment, so the boys went and helped to wash up the tea-cups, and to dust +the drawing-room. Robert was so interested that he proposed to clean +the front doorsteps--a thing he had never been allowed to do. Nor was +he allowed to do it on this occasion. One reason was that it had already +been done by cook. + +When all the housework was finished, the girls dressed the happy, +wriggling baby in his blue highwayman coat and three-cornered hat, and +kept him amused while mother changed her dress and got ready to take +him over to granny’s. Mother always went to granny’s every Saturday, +and generally some of the children went with her; but today they were to +keep house. And their hearts were full of joyous and delightful feelings +every time they remembered that the house they would have to keep had a +Phoenix in it, AND a wishing carpet. + +You can always keep the Lamb good and happy for quite a long time if you +play the Noah’s Ark game with him. It is quite simple. He just sits on +your lap and tells you what animal he is, and then you say the little +poetry piece about whatever animal he chooses to be. + +Of course, some of the animals, like the zebra and the tiger, haven’t +got any poetry, because they are so difficult to rhyme to. The Lamb +knows quite well which are the poetry animals. + +‘I’m a baby bear!’ said the Lamb, snugging down; and Anthea began: + + + ‘I love my little baby bear, + I love his nose and toes and hair; + I like to hold him in my arm, + And keep him VERY safe and warm.’ + + +And when she said ‘very’, of course there was a real bear’s hug. + +Then came the eel, and the Lamb was tickled till he wriggled exactly +like a real one: + + + ‘I love my little baby eel, + He is so squidglety to feel; + He’ll be an eel when he is big-- + But now he’s just--a--tiny SNIG!’ + + +Perhaps you didn’t know that a snig was a baby eel? It is, though, and +the Lamb knew it. + +‘Hedgehog now-!’ he said; and Anthea went on: + + + ‘My baby hedgehog, how I like ye, + Though your back’s so prickly-spiky; + Your front is very soft, I’ve found, + So I must love you front ways round!’ + + +And then she loved him front ways round, while he squealed with +pleasure. + +It is a very baby game, and, of course, the rhymes are only meant for +very, very small people--not for people who are old enough to read +books, so I won’t tell you any more of them. + +By the time the Lamb had been a baby lion and a baby weazel, and a baby +rabbit and a baby rat, mother was ready; and she and the Lamb, having +been kissed by everybody and hugged as thoroughly as it is possible to +be when you’re dressed for out-of-doors, were seen to the tram by the +boys. When the boys came back, every one looked at every one else and +said-- + +‘Now!’ + +They locked the front door and they locked the back door, and they +fastened all the windows. They moved the table and chairs off the +carpet, and Anthea swept it. + +‘We must show it a LITTLE attention,’ she said kindly. ‘We’ll give it +tea-leaves next time. Carpets like tea-leaves.’ + +Then every one put on its out-door things, because as Cyril said, they +didn’t know where they might be going, and it makes people stare if you +go out of doors in November in pinafores and without hats. + +Then Robert gently awoke the Phoenix, who yawned and stretched itself, +and allowed Robert to lift it on to the middle of the carpet, where it +instantly went to sleep again with its crested head tucked under its +golden wing as before. Then every one sat down on the carpet. + +‘Where shall we go?’ was of course the question, and it was warmly +discussed. Anthea wanted to go to Japan. Robert and Cyril voted for +America, and Jane wished to go to the seaside. + +‘Because there are donkeys there,’ said she. + +‘Not in November, silly,’ said Cyril; and the discussion got warmer and +warmer, and still nothing was settled. + +‘I vote we let the Phoenix decide,’ said Robert, at last. So they +stroked it till it woke. ‘We want to go somewhere abroad,’ they said, +‘and we can’t make up our minds where.’ + +‘Let the carpet make up ITS mind, if it has one,’ said the Phoenix. + +‘Just say you wish to go abroad.’ + +So they did; and the next moment the world seemed to spin upside down, +and when it was right way up again and they were ungiddy enough to look +about them, they were out of doors. + +Out of doors--this is a feeble way to express where they were. They +were out of--out of the earth, or off it. In fact, they were floating +steadily, safely, splendidly, in the crisp clear air, with the pale +bright blue of the sky above them, and far down below the pale bright +sun-diamonded waves of the sea. The carpet had stiffened itself somehow, +so that it was square and firm like a raft, and it steered itself so +beautifully and kept on its way so flat and fearless that no one was at +all afraid of tumbling off. In front of them lay land. + +‘The coast of France,’ said the Phoenix, waking up and pointing with +its wing. ‘Where do you wish to go? I should always keep one wish, of +course--for emergencies--otherwise you may get into an emergency from +which you can’t emerge at all.’ + +But the children were far too deeply interested to listen. + +‘I tell you what,’ said Cyril: ‘let’s let the thing go on and on, and +when we see a place we really want to stop at--why, we’ll just stop. +Isn’t this ripping?’ + +‘It’s like trains,’ said Anthea, as they swept over the low-lying +coast-line and held a steady course above orderly fields and straight +roads bordered with poplar trees--‘like express trains, only in trains +you never can see anything because of grown-ups wanting the windows +shut; and then they breathe on them, and it’s like ground glass, and +nobody can see anything, and then they go to sleep.’ + +‘It’s like tobogganing,’ said Robert, ‘so fast and smooth, only there’s +no door-mat to stop short on--it goes on and on.’ + +‘You darling Phoenix,’ said Jane, ‘it’s all your doing. Oh, look at +that ducky little church and the women with flappy cappy things on their +heads.’ + +‘Don’t mention it,’ said the Phoenix, with sleepy politeness. + +‘OH!’ said Cyril, summing up all the rapture that was in every heart. +‘Look at it all--look at it--and think of the Kentish Town Road!’ + +Every one looked and every one thought. And the glorious, gliding, +smooth, steady rush went on, and they looked down on strange and +beautiful things, and held their breath and let it go in deep sighs, and +said ‘Oh!’ and ‘Ah!’ till it was long past dinner-time. + +It was Jane who suddenly said, ‘I wish we’d brought that jam tart and +cold mutton with us. It would have been jolly to have a picnic in the +air.’ + +The jam tart and cold mutton were, however, far away, sitting quietly in +the larder of the house in Camden Town which the children were supposed +to be keeping. A mouse was at that moment tasting the outside of the +raspberry jam part of the tart (she had nibbled a sort of gulf, or bay, +through the pastry edge) to see whether it was the sort of dinner she +could ask her little mouse-husband to sit down to. She had had a very +good dinner herself. It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good. + +‘We’ll stop as soon as we see a nice place,’ said Anthea. ‘I’ve got +threepence, and you boys have the fourpence each that your trams didn’t +cost the other day, so we can buy things to eat. I expect the Phoenix +can speak French.’ + +The carpet was sailing along over rocks and rivers and trees and towns +and farms and fields. It reminded everybody of a certain time when all +of them had had wings, and had flown up to the top of a church tower, +and had had a feast there of chicken and tongue and new bread and +soda-water. And this again reminded them how hungry they were. And just +as they were all being reminded of this very strongly indeed, they saw +ahead of them some ruined walls on a hill, and strong and upright, and +really, to look at, as good as new--a great square tower. + +‘The top of that’s just the exactly same size as the carpet,’ said Jane. +‘_I_ think it would be good to go to the top of that, because then none +of the Abby-what’s-its-names--I mean natives--would be able to take the +carpet away even if they wanted to. And some of us could go out and get +things to eat--buy them honestly, I mean, not take them out of larder +windows.’ + +‘I think it would be better if we went--’ Anthea was beginning; but Jane +suddenly clenched her hands. + +‘I don’t see why I should never do anything I want, just because I’m +the youngest. I wish the carpet would fit itself in at the top of that +tower--so there!’ + +The carpet made a disconcerting bound, and next moment it was hovering +above the square top of the tower. Then slowly and carefully it began to +sink under them. It was like a lift going down with you at the Army and +Navy Stores. + +‘I don’t think we ought to wish things without all agreeing to them +first,’ said Robert, huffishly. ‘Hullo! What on earth?’ + +For unexpectedly and greyly something was coming up all round the four +sides of the carpet. It was as if a wall were being built by magic +quickness. It was a foot high--it was two feet high--three, four, five. +It was shutting out the light--more and more. + +Anthea looked up at the sky and the walls that now rose six feet above +them. + +‘We’re dropping into the tower,’ she screamed. ‘THERE WASN’T ANY TOP TO +IT. So the carpet’s going to fit itself in at the bottom.’ + +Robert sprang to his feet. + +‘We ought to have--Hullo! an owl’s nest.’ He put his knee on a jutting +smooth piece of grey stone, and reached his hand into a deep window +slit--broad to the inside of the tower, and narrowing like a funnel to +the outside. + +‘Look sharp!’ cried every one, but Robert did not look sharp enough. By +the time he had drawn his hand out of the owl’s nest--there were no eggs +there--the carpet had sunk eight feet below him. + +‘Jump, you silly cuckoo!’ cried Cyril, with brotherly anxiety. + +But Robert couldn’t turn round all in a minute into a jumping position. +He wriggled and twisted and got on to the broad ledge, and by the time +he was ready to jump the walls of the tower had risen up thirty feet +above the others, who were still sinking with the carpet, and Robert +found himself in the embrasure of a window; alone, for even the owls +were not at home that day. The wall was smoothish; there was no climbing +up, and as for climbing down--Robert hid his face in his hands, and +squirmed back and back from the giddy verge, until the back part of him +was wedged quite tight in the narrowest part of the window slit. + +He was safe now, of course, but the outside part of his window was like +a frame to a picture of part of the other side of the tower. It was very +pretty, with moss growing between the stones and little shiny gems; but +between him and it there was the width of the tower, and nothing in it +but empty air. The situation was terrible. Robert saw in a flash that +the carpet was likely to bring them into just the same sort of tight +places that they used to get into with the wishes the Psammead granted +them. + +And the others--imagine their feelings as the carpet sank slowly and +steadily to the very bottom of the tower, leaving Robert clinging to the +wall. Robert did not even try to imagine their feelings--he had quite +enough to do with his own; but you can. + +As soon as the carpet came to a stop on the ground at the bottom of the +inside of the tower it suddenly lost that raft-like stiffness which had +been such a comfort during the journey from Camden Town to the topless +tower, and spread itself limply over the loose stones and little earthy +mounds at the bottom of the tower, just exactly like any ordinary +carpet. Also it shrank suddenly, so that it seemed to draw away from +under their feet, and they stepped quickly off the edges and stood on +the firm ground, while the carpet drew itself in till it was its proper +size, and no longer fitted exactly into the inside of the tower, but +left quite a big space all round it. + +Then across the carpet they looked at each other, and then every chin +was tilted up and every eye sought vainly to see where poor Robert had +got to. Of course, they couldn’t see him. + +‘I wish we hadn’t come,’ said Jane. + +‘You always do,’ said Cyril, briefly. ‘Look here, we can’t leave Robert +up there. I wish the carpet would fetch him down.’ + +The carpet seemed to awake from a dream and pull itself together. It +stiffened itself briskly and floated up between the four walls of the +tower. The children below craned their heads back, and nearly broke +their necks in doing it. The carpet rose and rose. It hung poised darkly +above them for an anxious moment or two; then it dropped down again, +threw itself on the uneven floor of the tower, and as it did so it +tumbled Robert out on the uneven floor of the tower. + +‘Oh, glory!’ said Robert, ‘that was a squeak. You don’t know how I felt. +I say, I’ve had about enough for a bit. Let’s wish ourselves at home +again and have a go at that jam tart and mutton. We can go out again +afterwards.’ + +‘Righto!’ said every one, for the adventure had shaken the nerves of +all. So they all got on to the carpet again, and said-- + +‘I wish we were at home.’ + +And lo and behold, they were no more at home than before. The carpet +never moved. The Phoenix had taken the opportunity to go to sleep. +Anthea woke it up gently. + +‘Look here,’ she said. + +‘I’m looking,’ said the Phoenix. + +‘We WISHED to be at home, and we’re still here,’ complained Jane. + +‘No,’ said the Phoenix, looking about it at the high dark walls of the +tower. ‘No; I quite see that.’ + +‘But we wished to be at home,’ said Cyril. + +‘No doubt,’ said the bird, politely. + +‘And the carpet hasn’t moved an inch,’ said Robert. + +‘No,’ said the Phoenix, ‘I see it hasn’t.’ + +‘But I thought it was a wishing carpet?’ + +‘So it is,’ said the Phoenix. + +‘Then why--?’ asked the children, altogether. + +‘I did tell you, you know,’ said the Phoenix, ‘only you are so fond +of listening to the music of your own voices. It is, indeed, the most +lovely music to each of us, and therefore--’ + +‘You did tell us WHAT?’ interrupted an Exasperated. + +‘Why, that the carpet only gives you three wishes a day and YOU’VE HAD +THEM.’ + +There was a heartfelt silence. + +‘Then how are we going to get home?’ said Cyril, at last. + +‘I haven’t any idea,’ replied the Phoenix, kindly. ‘Can I fly out and +get you any little thing?’ + +‘How could you carry the money to pay for it?’ + +‘It isn’t necessary. Birds always take what they want. It is not +regarded as stealing, except in the case of magpies.’ + +The children were glad to find they had been right in supposing this to +be the case, on the day when they had wings, and had enjoyed somebody +else’s ripe plums. + +‘Yes; let the Phoenix get us something to eat, anyway,’ Robert urged--’ +[‘If it will be so kind you mean,’ corrected Anthea, in a whisper); ‘if +it will be so kind, and we can be thinking while it’s gone.’ + +So the Phoenix fluttered up through the grey space of the tower and +vanished at the top, and it was not till it had quite gone that Jane +said-- + +‘Suppose it never comes back.’ + +It was not a pleasant thought, and though Anthea at once said, ‘Of +course it will come back; I’m certain it’s a bird of its word,’ a +further gloom was cast by the idea. For, curiously enough, there was +no door to the tower, and all the windows were far, far too high to be +reached by the most adventurous climber. It was cold, too, and Anthea +shivered. + +‘Yes,’ said Cyril, ‘it’s like being at the bottom of a well.’ + +The children waited in a sad and hungry silence, and got little stiff +necks with holding their little heads back to look up the inside of the +tall grey tower, to see if the Phoenix were coming. + +At last it came. It looked very big as it fluttered down between the +walls, and as it neared them the children saw that its bigness was +caused by a basket of boiled chestnuts which it carried in one claw. +In the other it held a piece of bread. And in its beak was a very large +pear. The pear was juicy, and as good as a very small drink. When the +meal was over every one felt better, and the question of how to get home +was discussed without any disagreeableness. But no one could think +of any way out of the difficulty, or even out of the tower; for the +Phoenix, though its beak and claws had fortunately been strong enough +to carry food for them, was plainly not equal to flying through the air +with four well-nourished children. + +‘We must stay here, I suppose,’ said Robert at last, ‘and shout out +every now and then, and some one will hear us and bring ropes and +ladders, and rescue us like out of mines; and they’ll get up a +subscription to send us home, like castaways.’ + +‘Yes; but we shan’t be home before mother is, and then father’ll take +away the carpet and say it’s dangerous or something,’ said Cyril. + +‘I DO wish we hadn’t come,’ said Jane. + +And every one else said ‘Shut up,’ except Anthea, who suddenly awoke the +Phoenix and said-- + +‘Look here, I believe YOU can help us. Oh, I do wish you would!’ + +‘I will help you as far as lies in my power,’ said the Phoenix, at once. +‘What is it you want now?’ + +‘Why, we want to get home,’ said every one. + +‘Oh,’ said the Phoenix. ‘Ah, hum! Yes. Home, you said? Meaning?’ + +‘Where we live--where we slept last night--where the altar is that your +egg was hatched on.’ + +‘Oh, there!’ said the Phoenix. ‘Well, I’ll do my best.’ It fluttered on +to the carpet and walked up and down for a few minutes in deep thought. +Then it drew itself up proudly. + +‘I CAN help you,’ it said. ‘I am almost sure I can help you. Unless I +am grossly deceived I can help you. You won’t mind my leaving you for an +hour or two?’ and without waiting for a reply it soared up through the +dimness of the tower into the brightness above. + +‘Now,’ said Cyril, firmly, ‘it said an hour or two. But I’ve read +about captives and people shut up in dungeons and catacombs and things +awaiting release, and I know each moment is an eternity. Those people +always do something to pass the desperate moments. It’s no use our +trying to tame spiders, because we shan’t have time.’ + +‘I HOPE not,’ said Jane, doubtfully. + +‘But we ought to scratch our names on the stones or something.’ + +‘I say, talking of stones,’ said Robert, ‘you see that heap of stones +against the wall over in that corner. Well, I’m certain there’s a hole +in the wall there--and I believe it’s a door. Yes, look here--the stones +are round like an arch in the wall; and here’s the hole--it’s all black +inside.’ + +He had walked over to the heap as he spoke and climbed up to +it--dislodged the top stone of the heap and uncovered a little dark +space. + +Next moment every one was helping to pull down the heap of stones, and +very soon every one threw off its jacket, for it was warm work. + +‘It IS a door,’ said Cyril, wiping his face, ‘and not a bad thing +either, if--’ + +He was going to add ‘if anything happens to the Phoenix,’ but he didn’t +for fear of frightening Jane. He was not an unkind boy when he had +leisure to think of such things. + +The arched hole in the wall grew larger and larger. It was very, very +black, even compared with the sort of twilight at the bottom of the +tower; it grew larger because the children kept pulling off the stones +and throwing them down into another heap. The stones must have been +there a very long time, for they were covered with moss, and some of +them were stuck together by it. So it was fairly hard work, as Robert +pointed out. + +When the hole reached to about halfway between the top of the arch +and the tower, Robert and Cyril let themselves down cautiously on the +inside, and lit matches. How thankful they felt then that they had a +sensible father, who did not forbid them to carry matches, as some boys’ +fathers do. The father of Robert and Cyril only insisted on the matches +being of the kind that strike only on the box. + +‘It’s not a door, it’s a sort of tunnel,’ Robert cried to the girls, +after the first match had flared up, flickered, and gone out. ‘Stand +off--we’ll push some more stones down!’ + +They did, amid deep excitement. And now the stone heap was almost +gone--and before them the girls saw the dark archway leading to unknown +things. All doubts and fears as to getting home were forgotten in this +thrilling moment. It was like Monte Cristo--it was like-- + +‘I say,’ cried Anthea, suddenly, ‘come out! There’s always bad air in +places that have been shut up. It makes your torches go out, and then +you die. It’s called fire-damp, I believe. Come out, I tell you.’ + +The urgency of her tone actually brought the boys out--and then every +one took up its jacket and fanned the dark arch with it, so as to +make the air fresh inside. When Anthea thought the air inside ‘must be +freshened by now,’ Cyril led the way into the arch. + +The girls followed, and Robert came last, because Jane refused to tail +the procession lest ‘something’ should come in after her, and catch at +her from behind. Cyril advanced cautiously, lighting match after match, +and peering before him. + +‘It’s a vaulting roof,’ he said, ‘and it’s all stone--all right, +Panther, don’t keep pulling at my jacket! The air must be all right +because of the matches, silly, and there are--look out--there are steps +down.’ + +‘Oh, don’t let’s go any farther,’ said Jane, in an agony of reluctance +(a very painful thing, by the way, to be in). ‘I’m sure there are +snakes, or dens of lions, or something. Do let’s go back, and come some +other time, with candles, and bellows for the fire-damp.’ + +‘Let me get in front of you, then,’ said the stern voice of Robert, from +behind. ‘This is exactly the place for buried treasure, and I’m going +on, anyway; you can stay behind if you like.’ + +And then, of course, Jane consented to go on. + +So, very slowly and carefully, the children went down the steps--there +were seventeen of them--and at the bottom of the steps were more +passages branching four ways, and a sort of low arch on the right-hand +side made Cyril wonder what it could be, for it was too low to be the +beginning of another passage. + +So he knelt down and lit a match, and stooping very low he peeped in. + +‘There’s SOMETHING,’ he said, and reached out his hand. It touched +something that felt more like a damp bag of marbles than anything else +that Cyril had ever touched. + +‘I believe it IS a buried treasure,’ he cried. + +And it was; for even as Anthea cried, ‘Oh, hurry up, Squirrel--fetch it +out!’ Cyril pulled out a rotting canvas bag--about as big as the paper +ones the greengrocer gives you with Barcelona nuts in for sixpence. + +‘There’s more of it, a lot more,’ he said. + +As he pulled the rotten bag gave way, and the gold coins ran and span +and jumped and bumped and chinked and clinked on the floor of the dark +passage. + +I wonder what you would say if you suddenly came upon a buried treasure? +What Cyril said was, ‘Oh, bother--I’ve burnt my fingers!’ and as he +spoke he dropped the match. ‘AND IT WAS THE LAST!’ he added. + +There was a moment of desperate silence. Then Jane began to cry. + +‘Don’t,’ said Anthea, ‘don’t, Pussy--you’ll exhaust the air if you cry. +We can get out all right.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Jane, through her sobs, ‘and find the Phoenix has come back +and gone away again--because it thought we’d gone home some other way, +and--Oh, I WISH we hadn’t come.’ + +Every one stood quite still--only Anthea cuddled Jane up to her and +tried to wipe her eyes in the dark. + +‘D-DON’T,’ said Jane; ‘that’s my EAR--I’m not crying with my ears.’ + +‘Come, let’s get on out,’ said Robert; but that was not so easy, for no +one could remember exactly which way they had come. It is very difficult +to remember things in the dark, unless you have matches with you, and +then of course it is quite different, even if you don’t strike one. + +Every one had come to agree with Jane’s constant wish--and despair was +making the darkness blacker than ever, when quite suddenly the floor +seemed to tip up--and a strong sensation of being in a whirling lift +came upon every one. All eyes were closed--one’s eyes always are in the +dark, don’t you think? When the whirling feeling stopped, Cyril said +‘Earthquakes!’ and they all opened their eyes. + +They were in their own dingy breakfast-room at home, and oh, how light +and bright and safe and pleasant and altogether delightful it seemed +after that dark underground tunnel! The carpet lay on the floor, looking +as calm as though it had never been for an excursion in its life. On +the mantelpiece stood the Phoenix, waiting with an air of modest yet +sterling worth for the thanks of the children. + +‘But how DID you do it?’ they asked, when every one had thanked the +Phoenix again and again. + +‘Oh, I just went and got a wish from your friend the Psammead.’ + +‘But how DID you know where to find it?’ + +‘I found that out from the carpet; these wishing creatures always know +all about each other--they’re so clannish; like the Scots, you know--all +related.’ + +‘But, the carpet can’t talk, can it?’ + +‘No.’ + +‘Then how--’ + +‘How did I get the Psammead’s address? I tell you I got it from the +carpet.’ + +‘DID it speak then?’ + +‘No,’ said the Phoenix, thoughtfully, ‘it didn’t speak, but I gathered +my information from something in its manner. I was always a singularly +observant bird.’ + +It was not till after the cold mutton and the jam tart, as well as the +tea and bread-and-butter, that any one found time to regret the golden +treasure which had been left scattered on the floor of the underground +passage, and which, indeed, no one had thought of till now, since the +moment when Cyril burnt his fingers at the flame of the last match. + +‘What owls and goats we were!’ said Robert. ‘Look how we’ve always +wanted treasure--and now--’ + +‘Never mind,’ said Anthea, trying as usual to make the best of it. +‘We’ll go back again and get it all, and then we’ll give everybody +presents.’ + +More than a quarter of an hour passed most agreeably in arranging what +presents should be given to whom, and, when the claims of generosity had +been satisfied, the talk ran for fifty minutes on what they would buy +for themselves. + +It was Cyril who broke in on Robert’s almost too technical account of +the motor-car on which he meant to go to and from school-- + +‘There!’ he said. ‘Dry up. It’s no good. We can’t ever go back. We don’t +know where it is.’ + +‘Don’t YOU know?’ Jane asked the Phoenix, wistfully. + +‘Not in the least,’ the Phoenix replied, in a tone of amiable regret. + +‘Then we’ve lost the treasure,’ said Cyril. And they had. + +‘But we’ve got the carpet and the Phoenix,’ said Anthea. + +‘Excuse me,’ said the bird, with an air of wounded dignity, ‘I do SO +HATE to seem to interfere, but surely you MUST mean the Phoenix and the +carpet?’ + + + +CHAPTER 3. THE QUEEN COOK + + +It was on a Saturday that the children made their first glorious journey +on the wishing carpet. Unless you are too young to read at all, you will +know that the next day must have been Sunday. + +Sunday at 18, Camden Terrace, Camden Town, was always a very pretty +day. Father always brought home flowers on Saturday, so that the +breakfast-table was extra beautiful. In November, of course, the flowers +were chrysanthemums, yellow and coppery coloured. Then there were always +sausages on toast for breakfast, and these are rapture, after six days +of Kentish Town Road eggs at fourteen a shilling. + +On this particular Sunday there were fowls for dinner, a kind of food +that is generally kept for birthdays and grand occasions, and there +was an angel pudding, when rice and milk and oranges and white icing do +their best to make you happy. + +After dinner father was very sleepy indeed, because he had been working +hard all the week; but he did not yield to the voice that said, ‘Go and +have an hour’s rest.’ He nursed the Lamb, who had a horrid cough that +cook said was whooping-cough as sure as eggs, and he said-- + +‘Come along, kiddies; I’ve got a ripping book from the library, called +The Golden Age, and I’ll read it to you.’ + +Mother settled herself on the drawing-room sofa, and said she could +listen quite nicely with her eyes shut. The Lamb snugged into the +‘armchair corner’ of daddy’s arm, and the others got into a happy heap +on the hearth-rug. At first, of course, there were too many feet and +knees and shoulders and elbows, but real comfort was actually settling +down on them, and the Phoenix and the carpet were put away on the back +top shelf of their minds (beautiful things that could be taken out and +played with later), when a surly solid knock came at the drawing-room +door. It opened an angry inch, and the cook’s voice said, ‘Please, m’, +may I speak to you a moment?’ + +Mother looked at father with a desperate expression. Then she put her +pretty sparkly Sunday shoes down from the sofa, and stood up in them and +sighed. + +‘As good fish in the sea,’ said father, cheerfully, and it was not till +much later that the children understood what he meant. + +Mother went out into the passage, which is called ‘the hall’, where the +umbrella-stand is, and the picture of the ‘Monarch of the Glen’ in a +yellow shining frame, with brown spots on the Monarch from the damp +in the house before last, and there was cook, very red and damp in the +face, and with a clean apron tied on all crooked over the dirty one that +she had dished up those dear delightful chickens in. She stood there and +she seemed to get redder and damper, and she twisted the corner of her +apron round her fingers, and she said very shortly and fiercely-- + +‘If you please ma’am, I should wish to leave at my day month.’ Mother +leaned against the hatstand. The children could see her looking pale +through the crack of the door, because she had been very kind to the +cook, and had given her a holiday only the day before, and it seemed so +very unkind of the cook to want to go like this, and on a Sunday too. + +‘Why, what’s the matter?’ mother said. + +‘It’s them children,’ the cook replied, and somehow the children all +felt that they had known it from the first. They did not remember having +done anything extra wrong, but it is so frightfully easy to displease a +cook. ‘It’s them children: there’s that there new carpet in their room, +covered thick with mud, both sides, beastly yellow mud, and sakes alive +knows where they got it. And all that muck to clean up on a Sunday! It’s +not my place, and it’s not my intentions, so I don’t deceive you, ma’am, +and but for them limbs, which they is if ever there was, it’s not a bad +place, though I says it, and I wouldn’t wish to leave, but--’ + +‘I’m very sorry,’ said mother, gently. ‘I will speak to the children. +And you had better think it over, and if you REALLY wish to go, tell me +to-morrow.’ + +Next day mother had a quiet talk with cook, and cook said she didn’t +mind if she stayed on a bit, just to see. + +But meantime the question of the muddy carpet had been gone into +thoroughly by father and mother. Jane’s candid explanation that the +mud had come from the bottom of a foreign tower where there was buried +treasure was received with such chilling disbelief that the others +limited their defence to an expression of sorrow, and of a determination +‘not to do it again’. But father said (and mother agreed with him, +because mothers have to agree with fathers, and not because it was her +own idea) that children who coated a carpet on both sides with thick +mud, and when they were asked for an explanation could only talk silly +nonsense--that meant Jane’s truthful statement--were not fit to have a +carpet at all, and, indeed, SHOULDN’T have one for a week! + +So the carpet was brushed (with tea-leaves, too) which was the only +comfort Anthea could think of, and folded up and put away in the +cupboard at the top of the stairs, and daddy put the key in his trousers +pocket. ‘Till Saturday,’ said he. + +‘Never mind,’ said Anthea, ‘we’ve got the Phoenix.’ + +But, as it happened, they hadn’t. The Phoenix was nowhere to be found, +and everything had suddenly settled down from the rosy wild beauty of +magic happenings to the common damp brownness of ordinary November life +in Camden Town--and there was the nursery floor all bare boards in +the middle and brown oilcloth round the outside, and the bareness and +yellowness of the middle floor showed up the blackbeetles with terrible +distinctness, when the poor things came out in the evening, as usual, to +try to make friends with the children. But the children never would. + +The Sunday ended in gloom, which even junket for supper in the blue +Dresden bowl could hardly lighten at all. Next day the Lamb’s cough +was worse. It certainly seemed very whoopy, and the doctor came in his +brougham carriage. + +Every one tried to bear up under the weight of the sorrow which it was +to know that the wishing carpet was locked up and the Phoenix mislaid. A +good deal of time was spent in looking for the Phoenix. + +‘It’s a bird of its word,’ said Anthea. ‘I’m sure it’s not deserted us. +But you know it had a most awfully long fly from wherever it was to near +Rochester and back, and I expect the poor thing’s feeling tired out and +wants rest. I am sure we may trust it.’ + +The others tried to feel sure of this, too, but it was hard. + +No one could be expected to feel very kindly towards the cook, since it +was entirely through her making such a fuss about a little foreign mud +that the carpet had been taken away. + +‘She might have told us,’ said Jane, ‘and Panther and I would have +cleaned it with tea-leaves.’ + +‘She’s a cantankerous cat,’ said Robert. + +‘I shan’t say what I think about her,’ said Anthea, primly, ‘because it +would be evil speaking, lying, and slandering.’ + +‘It’s not lying to say she’s a disagreeable pig, and a beastly +blue-nosed Bozwoz,’ said Cyril, who had read The Eyes of Light, and +intended to talk like Tony as soon as he could teach Robert to talk like +Paul. + +And all the children, even Anthea, agreed that even if she wasn’t a +blue-nosed Bozwoz, they wished cook had never been born. + +But I ask you to believe that they didn’t do all the things on purpose +which so annoyed the cook during the following week, though I daresay +the things would not have happened if the cook had been a favourite. +This is a mystery. Explain it if you can. The things that had happened +were as follows: + +Sunday.--Discovery of foreign mud on both sides of the carpet. + +Monday.--Liquorice put on to boil with aniseed balls in a saucepan. +Anthea did this, because she thought it would be good for the Lamb’s +cough. The whole thing forgotten, and bottom of saucepan burned out. It +was the little saucepan lined with white that was kept for the baby’s +milk. + +Tuesday.--A dead mouse found in pantry. Fish-slice taken to dig grave +with. By regrettable accident fish-slice broken. Defence: ‘The cook +oughtn’t to keep dead mice in pantries.’ + +Wednesday.--Chopped suet left on kitchen table. Robert added chopped +soap, but he says he thought the suet was soap too. + +Thursday.--Broke the kitchen window by falling against it during a +perfectly fair game of bandits in the area. + +Friday.--Stopped up grating of kitchen sink with putty and filled sink +with water to make a lake to sail paper boats in. Went away and left the +tap running. Kitchen hearthrug and cook’s shoes ruined. + +On Saturday the carpet was restored. There had been plenty of time +during the week to decide where it should be asked to go when they did +get it back. + +Mother had gone over to granny’s, and had not taken the Lamb because he +had a bad cough, which, cook repeatedly said, was whooping-cough as sure +as eggs is eggs. + +‘But we’ll take him out, a ducky darling,’ said Anthea. ‘We’ll take +him somewhere where you can’t have whooping-cough. Don’t be so silly, +Robert. If he DOES talk about it no one’ll take any notice. He’s always +talking about things he’s never seen.’ + +So they dressed the Lamb and themselves in out-of-doors clothes, and the +Lamb chuckled and coughed, and laughed and coughed again, poor dear, and +all the chairs and tables were moved off the carpet by the boys, while +Jane nursed the Lamb, and Anthea rushed through the house in one last +wild hunt for the missing Phoenix. + +‘It’s no use waiting for it,’ she said, reappearing breathless in the +breakfast-room. ‘But I know it hasn’t deserted us. It’s a bird of its +word.’ + +‘Quite so,’ said the gentle voice of the Phoenix from beneath the table. + +Every one fell on its knees and looked up, and there was the Phoenix +perched on a crossbar of wood that ran across under the table, and had +once supported a drawer, in the happy days before the drawer had been +used as a boat, and its bottom unfortunately trodden out by Raggett’s +Really Reliable School Boots on the feet of Robert. + +‘I’ve been here all the time,’ said the Phoenix, yawning politely +behind its claw. ‘If you wanted me you should have recited the ode of +invocation; it’s seven thousand lines long, and written in very pure and +beautiful Greek.’ + +‘Couldn’t you tell it us in English?’ asked Anthea. + +‘It’s rather long, isn’t it?’ said Jane, jumping the Lamb on her knee. + +‘Couldn’t you make a short English version, like Tate and Brady?’ + +‘Oh, come along, do,’ said Robert, holding out his hand. ‘Come along, +good old Phoenix.’ + +‘Good old BEAUTIFUL Phoenix,’ it corrected shyly. + +‘Good old BEAUTIFUL Phoenix, then. Come along, come along,’ said Robert, +impatiently, with his hand still held out. + +The Phoenix fluttered at once on to his wrist. + +‘This amiable youth,’ it said to the others, ‘has miraculously been able +to put the whole meaning of the seven thousand lines of Greek invocation +into one English hexameter--a little misplaced some of the words--but-- + +‘Oh, come along, come along, good old beautiful Phoenix!’ + +‘Not perfect, I admit--but not bad for a boy of his age.’ + +‘Well, now then,’ said Robert, stepping back on to the carpet with the +golden Phoenix on his wrist. + +‘You look like the king’s falconer,’ said Jane, sitting down on the +carpet with the baby on her lap. + +Robert tried to go on looking like it. Cyril and Anthea stood on the +carpet. + +‘We shall have to get back before dinner,’ said Cyril, ‘or cook will +blow the gaff.’ + +‘She hasn’t sneaked since Sunday,’ said Anthea. + +‘She--’ Robert was beginning, when the door burst open and the cook, +fierce and furious, came in like a whirlwind and stood on the corner of +the carpet, with a broken basin in one hand and a threat in the other, +which was clenched. + +‘Look ‘ere!’ she cried, ‘my only basin; and what the powers am I to +make the beefsteak and kidney pudding in that your ma ordered for your +dinners? You don’t deserve no dinners, so yer don’t.’ + +‘I’m awfully sorry, cook,’ said Anthea gently; ‘it was my fault, and +I forgot to tell you about it. It got broken when we were telling our +fortunes with melted lead, you know, and I meant to tell you.’ + +‘Meant to tell me,’ replied the cook; she was red with anger, and really +I don’t wonder--‘meant to tell! Well, _I_ mean to tell, too. I’ve held +my tongue this week through, because the missus she said to me quiet +like, “We mustn’t expect old heads on young shoulders,” but now I shan’t +hold it no longer. There was the soap you put in our pudding, and me and +Eliza never so much as breathed it to your ma--though well we might--and +the saucepan, and the fish-slice, and--My gracious cats alive! what ‘ave +you got that blessed child dressed up in his outdoors for?’ + +‘We aren’t going to take him out,’ said Anthea; ‘at least--’ She stopped +short, for though they weren’t going to take him out in the Kentish +Town Road, they certainly intended to take him elsewhere. But not at all +where cook meant when she said ‘out’. This confused the truthful Anthea. + +‘Out!’ said the cook, ‘that I’ll take care you don’t;’ and she snatched +the Lamb from the lap of Jane, while Anthea and Robert caught her by the +skirts and apron. ‘Look here,’ said Cyril, in stern desperation, ‘will +you go away, and make your pudding in a pie-dish, or a flower-pot, or a +hot-water can, or something?’ + +‘Not me,’ said the cook, briefly; ‘and leave this precious poppet for +you to give his deathercold to.’ + +‘I warn you,’ said Cyril, solemnly. ‘Beware, ere yet it be too late.’ + +‘Late yourself the little popsey-wopsey,’ said the cook, with angry +tenderness. ‘They shan’t take it out, no more they shan’t. And--Where +did you get that there yellow fowl?’ She pointed to the Phoenix. + +Even Anthea saw that unless the cook lost her situation the loss would +be theirs. + +‘I wish,’ she said suddenly, ‘we were on a sunny southern shore, where +there can’t be any whooping-cough.’ + +She said it through the frightened howls of the Lamb, and the sturdy +scoldings of the cook, and instantly the giddy-go-round-and-falling-lift +feeling swept over the whole party, and the cook sat down flat on the +carpet, holding the screaming Lamb tight to her stout print-covered +self, and calling on St Bridget to help her. She was an Irishwoman. + +The moment the tipsy-topsy-turvy feeling stopped, the cook opened her +eyes, gave one sounding screech and shut them again, and Anthea took the +opportunity to get the desperately howling Lamb into her own arms. + +‘It’s all right,’ she said; ‘own Panther’s got you. Look at the trees, +and the sand, and the shells, and the great big tortoises. Oh DEAR, how +hot it is!’ + +It certainly was; for the trusty carpet had laid itself out on a +southern shore that was sunny and no mistake, as Robert remarked. The +greenest of green slopes led up to glorious groves where palm-trees and +all the tropical flowers and fruits that you read of in Westward Ho! and +Fair Play were growing in rich profusion. Between the green, green slope +and the blue, blue sea lay a stretch of sand that looked like a carpet +of jewelled cloth of gold, for it was not greyish as our northern sand +is, but yellow and changing--opal-coloured like sunshine and rainbows. +And at the very moment when the wild, whirling, blinding, deafening, +tumbling upside-downness of the carpet-moving stopped, the children had +the happiness of seeing three large live turtles waddle down to the edge +of the sea and disappear in the water. And it was hotter than you can +possibly imagine, unless you think of ovens on a baking-day. + +Every one without an instant’s hesitation tore off its +London-in-November outdoor clothes, and Anthea took off the Lamb’s +highwayman blue coat and his three-cornered hat, and then his jersey, +and then the Lamb himself suddenly slipped out of his little blue tight +breeches and stood up happy and hot in his little white shirt. + +‘I’m sure it’s much warmer than the seaside in the summer,’ said Anthea. +‘Mother always lets us go barefoot then.’ + +So the Lamb’s shoes and socks and gaiters came off, and he stood digging +his happy naked pink toes into the golden smooth sand. + +‘I’m a little white duck-dickie,’ said he--‘a little white duck-dickie +what swims,’ and splashed quacking into a sandy pool. + +‘Let him,’ said Anthea; ‘it can’t hurt him. Oh, how hot it is!’ + +The cook suddenly opened her eyes and screamed, shut them, screamed +again, opened her eyes once more and said-- + +‘Why, drat my cats alive, what’s all this? It’s a dream, I expect. + +Well, it’s the best I ever dreamed. I’ll look it up in the dream-book +to-morrow. Seaside and trees and a carpet to sit on. I never did!’ + +‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘it isn’t a dream; it’s real.’ + +‘Ho yes!’ said the cook; ‘they always says that in dreams.’ + +‘It’s REAL, I tell you,’ Robert said, stamping his foot. ‘I’m not going +to tell you how it’s done, because that’s our secret.’ He winked heavily +at each of the others in turn. ‘But you wouldn’t go away and make that +pudding, so we HAD to bring you, and I hope you like it.’ + +‘I do that, and no mistake,’ said the cook unexpectedly; ‘and it being a +dream it don’t matter what I say; and I WILL say, if it’s my last word, +that of all the aggravating little varmints--’ ‘Calm yourself, my good +woman,’ said the Phoenix. + +‘Good woman, indeed,’ said the cook; ‘good woman yourself’ Then she +saw who it was that had spoken. ‘Well, if I ever,’ said she; ‘this is +something like a dream! Yellow fowls a-talking and all! I’ve heard of +such, but never did I think to see the day.’ + +‘Well, then,’ said Cyril, impatiently, ‘sit here and see the day now. +It’s a jolly fine day. Here, you others--a council!’ They walked along +the shore till they were out of earshot of the cook, who still sat +gazing about her with a happy, dreamy, vacant smile. + +‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘we must roll the carpet up and hide it, so +that we can get at it at any moment. The Lamb can be getting rid of +his whooping-cough all the morning, and we can look about; and if the +savages on this island are cannibals, we’ll hook it, and take her back. +And if not, we’ll LEAVE HER HERE.’ + +‘Is that being kind to servants and animals, like the clergyman said?’ +asked Jane. + +‘Nor she isn’t kind,’ retorted Cyril. + +‘Well--anyway,’ said Anthea, ‘the safest thing is to leave the carpet +there with her sitting on it. Perhaps it’ll be a lesson to her, and +anyway, if she thinks it’s a dream it won’t matter what she says when +she gets home.’ + +So the extra coats and hats and mufflers were piled on the carpet. Cyril +shouldered the well and happy Lamb, the Phoenix perched on Robert’s +wrist, and ‘the party of explorers prepared to enter the interior’. + +The grassy slope was smooth, but under the trees there were tangled +creepers with bright, strange-shaped flowers, and it was not easy to +walk. + +‘We ought to have an explorer’s axe,’ said Robert. ‘I shall ask father +to give me one for Christmas.’ + +There were curtains of creepers with scented blossoms hanging from the +trees, and brilliant birds darted about quite close to their faces. + +‘Now, tell me honestly,’ said the Phoenix, ‘are there any birds here +handsomer than I am? Don’t be afraid of hurting my feelings--I’m a +modest bird, I hope.’ + +‘Not one of them,’ said Robert, with conviction, ‘is a patch upon you!’ + +‘I was never a vain bird,’ said the Phoenix, ‘but I own that you confirm +my own impression. I will take a flight.’ It circled in the air for a +moment, and, returning to Robert’s wrist, went on, ‘There is a path to +the left.’ + +And there was. So now the children went on through the wood more quickly +and comfortably, the girls picking flowers and the Lamb inviting +the ‘pretty dickies’ to observe that he himself was a ‘little white +real-water-wet duck!’ + +And all this time he hadn’t whooping-coughed once. + +The path turned and twisted, and, always threading their way amid a +tangle of flowers, the children suddenly passed a corner and found +themselves in a forest clearing, where there were a lot of pointed +huts--the huts, as they knew at once, of SAVAGES. + +The boldest heart beat more quickly. Suppose they WERE cannibals. It was +a long way back to the carpet. + +‘Hadn’t we better go back?’ said Jane. ‘Go NOW,’ she said, and her voice +trembled a little. ‘Suppose they eat us.’ + +‘Nonsense, Pussy,’ said Cyril, firmly. ‘Look, there’s a goat tied up. +That shows they don’t eat PEOPLE.’ + +‘Let’s go on and say we’re missionaries,’ Robert suggested. + +‘I shouldn’t advise THAT,’ said the Phoenix, very earnestly. + +‘Why not?’ + +‘Well, for one thing, it isn’t true,’ replied the golden bird. + +It was while they stood hesitating on the edge of the clearing that +a tall man suddenly came out of one of the huts. He had hardly any +clothes, and his body all over was a dark and beautiful coppery +colour--just like the chrysanthemums father had brought home on +Saturday. In his hand he held a spear. The whites of his eyes and the +white of his teeth were the only light things about him, except that +where the sun shone on his shiny brown body it looked white, too. If +you will look carefully at the next shiny savage you meet with next to +nothing on, you will see at once--if the sun happens to be shining at +the time--that I am right about this. + +The savage looked at the children. Concealment was impossible. He +uttered a shout that was more like ‘Oo goggery bag-wag’ than anything +else the children had ever heard, and at once brown coppery people leapt +out of every hut, and swarmed like ants about the clearing. There was +no time for discussion, and no one wanted to discuss anything, anyhow. +Whether these coppery people were cannibals or not now seemed to matter +very little. + +Without an instant’s hesitation the four children turned and ran back +along the forest path; the only pause was Anthea’s. She stood back to +let Cyril pass, because he was carrying the Lamb, who screamed with +delight. (He had not whooping-coughed a single once since the carpet +landed him on the island.) + +‘Gee-up, Squirrel; gee-gee,’ he shouted, and Cyril did gee-up. The path +was a shorter cut to the beach than the creeper-covered way by which +they had come, and almost directly they saw through the trees the +shining blue-and-gold-and-opal of sand and sea. + +‘Stick to it,’ cried Cyril, breathlessly. + +They did stick to it; they tore down the sands--they could hear behind +them as they ran the patter of feet which they knew, too well, were +copper-coloured. + +The sands were golden and opal-coloured--and BARE. There were wreaths of +tropic seaweed, there were rich tropic shells of the kind you would not +buy in the Kentish Town Road under at least fifteen pence a pair. +There were turtles basking lumpily on the water’s edge--but no cook, no +clothes, and no carpet. + +‘On, on! Into the sea!’ gasped Cyril. ‘They MUST hate water. +I’ve--heard--savages always--dirty.’ + +Their feet were splashing in the warm shallows before his breathless +words were ended. The calm baby-waves were easy to go through. It is +warm work running for your life in the tropics, and the coolness of the +water was delicious. They were up to their arm-pits now, and Jane was up +to her chin. + +‘Look!’ said the Phoenix. ‘What are they pointing at?’ + +The children turned; and there, a little to the west was a head--a head +they knew, with a crooked cap upon it. It was the head of the cook. + +For some reason or other the savages had stopped at the water’s edge +and were all talking at the top of their voices, and all were pointing +copper-coloured fingers, stiff with interest and excitement, at the head +of the cook. + +The children hurried towards her as quickly as the water would let them. + +‘What on earth did you come out here for?’ Robert shouted; ‘and where on +earth’s the carpet?’ + +‘It’s not on earth, bless you,’ replied the cook, happily; ‘it’s UNDER +ME--in the water. I got a bit warm setting there in the sun, and I just +says, “I wish I was in a cold bath”--just like that--and next minute +here I was! It’s all part of the dream.’ + +Every one at once saw how extremely fortunate it was that the carpet had +had the sense to take the cook to the nearest and largest bath--the sea, +and how terrible it would have been if the carpet had taken itself and +her to the stuffy little bath-room of the house in Camden Town! + +‘Excuse me,’ said the Phoenix’s soft voice, breaking in on the general +sigh of relief, ‘but I think these brown people want your cook.’ + +‘To--to eat?’ whispered Jane, as well as she could through the water +which the plunging Lamb was dashing in her face with happy fat hands and +feet. + +‘Hardly,’ rejoined the bird. ‘Who wants cooks to EAT? Cooks are ENGAGED, +not eaten. They wish to engage her.’ + +‘How can you understand what they say?’ asked Cyril, doubtfully. + +‘It’s as easy as kissing your claw,’ replied the bird. ‘I speak and +understand ALL languages, even that of your cook, which is difficult and +unpleasing. It’s quite easy, when you know how it’s done. It just comes +to you. I should advise you to beach the carpet and land the cargo--the +cook, I mean. You can take my word for it, the copper-coloured ones will +not harm you now.’ + +It is impossible not to take the word of a Phoenix when it tells you +to. So the children at once got hold of the corners of the carpet, +and, pulling it from under the cook, towed it slowly in through the +shallowing water, and at last spread it on the sand. The cook, who had +followed, instantly sat down on it, and at once the copper-coloured +natives, now strangely humble, formed a ring round the carpet, and fell +on their faces on the rainbow-and-gold sand. The tallest savage spoke +in this position, which must have been very awkward for him; and Jane +noticed that it took him quite a long time to get the sand out of his +mouth afterwards. + +‘He says,’ the Phoenix remarked after some time, ‘that they wish to +engage your cook permanently.’ + +‘Without a character?’ asked Anthea, who had heard her mother speak of +such things. + +‘They do not wish to engage her as cook, but as queen; and queens need +not have characters.’ + +There was a breathless pause. + +‘WELL,’ said Cyril, ‘of all the choices! But there’s no accounting for +tastes.’ + +Every one laughed at the idea of the cook’s being engaged as queen; they +could not help it. + +‘I do not advise laughter,’ warned the Phoenix, ruffling out his golden +feathers, which were extremely wet. ‘And it’s not their own choice. It +seems that there is an ancient prophecy of this copper-coloured tribe +that a great queen should some day arise out of the sea with a white +crown on her head, and--and--well, you see! There’s the crown!’ + +It pointed its claw at cook’s cap; and a very dirty cap it was, because +it was the end of the week. + +‘That’s the white crown,’ it said; ‘at least, it’s nearly white--very +white indeed compared to the colour THEY are--and anyway, it’s quite +white enough.’ + +Cyril addressed the cook. ‘Look here!’ said he, ‘these brown people want +you to be their queen. They’re only savages, and they don’t know any +better. Now would you really like to stay? or, if you’ll promise not to +be so jolly aggravating at home, and not to tell any one a word about +to-day, we’ll take you back to Camden Town.’ + +‘No, you don’t,’ said the cook, in firm, undoubting tones. ‘I’ve always +wanted to be the Queen, God bless her! and I always thought what a good +one I should make; and now I’m going to. IF it’s only in a dream, it’s +well worth while. And I don’t go back to that nasty underground kitchen, +and me blamed for everything; that I don’t, not till the dream’s +finished and I wake up with that nasty bell a rang-tanging in my +ears--so I tell you.’ + +‘Are you SURE,’ Anthea anxiously asked the Phoenix, ‘that she will be +quite safe here?’ + +‘She will find the nest of a queen a very precious and soft thing,’ said +the bird, solemnly. + +‘There--you hear,’ said Cyril. ‘You’re in for a precious soft thing, +so mind you’re a good queen, cook. It’s more than you’d any right to +expect, but long may you reign.’ + +Some of the cook’s copper-coloured subjects now advanced from the forest +with long garlands of beautiful flowers, white and sweet-scented, and +hung them respectfully round the neck of their new sovereign. + +‘What! all them lovely bokays for me!’ exclaimed the enraptured cook. +‘Well, this here is something LIKE a dream, I must say.’ + +She sat up very straight on the carpet, and the copper-coloured ones, +themselves wreathed in garlands of the gayest flowers, madly stuck +parrot feathers in their hair and began to dance. It was a dance such as +you have never seen; it made the children feel almost sure that the +cook was right, and that they were all in a dream. Small, strange-shaped +drums were beaten, odd-sounding songs were sung, and the dance got +faster and faster and odder and odder, till at last all the dancers fell +on the sand tired out. + +The new queen, with her white crown-cap all on one side, clapped wildly. + +‘Brayvo!’ she cried, ‘brayvo! It’s better than the Albert Edward +Music-hall in the Kentish Town Road. Go it again!’ + +But the Phoenix would not translate this request into the +copper-coloured language; and when the savages had recovered their +breath, they implored their queen to leave her white escort and come +with them to their huts. + +‘The finest shall be yours, O queen,’ said they. + +‘Well--so long!’ said the cook, getting heavily on to her feet, when the +Phoenix had translated this request. ‘No more kitchens and attics for +me, thank you. I’m off to my royal palace, I am; and I only wish this +here dream would keep on for ever and ever.’ + +She picked up the ends of the garlands that trailed round her feet, +and the children had one last glimpse of her striped stockings and worn +elastic-side boots before she disappeared into the shadow of the forest, +surrounded by her dusky retainers, singing songs of rejoicing as they +went. + +‘WELL!’ said Cyril, ‘I suppose she’s all right, but they don’t seem to +count us for much, one way or the other.’ + +‘Oh,’ said the Phoenix, ‘they think you’re merely dreams. The prophecy +said that the queen would arise from the waves with a white crown and +surrounded by white dream-children. That’s about what they think YOU +are!’ + +‘And what about dinner?’ said Robert, abruptly. + +‘There won’t be any dinner, with no cook and no pudding-basin,’ Anthea +reminded him; ‘but there’s always bread-and-butter.’ + +‘Let’s get home,’ said Cyril. + +The Lamb was furiously unwishful to be dressed in his warm clothes +again, but Anthea and Jane managed it, by force disguised as coaxing, +and he never once whooping-coughed. + +Then every one put on its own warm things and took its place on the +carpet. + +A sound of uncouth singing still came from beyond the trees where the +copper-coloured natives were crooning songs of admiration and respect +to their white-crowned queen. Then Anthea said ‘Home,’ just as duchesses +and other people do to their coachmen, and the intelligent carpet in +one whirling moment laid itself down in its proper place on the nursery +floor. And at that very moment Eliza opened the door and said-- + +‘Cook’s gone! I can’t find her anywhere, and there’s no dinner ready. +She hasn’t taken her box nor yet her outdoor things. She just ran out to +see the time, I shouldn’t wonder--the kitchen clock never did give her +satisfaction--and she’s got run over or fell down in a fit as likely +as not. You’ll have to put up with the cold bacon for your dinners; and +what on earth you’ve got your outdoor things on for I don’t know. +And then I’ll slip out and see if they know anything about her at the +police-station.’ + +But nobody ever knew anything about the cook any more, except the +children, and, later, one other person. + + +Mother was so upset at losing the cook, and so anxious about her, that +Anthea felt most miserable, as though she had done something very wrong +indeed. She woke several times in the night, and at last decided that +she would ask the Phoenix to let her tell her mother all about it. But +there was no opportunity to do this next day, because the Phoenix, as +usual, had gone to sleep in some out-of-the-way spot, after asking, as a +special favour, not to be disturbed for twenty-four hours. + +The Lamb never whooping-coughed once all that Sunday, and mother and +father said what good medicine it was that the doctor had given him. But +the children knew that it was the southern shore where you can’t have +whooping-cough that had cured him. The Lamb babbled of coloured sand +and water, but no one took any notice of that. He often talked of things +that hadn’t happened. + +It was on Monday morning, very early indeed, that Anthea woke and +suddenly made up her mind. She crept downstairs in her night-gown (it +was very chilly), sat down on the carpet, and with a beating heart +wished herself on the sunny shore where you can’t have whooping-cough, +and next moment there she was. + +The sand was splendidly warm. She could feel it at once, even through +the carpet. She folded the carpet, and put it over her shoulders like +a shawl, for she was determined not to be parted from it for a single +instant, no matter how hot it might be to wear. + +Then trembling a little, and trying to keep up her courage by saying +over and over, ‘It is my DUTY, it IS my duty,’ she went up the forest +path. + +‘Well, here you are again,’ said the cook, directly she saw Anthea. + +‘This dream does keep on!’ + +The cook was dressed in a white robe; she had no shoes and stockings +and no cap and she was sitting under a screen of palm-leaves, for it was +afternoon in the island, and blazing hot. She wore a flower wreath +on her hair, and copper-coloured boys were fanning her with peacock’s +feathers. + +‘They’ve got the cap put away,’ she said. ‘They seem to think a lot of +it. Never saw one before, I expect.’ + +‘Are you happy?’ asked Anthea, panting; the sight of the cook as queen +quite took her breath away. + +‘I believe you, my dear,’ said the cook, heartily. ‘Nothing to do unless +you want to. But I’m getting rested now. Tomorrow I’m going to start +cleaning out my hut, if the dream keeps on, and I shall teach them +cooking; they burns everything to a cinder now unless they eats it raw.’ + +‘But can you talk to them?’ + +‘Lor’ love a duck, yes!’ the happy cook-queen replied; ‘it’s quite easy +to pick up. I always thought I should be quick at foreign languages. +I’ve taught them to understand “dinner,” and “I want a drink,” and “You +leave me be,” already.’ + +‘Then you don’t want anything?’ Anthea asked earnestly and anxiously. + +‘Not me, miss; except if you’d only go away. I’m afraid of me waking +up with that bell a-going if you keep on stopping here a-talking to me. +Long as this here dream keeps up I’m as happy as a queen.’ + +‘Goodbye, then,’ said Anthea, gaily, for her conscience was clear now. + +She hurried into the wood, threw herself on the ground, and said +‘Home’--and there she was, rolled in the carpet on the nursery floor. + +‘SHE’S all right, anyhow,’ said Anthea, and went back to bed. ‘I’m glad +somebody’s pleased. But mother will never believe me when I tell her.’ + +The story is indeed a little difficult to believe. Still, you might try. + + + +CHAPTER 4. TWO BAZAARS + + +Mother was really a great dear. She was pretty and she was loving, and +most frightfully good when you were ill, and always kind, and almost +always just. That is, she was just when she understood things. But +of course she did not always understand things. No one understands +everything, and mothers are not angels, though a good many of them come +pretty near it. The children knew that mother always WANTED to do what +was best for them, even if she was not clever enough to know exactly +what was the best. That was why all of them, but much more particularly +Anthea, felt rather uncomfortable at keeping the great secret from her +of the wishing carpet and the Phoenix. And Anthea, whose inside mind was +made so that she was able to be much more uncomfortable than the others, +had decided that she MUST tell her mother the truth, however little +likely it was that her mother would believe it. + +‘Then I shall have done what’s right,’ said she to the Phoenix; ‘and if +she doesn’t believe me it won’t be my fault--will it?’ + +‘Not in the least,’ said the golden bird. ‘And she won’t, so you’re +quite safe.’ + +Anthea chose a time when she was doing her home-lessons--they were +Algebra and Latin, German, English, and Euclid--and she asked her mother +whether she might come and do them in the drawing-room--‘so as to be +quiet,’ she said to her mother; and to herself she said, ‘And that’s not +the real reason. I hope I shan’t grow up a LIAR.’ + +Mother said, ‘Of course, dearie,’ and Anthea started swimming through +a sea of x’s and y’s and z’s. Mother was sitting at the mahogany bureau +writing letters. + +‘Mother dear,’ said Anthea. + +‘Yes, love-a-duck,’ said mother. + +‘About cook,’ said Anthea. ‘_I_ know where she is.’ + +‘Do you, dear?’ said mother. ‘Well, I wouldn’t take her back after the +way she has behaved.’ + +‘It’s not her fault,’ said Anthea. ‘May I tell you about it from the +beginning?’ + +Mother laid down her pen, and her nice face had a resigned expression. +As you know, a resigned expression always makes you want not to tell +anybody anything. + +‘It’s like this,’ said Anthea, in a hurry: ‘that egg, you know, that +came in the carpet; we put it in the fire and it hatched into the +Phoenix, and the carpet was a wishing carpet--and--’ + +‘A very nice game, darling,’ said mother, taking up her pen. ‘Now do +be quiet. I’ve got a lot of letters to write. I’m going to Bournemouth +to-morrow with the Lamb--and there’s that bazaar.’ + +Anthea went back to x y z, and mother’s pen scratched busily. + +‘But, mother,’ said Anthea, when mother put down the pen to lick an +envelope, ‘the carpet takes us wherever we like--and--’ + +‘I wish it would take you where you could get a few nice Eastern things +for my bazaar,’ said mother. ‘I promised them, and I’ve no time to go to +Liberty’s now.’ + +‘It shall,’ said Anthea, ‘but, mother--’ + +‘Well, dear,’ said mother, a little impatiently, for she had taken up +her pen again. + +‘The carpet took us to a place where you couldn’t have whooping-cough, +and the Lamb hasn’t whooped since, and we took cook because she was +so tiresome, and then she would stay and be queen of the savages. They +thought her cap was a crown, and--’ + +‘Darling one,’ said mother, ‘you know I love to hear the things you make +up--but I am most awfully busy.’ + +‘But it’s true,’ said Anthea, desperately. + +‘You shouldn’t say that, my sweet,’ said mother, gently. And then Anthea +knew it was hopeless. + +‘Are you going away for long?’ asked Anthea. + +‘I’ve got a cold,’ said mother, ‘and daddy’s anxious about it, and the +Lamb’s cough.’ + +‘He hasn’t coughed since Saturday,’ the Lamb’s eldest sister +interrupted. + +‘I wish I could think so,’ mother replied. ‘And daddy’s got to go to +Scotland. I do hope you’ll be good children.’ + +‘We will, we will,’ said Anthea, fervently. ‘When’s the bazaar?’ + +‘On Saturday,’ said mother, ‘at the schools. Oh, don’t talk any more, +there’s a treasure! My head’s going round, and I’ve forgotten how to +spell whooping-cough.’ + + +Mother and the Lamb went away, and father went away, and there was a new +cook who looked so like a frightened rabbit that no one had the heart to +do anything to frighten her any more than seemed natural to her. + +The Phoenix begged to be excused. It said it wanted a week’s rest, and +asked that it might not be disturbed. And it hid its golden gleaming +self, and nobody could find it. + +So that when Wednesday afternoon brought an unexpected holiday, and +every one decided to go somewhere on the carpet, the journey had to +be undertaken without the Phoenix. They were debarred from any carpet +excursions in the evening by a sudden promise to mother, exacted in the +agitation of parting, that they would not be out after six at night, +except on Saturday, when they were to go to the bazaar, and were pledged +to put on their best clothes, to wash themselves to the uttermost, and +to clean their nails--not with scissors, which are scratchy and bad, +but with flat-sharpened ends of wooden matches, which do no harm to any +one’s nails. + +‘Let’s go and see the Lamb,’ said Jane. + +But every one was agreed that if they appeared suddenly in Bournemouth +it would frighten mother out of her wits, if not into a fit. So they +sat on the carpet, and thought and thought and thought till they almost +began to squint. + +‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘I know. Please carpet, take us somewhere where +we can see the Lamb and mother and no one can see us.’ + +‘Except the Lamb,’ said Jane, quickly. + +And the next moment they found themselves recovering from the +upside-down movement--and there they were sitting on the carpet, and +the carpet was laid out over another thick soft carpet of brown +pine-needles. There were green pine-trees overhead, and a swift clear +little stream was running as fast as ever it could between steep +banks--and there, sitting on the pine-needle carpet, was mother, without +her hat; and the sun was shining brightly, although it was November--and +there was the Lamb, as jolly as jolly and not whooping at all. + +‘The carpet’s deceived us,’ said Robert, gloomily; ‘mother will see us +directly she turns her head.’ + +But the faithful carpet had not deceived them. + +Mother turned her dear head and looked straight at them, and DID NOT SEE +THEM! + +‘We’re invisible,’ Cyril whispered: ‘what awful larks!’ + +But to the girls it was not larks at all. It was horrible to have mother +looking straight at them, and her face keeping the same, just as though +they weren’t there. + +‘I don’t like it,’ said Jane. ‘Mother never looked at us like that +before. Just as if she didn’t love us--as if we were somebody else’s +children, and not very nice ones either--as if she didn’t care whether +she saw us or not.’ + +‘It is horrid,’ said Anthea, almost in tears. + +But at this moment the Lamb saw them, and plunged towards the carpet, +shrieking, ‘Panty, own Panty--an’ Pussy, an’ Squiggle--an’ Bobs, oh, +oh!’ + +Anthea caught him and kissed him, so did Jane; they could not help +it--he looked such a darling, with his blue three-cornered hat all on +one side, and his precious face all dirty--quite in the old familiar +way. + +‘I love you, Panty; I love you--and you, and you, and you,’ cried the +Lamb. + +It was a delicious moment. Even the boys thumped their baby brother +joyously on the back. + +Then Anthea glanced at mother--and mother’s face was a pale sea-green +colour, and she was staring at the Lamb as if she thought he had gone +mad. And, indeed, that was exactly what she did think. + +‘My Lamb, my precious! Come to mother,’ she cried, and jumped up and ran +to the baby. + +She was so quick that the invisible children had to leap back, or she +would have felt them; and to feel what you can’t see is the worst sort +of ghost-feeling. Mother picked up the Lamb and hurried away from the +pinewood. + +‘Let’s go home,’ said Jane, after a miserable silence. ‘It feels just +exactly as if mother didn’t love us.’ + +But they couldn’t bear to go home till they had seen mother meet another +lady, and knew that she was safe. You cannot leave your mother to go +green in the face in a distant pinewood, far from all human aid, and +then go home on your wishing carpet as though nothing had happened. + +When mother seemed safe the children returned to the carpet, and said +‘Home’--and home they went. + +‘I don’t care about being invisible myself,’ said Cyril, ‘at least, not +with my own family. It would be different if you were a prince, or a +bandit, or a burglar.’ + +And now the thoughts of all four dwelt fondly on the dear greenish face +of mother. + +‘I wish she hadn’t gone away,’ said Jane; ‘the house is simply beastly +without her.’ + +‘I think we ought to do what she said,’ Anthea put in. ‘I saw something +in a book the other day about the wishes of the departed being sacred.’ + +‘That means when they’ve departed farther off,’ said Cyril. ‘India’s +coral or Greenland’s icy, don’t you know; not Bournemouth. Besides, we +don’t know what her wishes are.’ + +‘She SAID’--Anthea was very much inclined to cry--‘she said, “Get Indian +things for my bazaar;” but I know she thought we couldn’t, and it was +only play.’ + +‘Let’s get them all the same,’ said Robert. ‘We’ll go the first thing on +Saturday morning.’ + +And on Saturday morning, the first thing, they went. + +There was no finding the Phoenix, so they sat on the beautiful wishing +carpet, and said-- + +‘We want Indian things for mother’s bazaar. Will you please take us +where people will give us heaps of Indian things?’ + +The docile carpet swirled their senses away, and restored them on the +outskirts of a gleaming white Indian town. They knew it was Indian at +once, by the shape of the domes and roofs; and besides, a man went by on +an elephant, and two English soldiers went along the road, talking like +in Mr Kipling’s books--so after that no one could have any doubt as to +where they were. They rolled up the carpet and Robert carried it, and +they walked bodily into the town. + +It was very warm, and once more they had to take off their +London-in-November coats, and carry them on their arms. + +The streets were narrow and strange, and the clothes of the people in +the streets were stranger and the talk of the people was strangest of +all. + +‘I can’t understand a word,’ said Cyril. ‘How on earth are we to ask for +things for our bazaar?’ + +‘And they’re poor people, too,’ said Jane; ‘I’m sure they are. What we +want is a rajah or something.’ + +Robert was beginning to unroll the carpet, but the others stopped him, +imploring him not to waste a wish. + +‘We asked the carpet to take us where we could get Indian things for +bazaars,’ said Anthea, ‘and it will.’ + +Her faith was justified. + +Just as she finished speaking a very brown gentleman in a turban came +up to them and bowed deeply. He spoke, and they thrilled to the sound of +English words. + +‘My ranee, she think you very nice childs. She asks do you lose +yourselves, and do you desire to sell carpet? She see you from her +palkee. You come see her--yes?’ + +They followed the stranger, who seemed to have a great many more teeth +in his smile than are usual, and he led them through crooked streets +to the ranee’s palace. I am not going to describe the ranee’s palace, +because I really have never seen the palace of a ranee, and Mr Kipling +has. So you can read about it in his books. But I know exactly what +happened there. + +The old ranee sat on a low-cushioned seat, and there were a lot of other +ladies with her--all in trousers and veils, and sparkling with tinsel +and gold and jewels. And the brown, turbaned gentleman stood behind a +sort of carved screen, and interpreted what the children said and what +the queen said. And when the queen asked to buy the carpet, the children +said ‘No.’ + +‘Why?’ asked the ranee. + +And Jane briefly said why, and the interpreter interpreted. The queen +spoke, and then the interpreter said-- + +‘My mistress says it is a good story, and you tell it all through +without thought of time.’ + +And they had to. It made a long story, especially as it had all to be +told twice--once by Cyril and once by the interpreter. Cyril rather +enjoyed himself. He warmed to his work, and told the tale of the Phoenix +and the Carpet, and the Lone Tower, and the Queen-Cook, in language that +grew insensibly more and more Arabian Nightsy, and the ranee and her +ladies listened to the interpreter, and rolled about on their fat +cushions with laughter. + +When the story was ended she spoke, and the interpreter explained that +she had said, ‘Little one, thou art a heaven-born teller of tales,’ and +she threw him a string of turquoises from round her neck. + +‘OH, how lovely!’ cried Jane and Anthea. + +Cyril bowed several times, and then cleared his throat and said-- + +‘Thank her very, very much; but I would much rather she gave me some of +the cheap things in the bazaar. Tell her I want them to sell again, and +give the money to buy clothes for poor people who haven’t any.’ + +‘Tell him he has my leave to sell my gift and clothe the naked with its +price,’ said the queen, when this was translated. + +But Cyril said very firmly, ‘No, thank you. The things have got to be +sold to-day at our bazaar, and no one would buy a turquoise necklace at +an English bazaar. They’d think it was sham, or else they’d want to know +where we got it.’ + +So then the queen sent out for little pretty things, and her servants +piled the carpet with them. + +‘I must needs lend you an elephant to carry them away,’ she said, +laughing. + +But Anthea said, ‘If the queen will lend us a comb and let us wash our +hands and faces, she shall see a magic thing. We and the carpet and all +these brass trays and pots and carved things and stuffs and things will +just vanish away like smoke.’ + +The queen clapped her hands at this idea, and lent the children a +sandal-wood comb inlaid with ivory lotus-flowers. And they washed their +faces and hands in silver basins. Then Cyril made a very polite farewell +speech, and quite suddenly he ended with the words-- + +‘And I wish we were at the bazaar at our schools.’ + +And of course they were. And the queen and her ladies were left with +their mouths open, gazing at the bare space on the inlaid marble floor +where the carpet and the children had been. + +‘That is magic, if ever magic was!’ said the queen, delighted with the +incident; which, indeed, has given the ladies of that court something to +talk about on wet days ever since. + +Cyril’s stories had taken some time, so had the meal of strange sweet +foods that they had had while the little pretty things were being +bought, and the gas in the schoolroom was already lighted. Outside, the +winter dusk was stealing down among the Camden Town houses. + +‘I’m glad we got washed in India,’ said Cyril. ‘We should have been +awfully late if we’d had to go home and scrub.’ + +‘Besides,’ Robert said, ‘it’s much warmer washing in India. I shouldn’t +mind it so much if we lived there.’ + +The thoughtful carpet had dumped the children down in a dusky space +behind the point where the corners of two stalls met. The floor was +littered with string and brown paper, and baskets and boxes were heaped +along the wall. + +The children crept out under a stall covered with all sorts of +table-covers and mats and things, embroidered beautifully by idle +ladies with no real work to do. They got out at the end, displacing a +sideboard-cloth adorned with a tasteful pattern of blue geraniums. The +girls got out unobserved, so did Cyril; but Robert, as he cautiously +emerged, was actually walked on by Mrs Biddle, who kept the stall. Her +large, solid foot stood firmly on the small, solid hand of Robert and +who can blame Robert if he DID yell a little? + +A crowd instantly collected. Yells are very unusual at bazaars, and +every one was intensely interested. It was several seconds before the +three free children could make Mrs Biddle understand that what she +was walking on was not a schoolroom floor, or even, as she presently +supposed, a dropped pin-cushion, but the living hand of a suffering +child. When she became aware that she really had hurt him, she grew very +angry indeed. When people have hurt other people by accident, the one +who does the hurting is always much the angriest. I wonder why. + +‘I’m very sorry, I’m sure,’ said Mrs Biddle; but she spoke more in anger +than in sorrow. ‘Come out! whatever do you mean by creeping about under +the stalls, like earwigs?’ + +‘We were looking at the things in the corner.’ + +‘Such nasty, prying ways,’ said Mrs Biddle, ‘will never make you +successful in life. There’s nothing there but packing and dust.’ + +‘Oh, isn’t there!’ said Jane. ‘That’s all you know.’ + +‘Little girl, don’t be rude,’ said Mrs Biddle, flushing violet. + +‘She doesn’t mean to be; but there ARE some nice things there, all the +same,’ said Cyril; who suddenly felt how impossible it was to inform the +listening crowd that all the treasures piled on the carpet were mother’s +contributions to the bazaar. No one would believe it; and if they did, +and wrote to thank mother, she would think--well, goodness only knew +what she would think. The other three children felt the same. + +‘I should like to see them,’ said a very nice lady, whose friends +had disappointed her, and who hoped that these might be belated +contributions to her poorly furnished stall. + +She looked inquiringly at Robert, who said, ‘With pleasure, don’t +mention it,’ and dived back under Mrs Biddle’s stall. + +‘I wonder you encourage such behaviour,’ said Mrs Biddle. ‘I always +speak my mind, as you know, Miss Peasmarsh; and, I must say, I am +surprised.’ She turned to the crowd. ‘There is no entertainment here,’ +she said sternly. ‘A very naughty little boy has accidentally hurt +himself, but only slightly. Will you please disperse? It will only +encourage him in naughtiness if he finds himself the centre of +attraction.’ + +The crowd slowly dispersed. Anthea, speechless with fury, heard a nice +curate say, ‘Poor little beggar!’ and loved the curate at once and for +ever. + +Then Robert wriggled out from under the stall with some Benares brass +and some inlaid sandalwood boxes. + +‘Liberty!’ cried Miss Peasmarsh. ‘Then Charles has not forgotten, after +all.’ + +‘Excuse me,’ said Mrs Biddle, with fierce politeness, ‘these objects are +deposited behind MY stall. Some unknown donor who does good by stealth, +and would blush if he could hear you claim the things. Of course they +are for me.’ + +‘My stall touches yours at the corner,’ said poor Miss Peasmarsh, +timidly, ‘and my cousin did promise--’ + +The children sidled away from the unequal contest and mingled with +the crowd. Their feelings were too deep for words--till at last Robert +said-- + +‘That stiff-starched PIG!’ + +‘And after all our trouble! I’m hoarse with gassing to that trousered +lady in India.’ + +‘The pig-lady’s very, very nasty,’ said Jane. + +It was Anthea who said, in a hurried undertone, ‘She isn’t very nice, +and Miss Peasmarsh is pretty and nice too. Who’s got a pencil?’ + +It was a long crawl, under three stalls, but Anthea did it. A large +piece of pale blue paper lay among the rubbish in the corner. + +She folded it to a square and wrote upon it, licking the pencil at every +word to make it mark quite blackly: ‘All these Indian things are for +pretty, nice Miss Peasmarsh’s stall.’ She thought of adding, ‘There is +nothing for Mrs Biddle;’ but she saw that this might lead to suspicion, +so she wrote hastily: ‘From an unknown donna,’ and crept back among the +boards and trestles to join the others. + +So that when Mrs Biddle appealed to the bazaar committee, and the corner +of the stall was lifted and shifted, so that stout clergymen and heavy +ladies could get to the corner without creeping under stalls, the blue +paper was discovered, and all the splendid, shining Indian things were +given over to Miss Peasmarsh, and she sold them all, and got thirty-five +pounds for them. + +‘I don’t understand about that blue paper,’ said Mrs Biddle. ‘It looks +to me like the work of a lunatic. And saying you were nice and pretty! +It’s not the work of a sane person.’ + +Anthea and Jane begged Miss Peasmarsh to let them help her to sell the +things, because it was their brother who had announced the good news +that the things had come. Miss Peasmarsh was very willing, for now her +stall, that had been SO neglected, was surrounded by people who wanted +to buy, and she was glad to be helped. The children noted that Mrs +Biddle had not more to do in the way of selling than she could manage +quite well. I hope they were not glad--for you should forgive your +enemies, even if they walk on your hands and then say it is all your +naughty fault. But I am afraid they were not so sorry as they ought to +have been. + +It took some time to arrange the things on the stall. The carpet was +spread over it, and the dark colours showed up the brass and silver and +ivory things. It was a happy and busy afternoon, and when Miss Peasmarsh +and the girls had sold every single one of the little pretty things from +the Indian bazaar, far, far away, Anthea and Jane went off with the +boys to fish in the fishpond, and dive into the bran-pie, and hear the +cardboard band, and the phonograph, and the chorus of singing birds that +was done behind a screen with glass tubes and glasses of water. + +They had a beautiful tea, suddenly presented to them by the nice curate, +and Miss Peasmarsh joined them before they had had more than three cakes +each. It was a merry party, and the curate was extremely pleasant to +every one, ‘even to Miss Peasmarsh,’ as Jane said afterwards. + +‘We ought to get back to the stall,’ said Anthea, when no one could +possibly eat any more, and the curate was talking in a low voice to Miss +Peas marsh about ‘after Easter’. + +‘There’s nothing to go back for,’ said Miss Peasmarsh gaily; ‘thanks to +you dear children we’ve sold everything.’ + +‘There--there’s the carpet,’ said Cyril. + +‘Oh,’ said Miss Peasmarsh, radiantly, ‘don’t bother about the carpet. +I’ve sold even that. Mrs Biddle gave me ten shillings for it. She said +it would do for her servant’s bedroom.’ + +‘Why,’ said Jane, ‘her servants don’t HAVE carpets. We had cook from +her, and she told us so.’ + +‘No scandal about Queen Elizabeth, if YOU please,’ said the curate, +cheerfully; and Miss Peasmarsh laughed, and looked at him as though she +had never dreamed that any one COULD be so amusing. But the others were +struck dumb. How could they say, ‘The carpet is ours!’ For who brings +carpets to bazaars? + +The children were now thoroughly wretched. But I am glad to say that +their wretchedness did not make them forget their manners, as it does +sometimes, even with grown-up people, who ought to know ever so much +better. + +They said, ‘Thank you very much for the jolly tea,’ and ‘Thanks for +being so jolly,’ and ‘Thanks awfully for giving us such a jolly time;’ +for the curate had stood fish-ponds, and bran-pies, and phonographs, and +the chorus of singing birds, and had stood them like a man. The girls +hugged Miss Peasmarsh, and as they went away they heard the curate say-- + +‘Jolly little kids, yes, but what about--you will let it be directly +after Easter. Ah, do say you will--’ + +And Jane ran back and said, before Anthea could drag her away, ‘What are +you going to do after Easter?’ + +Miss Peasmarsh smiled and looked very pretty indeed. And the curate +said-- + +‘I hope I am going to take a trip to the Fortunate Islands.’ + +‘I wish we could take you on the wishing carpet,’ said Jane. + +‘Thank you,’ said the curate, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t wait for that. I +must go to the Fortunate Islands before they make me a bishop. I should +have no time afterwards.’ + +‘I’ve always thought I should marry a bishop,’ said Jane: ‘his aprons +would come in so useful. Wouldn’t YOU like to marry a bishop, Miss +Peasmarsh?’ + +It was then that they dragged her away. + +As it was Robert’s hand that Mrs Biddle had walked on, it was decided +that he had better not recall the incident to her mind, and so make +her angry again. Anthea and Jane had helped to sell things at the rival +stall, so they were not likely to be popular. + +A hasty council of four decided that Mrs Biddle would hate Cyril less +than she would hate the others, so the others mingled with the crowd, +and it was he who said to her-- + +‘Mrs Biddle, WE meant to have that carpet. Would you sell it to us? We +would give you--’ + +‘Certainly not,’ said Mrs Biddle. ‘Go away, little boy.’ + +There was that in her tone which showed Cyril, all too plainly, the +hopelessness of persuasion. He found the others and said-- + +‘It’s no use; she’s like a lioness robbed of its puppies. We must watch +where it goes--and--Anthea, I don’t care what you say. It’s our own +carpet. It wouldn’t be burglary. It would be a sort of forlorn hope +rescue party--heroic and daring and dashing, and not wrong at all.’ + +The children still wandered among the gay crowd--but there was no +pleasure there for them any more. The chorus of singing birds sounded +just like glass tubes being blown through water, and the phonograph +simply made a horrid noise, so that you could hardly hear yourself +speak. And the people were buying things they couldn’t possibly want, +and it all seemed very stupid. And Mrs Biddle had bought the wishing +carpet for ten shillings. And the whole of life was sad and grey and +dusty, and smelt of slight gas escapes, and hot people, and cake and +crumbs, and all the children were very tired indeed. + +They found a corner within sight of the carpet, and there they waited +miserably, till it was far beyond their proper bedtime. And when it was +ten the people who had bought things went away, but the people who had +been selling stayed to count up their money. + +‘And to jaw about it,’ said Robert. ‘I’ll never go to another bazaar as +long as ever I live. My hand is swollen as big as a pudding. I expect +the nails in her horrible boots were poisoned.’ + +Just then some one who seemed to have a right to interfere said-- + +‘Everything is over now; you had better go home.’ + +So they went. And then they waited on the pavement under the gas lamp, +where ragged children had been standing all the evening to listen to +the band, and their feet slipped about in the greasy mud till Mrs Biddle +came out and was driven away in a cab with the many things she hadn’t +sold, and the few things she had bought--among others the carpet. The +other stall-holders left their things at the school till Monday morning, +but Mrs Biddle was afraid some one would steal some of them, so she took +them in a cab. + +The children, now too desperate to care for mud or appearances, hung +on behind the cab till it reached Mrs Biddle’s house. When she and the +carpet had gone in and the door was shut Anthea said-- + +‘Don’t let’s burgle--I mean do daring and dashing rescue acts--till +we’ve given her a chance. Let’s ring and ask to see her.’ + +The others hated to do this, but at last they agreed, on condition that +Anthea would not make any silly fuss about the burglary afterwards, if +it really had to come to that. + +So they knocked and rang, and a scared-looking parlourmaid opened the +front door. While they were asking for Mrs Biddle they saw her. She was +in the dining-room, and she had already pushed back the table and spread +out the carpet to see how it looked on the floor. + +‘I knew she didn’t want it for her servants’ bedroom,’ Jane muttered. + +Anthea walked straight past the uncomfortable parlourmaid, and the +others followed her. Mrs Biddle had her back to them, and was smoothing +down the carpet with the same boot that had trampled on the hand +of Robert. So that they were all in the room, and Cyril, with great +presence of mind, had shut the room door before she saw them. + +‘Who is it, Jane?’ she asked in a sour voice; and then turning suddenly, +she saw who it was. Once more her face grew violet--a deep, dark violet. +‘You wicked daring little things!’ she cried, ‘how dare you come here? +At this time of night, too. Be off, or I’ll send for the police.’ + +‘Don’t be angry,’ said Anthea, soothingly, ‘we only wanted to ask you +to let us have the carpet. We have quite twelve shillings between us, +and--’ + +‘How DARE you?’ cried Mrs Biddle, and her voice shook with angriness. + +‘You do look horrid,’ said Jane suddenly. + +Mrs Biddle actually stamped that booted foot of hers. ‘You rude, +barefaced child!’ she said. + +Anthea almost shook Jane; but Jane pushed forward in spite of her. + +‘It really IS our nursery carpet,’ she said, ‘you ask ANY ONE if it +isn’t.’ + +‘Let’s wish ourselves home,’ said Cyril in a whisper. + +‘No go,’ Robert whispered back, ‘she’d be there too, and raving mad as +likely as not. Horrid thing, I hate her!’ + +‘I wish Mrs Biddle was in an angelic good temper,’ cried Anthea, +suddenly. ‘It’s worth trying,’ she said to herself. + +Mrs Biddle’s face grew from purple to violet, and from violet to mauve, +and from mauve to pink. Then she smiled quite a jolly smile. + +‘Why, so I am!’ she said, ‘what a funny idea! Why shouldn’t I be in a +good temper, my dears.’ + +Once more the carpet had done its work, and not on Mrs Biddle alone. The +children felt suddenly good and happy. + +‘You’re a jolly good sort,’ said Cyril. ‘I see that now. I’m sorry we +vexed you at the bazaar to-day.’ + +‘Not another word,’ said the changed Mrs Biddle. ‘Of course you shall +have the carpet, my dears, if you’ve taken such a fancy to it. No, no; I +won’t have more than the ten shillings I paid.’ + +‘It does seem hard to ask you for it after you bought it at the bazaar,’ +said Anthea; ‘but it really IS our nursery carpet. It got to the bazaar +by mistake, with some other things.’ + +‘Did it really, now? How vexing!’ said Mrs Biddle, kindly. ‘Well, my +dears, I can very well give the extra ten shillings; so you take your +carpet and we’ll say no more about it. Have a piece of cake before you +go! I’m so sorry I stepped on your hand, my boy. Is it all right now?’ + +‘Yes, thank you,’ said Robert. ‘I say, you ARE good.’ + +‘Not at all,’ said Mrs Biddle, heartily. ‘I’m delighted to be able to +give any little pleasure to you dear children.’ + +And she helped them to roll up the carpet, and the boys carried it away +between them. + +‘You ARE a dear,’ said Anthea, and she and Mrs Biddle kissed each other +heartily. + + +‘WELL!’ said Cyril as they went along the street. + +‘Yes,’ said Robert, ‘and the odd part is that you feel just as if it +was REAL--her being so jolly, I mean--and not only the carpet making her +nice.’ + +‘Perhaps it IS real,’ said Anthea, ‘only it was covered up with +crossness and tiredness and things, and the carpet took them away.’ + +‘I hope it’ll keep them away,’ said Jane; ‘she isn’t ugly at all when +she laughs.’ + +The carpet has done many wonders in its day; but the case of Mrs +Biddle is, I think, the most wonderful. For from that day she was never +anything like so disagreeable as she was before, and she sent a lovely +silver tea-pot and a kind letter to Miss Peasmarsh when the pretty lady +married the nice curate; just after Easter it was, and they went to +Italy for their honeymoon. + + + +CHAPTER 5. THE TEMPLE + + +‘I wish we could find the Phoenix,’ said Jane. ‘It’s much better company +than the carpet.’ + +‘Beastly ungrateful, little kids are,’ said Cyril. + +‘No, I’m not; only the carpet never says anything, and it’s so helpless. +It doesn’t seem able to take care of itself. It gets sold, and taken +into the sea, and things like that. You wouldn’t catch the Phoenix +getting sold.’ + +It was two days after the bazaar. Every one was a little cross--some +days are like that, usually Mondays, by the way. And this was a Monday. + +‘I shouldn’t wonder if your precious Phoenix had gone off for good,’ +said Cyril; ‘and I don’t know that I blame it. Look at the weather!’ + +‘It’s not worth looking at,’ said Robert. And indeed it wasn’t. + +‘The Phoenix hasn’t gone--I’m sure it hasn’t,’ said Anthea. ‘I’ll have +another look for it.’ + +Anthea looked under tables and chairs, and in boxes and baskets, in +mother’s work-bag and father’s portmanteau, but still the Phoenix showed +not so much as the tip of one shining feather. + +Then suddenly Robert remembered how the whole of the Greek invocation +song of seven thousand lines had been condensed by him into one English +hexameter, so he stood on the carpet and chanted-- + + ‘Oh, come along, come along, you good old beautiful Phoenix,’ + +and almost at once there was a rustle of wings down the kitchen stairs, +and the Phoenix sailed in on wide gold wings. + +‘Where on earth HAVE you been?’ asked Anthea. ‘I’ve looked everywhere +for you.’ + +‘Not EVERYWHERE,’ replied the bird, ‘because you did not look in the +place where I was. Confess that that hallowed spot was overlooked by +you.’ + +‘WHAT hallowed spot?’ asked Cyril, a little impatiently, for time was +hastening on, and the wishing carpet still idle. + +‘The spot,’ said the Phoenix, ‘which I hallowed by my golden presence +was the Lutron.’ + +‘The WHAT?’ + +‘The bath--the place of washing.’ + +‘I’m sure you weren’t,’ said Jane. ‘I looked there three times and moved +all the towels.’ + +‘I was concealed,’ said the Phoenix, ‘on the summit of a metal +column--enchanted, I should judge, for it felt warm to my golden toes, +as though the glorious sun of the desert shone ever upon it.’ + +‘Oh, you mean the cylinder,’ said Cyril: ‘it HAS rather a comforting +feel, this weather. And now where shall we go?’ + +And then, of course, the usual discussion broke out as to where they +should go and what they should do. And naturally, every one wanted to do +something that the others did not care about. + +‘I am the eldest,’ Cyril remarked, ‘let’s go to the North Pole.’ + +‘This weather! Likely!’ Robert rejoined. ‘Let’s go to the Equator.’ + +‘I think the diamond mines of Golconda would be nice,’ said Anthea; +‘don’t you agree, Jane?’ + +‘No, I don’t,’ retorted Jane, ‘I don’t agree with you. I don’t agree +with anybody.’ + +The Phoenix raised a warning claw. + +‘If you cannot agree among yourselves, I fear I shall have to leave +you,’ it said. + +‘Well, where shall we go? You decide!’ said all. + +‘If I were you,’ said the bird, thoughtfully, ‘I should give the carpet +a rest. Besides, you’ll lose the use of your legs if you go everywhere +by carpet. Can’t you take me out and explain your ugly city to me?’ + +‘We will if it clears up,’ said Robert, without enthusiasm. ‘Just look +at the rain. And why should we give the carpet a rest?’ + +‘Are you greedy and grasping, and heartless and selfish?’ asked the +bird, sharply. + +‘NO!’ said Robert, with indignation. + +‘Well then!’ said the Phoenix. ‘And as to the rain--well, I am not fond +of rain myself. If the sun knew _I_ was here--he’s very fond of shining +on me because I look so bright and golden. He always says I repay a +little attention. Haven’t you some form of words suitable for use in wet +weather?’ + +‘There’s “Rain, rain, go away,”’ said Anthea; ‘but it never DOES go.’ + +‘Perhaps you don’t say the invocation properly,’ said the bird. + + ‘Rain, rain, go away, + Come again another day, + Little baby wants to play,’ + +said Anthea. + +‘That’s quite wrong; and if you say it in that sort of dull way, I can +quite understand the rain not taking any notice. You should open the +window and shout as loud as you can-- + + ‘Rain, rain, go away, + Come again another day; + Now we want the sun, and so, + Pretty rain, be kind and go! + +‘You should always speak politely to people when you want them to do +things, and especially when it’s going away that you want them to do. +And to-day you might add-- + + ‘Shine, great sun, the lovely Phoe- + Nix is here, and wants to be + Shone on, splendid sun, by thee!’ + +‘That’s poetry!’ said Cyril, decidedly. + +‘It’s like it,’ said the more cautious Robert. + +‘I was obliged to put in “lovely”,’ said the Phoenix, modestly, ‘to make +the line long enough.’ + +‘There are plenty of nasty words just that length,’ said Jane; but every +one else said ‘Hush!’ And then they opened the window and shouted the +seven lines as loud as they could, and the Phoenix said all the words +with them, except ‘lovely’, and when they came to that it looked down +and coughed bashfully. + +The rain hesitated a moment and then went away. + +‘There’s true politeness,’ said the Phoenix, and the next moment it was +perched on the window-ledge, opening and shutting its radiant wings and +flapping out its golden feathers in such a flood of glorious sunshine as +you sometimes have at sunset in autumn time. People said afterwards that +there had not been such sunshine in December for years and years and +years. + +‘And now,’ said the bird, ‘we will go out into the city, and you shall +take me to see one of my temples.’ + +‘Your temples?’ + +‘I gather from the carpet that I have many temples in this land.’ + +‘I don’t see how you CAN find anything out from it,’ said Jane: ‘it +never speaks.’ + +‘All the same, you can pick up things from a carpet,’ said the bird; +‘I’ve seen YOU do it. And I have picked up several pieces of information +in this way. That papyrus on which you showed me my picture--I +understand that it bears on it the name of the street of your city in +which my finest temple stands, with my image graved in stone and in +metal over against its portal.’ + +‘You mean the fire insurance office,’ said Robert. ‘It’s not really a +temple, and they don’t--’ + +‘Excuse me,’ said the Phoenix, coldly, ‘you are wholly misinformed. It +IS a temple, and they do.’ + +‘Don’t let’s waste the sunshine,’ said Anthea; ‘we might argue as we go +along, to save time.’ + +So the Phoenix consented to make itself a nest in the breast of Robert’s +Norfolk jacket, and they all went out into the splendid sunshine. The +best way to the temple of the Phoenix seemed to be to take the tram, and +on the top of it the children talked, while the Phoenix now and then +put out a wary beak, cocked a cautious eye, and contradicted what the +children were saying. + +It was a delicious ride, and the children felt how lucky they were to +have had the money to pay for it. They went with the tram as far as it +went, and when it did not go any farther they stopped too, and got off. +The tram stops at the end of the Gray’s Inn Road, and it was Cyril +who thought that one might well find a short cut to the Phoenix Office +through the little streets and courts that lie tightly packed between +Fetter Lane and Ludgate Circus. Of course, he was quite mistaken, as +Robert told him at the time, and afterwards Robert did not forbear to +remind his brother how he had said so. The streets there were small +and stuffy and ugly, and crowded with printers’ boys and binders’ girls +coming out from work; and these stared so hard at the pretty red coats +and caps of the sisters that they wished they had gone some other way. +And the printers and binders made very personal remarks, advising Jane +to get her hair cut, and inquiring where Anthea had bought that hat. +Jane and Anthea scorned to reply, and Cyril and Robert found that they +were hardly a match for the rough crowd. They could think of nothing +nasty enough to say. They turned a corner sharply, and then Anthea +pulled Jane into an archway, and then inside a door; Cyril and Robert +quickly followed, and the jeering crowd passed by without seein them. + +Anthea drew a long breath. + +‘How awful!’ she said. ‘I didn’t know there were such people, except in +books.’ + +‘It was a bit thick; but it’s partly you girls’ fault, coming out in +those flashy coats.’ + +‘We thought we ought to, when we were going out with the Phoenix,’ said +Jane; and the bird said, ‘Quite right, too’--and incautiously put out +his head to give her a wink of encouragement. + +And at the same instant a dirty hand reached through the grim balustrade +of the staircase beside them and clutched the Phoenix, and a hoarse +voice said-- + +‘I say, Urb, blowed if this ain’t our Poll parrot what we lost. Thank +you very much, lidy, for bringin’ ‘im home to roost.’ + +The four turned swiftly. Two large and ragged boys were crouched amid +the dark shadows of the stairs. They were much larger than Robert and +Cyril, and one of them had snatched the Phoenix away and was holding it +high above their heads. + +‘Give me that bird,’ said Cyril, sternly: ‘it’s ours.’ + +‘Good arternoon, and thankin’ you,’ the boy went on, with maddening +mockery. ‘Sorry I can’t give yer tuppence for yer trouble--but I’ve +‘ad to spend my fortune advertising for my vallyable bird in all the +newspapers. You can call for the reward next year.’ + +‘Look out, Ike,’ said his friend, a little anxiously; ‘it ‘ave a beak on +it.’ + +‘It’s other parties as’ll have the Beak on to ‘em presently,’ said Ike, +darkly, ‘if they come a-trying to lay claims on my Poll parrot. You just +shut up, Urb. Now then, you four little gells, get out er this.’ + +‘Little girls!’ cried Robert. ‘I’ll little girl you!’ + +He sprang up three stairs and hit out. + +There was a squawk--the most bird-like noise any one had ever heard +from the Phoenix--and a fluttering, and a laugh in the darkness, and Ike +said-- + +‘There now, you’ve been and gone and strook my Poll parrot right in the +fevvers--strook ‘im something crool, you ‘ave.’ + +Robert stamped with fury. Cyril felt himself growing pale with rage, +and with the effort of screwing up his brain to make it clever enough to +think of some way of being even with those boys. Anthea and Jane were as +angry as the boys, but it made them want to cry. Yet it was Anthea who +said-- + +‘Do, PLEASE, let us have the bird.’ + +‘Dew, PLEASE, get along and leave us an’ our bird alone.’ + +‘If you don’t,’ said Anthea, ‘I shall fetch the police.’ + +‘You better!’ said he who was named Urb. ‘Say, Ike, you twist the +bloomin’ pigeon’s neck; he ain’t worth tuppence.’ + +‘Oh, no,’ cried Jane, ‘don’t hurt it. Oh, don’t; it is such a pet.’ + +‘I won’t hurt it,’ said Ike; ‘I’m ‘shamed of you, Urb, for to think of +such a thing. Arf a shiner, miss, and the bird is yours for life.’ + +‘Half a WHAT?’ asked Anthea. + +‘Arf a shiner, quid, thick ‘un--half a sov, then.’ + +‘I haven’t got it--and, besides, it’s OUR bird,’ said Anthea. + +‘Oh, don’t talk to him,’ said Cyril and then Jane said suddenly-- + +‘Phoenix--dear Phoenix, we can’t do anything. YOU must manage it.’ + +‘With pleasure,’ said the Phoenix--and Ike nearly dropped it in his +amazement. + +‘I say, it do talk, suthin’ like,’ said he. + +‘Youths,’ said the Phoenix, ‘sons of misfortune, hear my words.’ + +‘My eyes!’ said Ike. + +‘Look out, Ike,’ said Urb, ‘you’ll throttle the joker--and I see at +wunst ‘e was wuth ‘is weight in flimsies.’00 + +‘Hearken, O Eikonoclastes, despiser of sacred images--and thou, Urbanus, +dweller in the sordid city. Forbear this adventure lest a worse thing +befall.’ + +‘Luv’ us!’ said Ike, ‘ain’t it been taught its schoolin’ just!’ + +‘Restore me to my young acolytes and escape unscathed. Retain me--and--’ + +‘They must ha’ got all this up, case the Polly got pinched,’ said Ike. +‘Lor’ lumme, the artfulness of them young uns!’ + +‘I say, slosh ‘em in the geseech and get clear off with the swag’s wot I +say,’ urged Herbert. + +‘Right O,’ said Isaac. + +‘Forbear,’ repeated the Phoenix, sternly. ‘Who pinched the click off of +the old bloke in Aldermanbury?’ it added, in a changed tone. + +‘Who sneaked the nose-rag out of the young gell’s ‘and in Bell Court? +Who--’ + +‘Stow it,’ said Ike. ‘You! ugh! yah!--leave go of me. Bash him off, Urb; +‘e’ll have my bloomin’ eyes outer my ed.’ + +There were howls, a scuffle, a flutter; Ike and Urb fled up the stairs, +and the Phoenix swept out through the doorway. The children followed and +the Phoenix settled on Robert, ‘like a butterfly on a rose,’ as Anthea +said afterwards, and wriggled into the breast of his Norfolk jacket, +‘like an eel into mud,’ as Cyril later said. + +‘Why ever didn’t you burn him? You could have, couldn’t you?’ asked +Robert, when the hurried flight through the narrow courts had ended in +the safe wideness of Farringdon Street. + +‘I could have, of course,’ said the bird, ‘but I didn’t think it would +be dignified to allow myself to get warm about a little thing like that. +The Fates, after all, have not been illiberal to me. I have a good many +friends among the London sparrows, and I have a beak and claws.’ + +These happenings had somewhat shaken the adventurous temper of the +children, and the Phoenix had to exert its golden self to hearten them +up. + +Presently the children came to a great house in Lombard Street, and +there, on each side of the door, was the image of the Phoenix carved in +stone, and set forth on shining brass were the words-- + + PHOENIX FIRE OFFICE + + +‘One moment,’ said the bird. ‘Fire? For altars, I suppose?’ + +‘_I_ don’t know,’ said Robert; he was beginning to feel shy, and that +always made him rather cross. + +‘Oh, yes, you do,’ Cyril contradicted. ‘When people’s houses are burnt +down the Phoenix gives them new houses. Father told me; I asked him.’ + +‘The house, then, like the Phoenix, rises from its ashes? Well have my +priests dealt with the sons of men!’ + +‘The sons of men pay, you know,’ said Anthea; ‘but it’s only a little +every year.’ + +‘That is to maintain my priests,’ said the bird, ‘who, in the hour of +affliction, heal sorrows and rebuild houses. Lead on; inquire for the +High Priest. I will not break upon them too suddenly in all my glory. +Noble and honour-deserving are they who make as nought the evil deeds of +the lame-footed and unpleasing Hephaestus.’ + +‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I wish you wouldn’t muddle +us with new names. Fire just happens. Nobody does it--not as a deed, +you know,’ Cyril explained. ‘If they did the Phoenix wouldn’t help them, +because its a crime to set fire to things. Arsenic, or something they +call it, because it’s as bad as poisoning people. The Phoenix wouldn’t +help THEM--father told me it wouldn’t.’ + +‘My priests do well,’ said the Phoenix. ‘Lead on.’ + +‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Cyril; and the Others said the same. + +‘Ask for the High Priest,’ said the Phoenix. ‘Say that you have a +secret to unfold that concerns my worship, and he will lead you to the +innermost sanctuary.’ + +So the children went in, all four of them, though they didn’t like it, +and stood in a large and beautiful hall adorned with Doulton tiles, +like a large and beautiful bath with no water in it, and stately pillars +supporting the roof. An unpleasing representation of the Phoenix in +brown pottery disfigured one wall. There were counters and desks of +mahogany and brass, and clerks bent over the desks and walked behind the +counters. There was a great clock over an inner doorway. + +‘Inquire for the High Priest,’ whispered the Phoenix. + +An attentive clerk in decent black, who controlled his mouth but not his +eyebrows, now came towards them. He leaned forward on the counter, and +the children thought he was going to say, ‘What can I have the pleasure +of showing you?’ like in a draper’s; instead of which the young man +said-- + +‘And what do YOU want?’ + +‘We want to see the High Priest.’ + +‘Get along with you,’ said the young man. + +An elder man, also decent in black coat, advanced. + +‘Perhaps it’s Mr Blank’ (not for worlds would I give the name). ‘He’s a +Masonic High Priest, you know.’ + +A porter was sent away to look for Mr Asterisk (I cannot give his name), +and the children were left there to look on and be looked on by all +the gentlemen at the mahogany desks. Anthea and Jane thought that they +looked kind. The boys thought they stared, and that it was like their +cheek. + +The porter returned with the news that Mr Dot Dash Dot (I dare not +reveal his name) was out, but that Mr-- + +Here a really delightful gentleman appeared. He had a beard and a kind +and merry eye, and each one of the four knew at once that this was a man +who had kiddies of his own and could understand what you were talking +about. Yet it was a difficult thing to explain. + +‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Mr’--he named the name which I will never +reveal--‘is out. Can I do anything?’ + +‘Inner sanctuary,’ murmured the Phoenix. + +‘I beg your pardon,’ said the nice gentleman, who thought it was Robert +who had spoken. + +‘We have something to tell you,’ said Cyril, ‘but’--he glanced at the +porter, who was lingering much nearer than he need have done--‘this is a +very public place.’ + +The nice gentleman laughed. + +‘Come upstairs then,’ he said, and led the way up a wide and beautiful +staircase. Anthea says the stairs were of white marble, but I am not +sure. On the corner-post of the stairs, at the top, was a beautiful +image of the Phoenix in dark metal, and on the wall at each side was a +flat sort of image of it. + +The nice gentleman led them into a room where the chairs, and even the +tables, were covered with reddish leather. He looked at the children +inquiringly. + +‘Don’t be frightened,’ he said; ‘tell me exactly what you want.’ + +‘May I shut the door?’ asked Cyril. + +The gentleman looked surprised, but he shut the door. + +‘Now,’ said Cyril, firmly, ‘I know you’ll be awfully surprised, and +you’ll think it’s not true and we are lunatics; but we aren’t, and it +is. Robert’s got something inside his Norfolk--that’s Robert, he’s my +young brother. Now don’t be upset and have a fit or anything sir. Of +course, I know when you called your shop the “Phoenix” you never thought +there was one; but there is--and Robert’s got it buttoned up against his +chest!’ + +‘If it’s an old curio in the form of a Phoenix, I dare say the Board--’ +said the nice gentleman, as Robert began to fumble with his buttons. + +‘It’s old enough,’ said Anthea, ‘going by what it says, but--’ + +‘My goodness gracious!’ said the gentleman, as the Phoenix, with one +last wriggle that melted into a flutter, got out of its nest in the +breast of Robert and stood up on the leather-covered table. + +‘What an extraordinarily fine bird!’ he went on. ‘I don’t think I ever +saw one just like it.’ + +‘I should think not,’ said the Phoenix, with pardonable pride. And the +gentleman jumped. + +‘Oh, it’s been taught to speak! Some sort of parrot, perhaps?’ + +‘I am,’ said the bird, simply, ‘the Head of your House, and I have come +to my temple to receive your homage. I am no parrot’--its beak curved +scornfully--‘I am the one and only Phoenix, and I demand the homage of +my High Priest.’ + +‘In the absence of our manager,’ the gentleman began, exactly as though +he were addressing a valued customer--‘in the absence of our manager, I +might perhaps be able--What am I saying?’ He turned pale, and passed +his hand across his brow. ‘My dears,’ he said, ‘the weather is unusually +warm for the time of year, and I don’t feel quite myself. Do you know, +for a moment I really thought that that remarkable bird of yours had +spoken and said it was the Phoenix, and, what’s more, that I’d believed +it.’ + +‘So it did, sir,’ said Cyril, ‘and so did you.’ + +‘It really--Allow me.’ + +A bell was rung. The porter appeared. + +‘Mackenzie,’ said the gentleman, ‘you see that golden bird?’ + +‘Yes, sir.’ + +The other breathed a sigh of relief. + +‘It IS real, then?’ + +‘Yes, sir, of course, sir. You take it in your hand, sir,’ said the +porter, sympathetically, and reached out his hand to the Phoenix, who +shrank back on toes curved with agitated indignation. + +‘Forbear!’ it cried; ‘how dare you seek to lay hands on me?’ + +The porter saluted. + +‘Beg pardon, sir,’ he said, ‘I thought you was a bird.’ + +‘I AM a bird--THE bird--the Phoenix.’ + +‘Of course you are, sir,’ said the porter. ‘I see that the first minute, +directly I got my breath, sir.’ + +‘That will do,’ said the gentleman. ‘Ask Mr Wilson and Mr Sterry to step +up here for a moment, please.’ + +Mr Sterry and Mr Wilson were in their turn overcome by +amazement--quickly followed by conviction. To the surprise of the +children every one in the office took the Phoenix at its word, and after +the first shock of surprise it seemed to be perfectly natural to every +one that the Phoenix should be alive, and that, passing through London, +it should call at its temple. + +‘We ought to have some sort of ceremony,’ said the nicest +gentleman, anxiously. ‘There isn’t time to summon the directors and +shareholders--we might do that tomorrow, perhaps. Yes, the board-room +would be best. I shouldn’t like it to feel we hadn’t done everything in +our power to show our appreciation of its condescension in looking in on +us in this friendly way.’ + +The children could hardly believe their ears, for they had never thought +that any one but themselves would believe in the Phoenix. And yet every +one did; all the men in the office were brought in by twos and threes, +and the moment the Phoenix opened its beak it convinced the cleverest +of them, as well as those who were not so clever. Cyril wondered how the +story would look in the papers next day. He seemed to see the posters in +the streets: + + PHOENIX FIRE OFFICE + THE PHOENIX AT ITS TEMPLE + MEETING TO WELCOME IT + DELIGHT OF THE MANAGER AND EVERYBODY. + +‘Excuse our leaving you a moment,’ said the nice gentleman, and he went +away with the others; and through the half-closed door the children +could hear the sound of many boots on stairs, the hum of excited voices +explaining, suggesting, arguing, the thumpy drag of heavy furniture +being moved about. + +The Phoenix strutted up and down the leather-covered table, looking over +its shoulder at its pretty back. + +‘You see what a convincing manner I have,’ it said proudly. + +And now a new gentleman came in and said, bowing low-- + +‘Everything is prepared--we have done our best at so short a notice; the +meeting--the ceremony--will be in the board-room. Will the Honourable +Phoenix walk--it is only a few steps--or would it like to be--would it +like some sort of conveyance?’ + +‘My Robert will bear me to the board-room, if that be the unlovely name +of my temple’s inmost court,’ replied the bird. + +So they all followed the gentleman. There was a big table in the +board-room, but it had been pushed right up under the long windows at +one side, and chairs were arranged in rows across the room--like those +you have at schools when there is a magic lantern on ‘Our Eastern +Empire’, or on ‘The Way We Do in the Navy’. The doors were of carved +wood, very beautiful, with a carved Phoenix above. Anthea noticed that +the chairs in the front rows were of the kind that her mother so loved +to ask the price of in old furniture shops, and never could buy, because +the price was always nearly twenty pounds each. On the mantelpiece were +some heavy bronze candlesticks and a clock, and on the top of the clock +was another image of the Phoenix. + +‘Remove that effigy,’ said the Phoenix to the gentlemen who were there, +and it was hastily taken down. Then the Phoenix fluttered to the middle +of the mantelpiece and stood there, looking more golden than ever. Then +every one in the house and the office came in--from the cashier to the +women who cooked the clerks’ dinners in the beautiful kitchen at the top +of the house. And every one bowed to the Phoenix and then sat down in a +chair. + +‘Gentlemen,’ said the nicest gentleman, ‘we have met here today--’ + +The Phoenix was turning its golden beak from side to side. + +‘I don’t notice any incense,’ it said, with an injured sniff. A hurried +consultation ended in plates being fetched from the kitchen. Brown +sugar, sealing-wax, and tobacco were placed on these, and something from +a square bottle was poured over it all. Then a match was applied. It was +the only incense that was handy in the Phoenix office, and it certainly +burned very briskly and smoked a great deal. + +‘We have met here today,’ said the gentleman again, ‘on an occasion +unparalleled in the annals of this office. Our respected Phoenix--’ + +‘Head of the House,’ said the Phoenix, in a hollow voice. + +‘I was coming to that. Our respected Phoenix, the Head of this ancient +House, has at length done us the honour to come among us. I think I may +say, gentlemen, that we are not insensible to this honour, and that we +welcome with no uncertain voice one whom we have so long desired to see +in our midst.’ + +Several of the younger clerks thought of saying ‘Hear, hear,’ but they +feared it might seem disrespectful to the bird. + +‘I will not take up your time,’ the speaker went on, ‘by recapitulating +the advantages to be derived from a proper use of our system of fire +insurance. I know, and you know, gentlemen, that our aim has ever been +to be worthy of that eminent bird whose name we bear, and who now adorns +our mantelpiece with his presence. Three cheers, gentlemen, for the +winged Head of the House!’ + +The cheers rose, deafening. When they had died away the Phoenix was +asked to say a few words. + +It expressed in graceful phrases the pleasure it felt in finding itself +at last in its own temple. + +‘And,’ it went on, ‘You must not think me wanting in appreciation of +your very hearty and cordial reception when I ask that an ode may be +recited or a choric song sung. It is what I have always been accustomed +to.’ + +The four children, dumb witnesses of this wonderful scene, glanced a +little nervously across the foam of white faces above the sea of black +coats. It seemed to them that the Phoenix was really asking a little too +much. + +‘Time presses,’ said the Phoenix, ‘and the original ode of invocation is +long, as well as being Greek; and, besides, it’s no use invoking me when +here I am; but is there not a song in your own tongue for a great day +such as this?’ + +Absently the manager began to sing, and one by one the rest joined-- + + ‘Absolute security! + No liability! + All kinds of property + insured against fire. + Terms most favourable, + Expenses reasonable, + Moderate rates for annual + Insurance.’ + +‘That one is NOT my favourite,’ interrupted the Phoenix, ‘and I think +you’ve forgotten part of it.’ + +The manager hastily began another-- + + ‘O Golden Phoenix, fairest bird, + The whole great world has often heard + Of all the splendid things we do, + Great Phoenix, just to honour you.’ + +‘That’s better,’ said the bird. And every one sang-- + + ‘Class one, for private dwelling-house, + For household goods and shops allows; + Provided these are built of brick + Or stone, and tiled and slated thick.’ + +‘Try another verse,’ said the Phoenix, ‘further on.’ + +And again arose the voices of all the clerks and employees and managers +and secretaries and cooks-- + + ‘In Scotland our insurance yields + The price of burnt-up stacks in fields.’ + +‘Skip that verse,’ said the Phoenix. + + ‘Thatched dwellings and their whole contents + We deal with--also with their rents; + Oh, glorious Phoenix, look and see + That these are dealt with in class three. + + ‘The glories of your temple throng + Too thick to go in any song; + And we attend, O good and wise, + To “days of grace” and merchandise. + + ‘When people’s homes are burned away + They never have a cent to pay + If they have done as all should do, + O Phoenix, and have honoured you. + + ‘So let us raise our voice and sing + The praises of the Phoenix King. + In classes one and two and three, + Oh, trust to him, for kind is he!’ + +‘I’m sure YOU’RE very kind,’ said the Phoenix; ‘and now we must be +going. An thank you very much for a very pleasant time. May you all +prosper as you deserve to do, for I am sure a nicer, pleasanter-spoken +lot of temple attendants I have never met, and never wish to meet. I +wish you all good-day!’ + +It fluttered to the wrist of Robert and drew the four children from the +room. The whole of the office staff followed down the wide stairs and +filed into their accustomed places, and the two most important officials +stood on the steps bowing till Robert had buttoned the golden bird in +his Norfolk bosom, and it and he and the three other children were lost +in the crowd. + +The two most important gentlemen looked at each other earnestly and +strangely for a moment, and then retreated to those sacred inner rooms, +where they toil without ceasing for the good of the House. + +And the moment they were all in their places--managers, secretaries, +clerks, and porters--they all started, and each looked cautiously round +to see if any one was looking at him. For each thought that he had +fallen asleep for a few minutes, and had dreamed a very odd dream about +the Phoenix and the board-room. And, of course, no one mentioned it +to any one else, because going to sleep at your office is a thing you +simply MUST NOT do. + +The extraordinary confusion of the board-room, with the remains of the +incense in the plates, would have shown them at once that the visit of +the Phoenix had been no dream, but a radiant reality, but no one went +into the board-room again that day; and next day, before the office +was opened, it was all cleaned and put nice and tidy by a lady whose +business asking questions was not part of. That is why Cyril read +the papers in vain on the next day and the day after that; because no +sensible person thinks his dreams worth putting in the paper, and no one +will ever own that he has been asleep in the daytime. + +The Phoenix was very pleased, but it decided to write an ode for itself. +It thought the ones it had heard at its temple had been too hastily +composed. Its own ode began-- + + ‘For beauty and for modest worth + The Phoenix has not its equal on earth.’ + +And when the children went to bed that night it was still trying to cut +down the last line to the proper length without taking out any of what +it wanted to say. + +That is what makes poetry so difficult. + + + +CHAPTER 6. DOING GOOD + + +‘We shan’t be able to go anywhere on the carpet for a whole week, +though,’ said Robert. + +‘And I’m glad of it,’ said Jane, unexpectedly. + +‘Glad?’ said Cyril; ‘GLAD?’ + +It was breakfast-time, and mother’s letter, telling them how they were +all going for Christmas to their aunt’s at Lyndhurst, and how father and +mother would meet them there, having been read by every one, lay on the +table, drinking hot bacon-fat with one corner and eating marmalade with +the other. + +‘Yes, glad,’ said Jane. ‘I don’t want any more things to happen +just now. I feel like you do when you’ve been to three parties in a +week--like we did at granny’s once--and extras in between, toys and +chocs and things like that. I want everything to be just real, and no +fancy things happening at all.’ ‘I don’t like being obliged to keep +things from mother,’ said Anthea. ‘I don’t know why, but it makes me +feel selfish and mean.’ + +‘If we could only get the mater to believe it, we might take her to the +jolliest places,’ said Cyril, thoughtfully. ‘As it is, we’ve just got to +be selfish and mean--if it is that--but I don’t feel it is.’ + +‘I KNOW it isn’t, but I FEEL it is,’ said Anthea, ‘and that’s just as +bad.’ + +‘It’s worse,’ said Robert; ‘if you knew it and didn’t feel it, it +wouldn’t matter so much.’ + +‘That’s being a hardened criminal, father says,’ put in Cyril, and he +picked up mother’s letter and wiped its corners with his handkerchief, +to whose colour a trifle of bacon-fat and marmalade made but little +difference. + +‘We’re going to-morrow, anyhow,’ said Robert. ‘Don’t,’ he added, with +a good-boy expression on his face--‘don’t let’s be ungrateful for our +blessings; don’t let’s waste the day in saying how horrid it is to keep +secrets from mother, when we all know Anthea tried all she knew to give +her the secret, and she wouldn’t take it. Let’s get on the carpet and +have a jolly good wish. You’ll have time enough to repent of things all +next week.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Cyril, ‘let’s. It’s not really wrong.’ + +‘Well, look here,’ said Anthea. ‘You know there’s something about +Christmas that makes you want to be good--however little you wish it at +other times. Couldn’t we wish the carpet to take us somewhere where we +should have the chance to do some good and kind action? It would be an +adventure just the same,’ she pleaded. + +‘I don’t mind,’ said Cyril. ‘We shan’t know where we’re going, and +that’ll be exciting. No one knows what’ll happen. We’d best put on our +outers in case--’ + +‘We might rescue a traveller buried in the snow, like St Bernard dogs, +with barrels round our necks,’ said Jane, beginning to be interested. + +‘Or we might arrive just in time to witness a will being signed--more +tea, please,’ said Robert, ‘and we should see the old man hide it away +in the secret cupboard; and then, after long years, when the rightful +heir was in despair, we should lead him to the hidden panel and--’ + +‘Yes,’ interrupted Anthea; ‘or we might be taken to some freezing garret +in a German town, where a poor little pale, sick child--’ + +‘We haven’t any German money,’ interrupted Cyril, ‘so THAT’S no go. What +I should like would be getting into the middle of a war and getting hold +of secret intelligence and taking it to the general, and he would make +me a lieutenant or a scout, or a hussar.’ + +When breakfast was cleared away, Anthea swept the carpet, and the +children sat down on it, together with the Phoenix, who had been +especially invited, as a Christmas treat, to come with them and witness +the good and kind action they were about to do. + +Four children and one bird were ready, and the wish was wished. + +Every one closed its eyes, so as to feel the topsy-turvy swirl of the +carpet’s movement as little as possible. + +When the eyes were opened again the children found themselves on the +carpet, and the carpet was in its proper place on the floor of their own +nursery at Camden Town. + +‘I say,’ said Cyril, ‘here’s a go!’ + +‘Do you think it’s worn out? The wishing part of it, I mean?’ Robert +anxiously asked the Phoenix. + +‘It’s not that,’ said the Phoenix; ‘but--well--what did you wish--?’ + +‘Oh! I see what it means,’ said Robert, with deep disgust; ‘it’s like +the end of a fairy story in a Sunday magazine. How perfectly beastly!’ + +‘You mean it means we can do kind and good actions where we are? I see. +I suppose it wants us to carry coals for the cook or make clothes +for the bare heathens. Well, I simply won’t. And the last day and +everything. Look here!’ Cyril spoke loudly and firmly. ‘We want to go +somewhere really interesting, where we have a chance of doing something +good and kind; we don’t want to do it here, but somewhere else. See? +Now, then.’ + +The obedient carpet started instantly, and the four children and one +bird fell in a heap together, and as they fell were plunged in perfect +darkness. + +‘Are you all there?’ said Anthea, breathlessly, through the black dark. +Every one owned that it was there. + +‘Where are we? Oh! how shivery and wet it is! Ugh!--oh!--I’ve put my +hand in a puddle!’ + +‘Has any one got any matches?’ said Anthea, hopelessly. She felt sure +that no one would have any. + +It was then that Robert, with a radiant smile of triumph that was quite +wasted in the darkness, where, of course, no one could see anything, +drew out of his pocket a box of matches, struck a match and lighted a +candle--two candles. And every one, with its mouth open, blinked at the +sudden light. + +‘Well done Bobs,’ said his sisters, and even Cyril’s natural brotherly +feelings could not check his admiration of Robert’s foresight. + +‘I’ve always carried them about ever since the lone tower day,’ said +Robert, with modest pride. ‘I knew we should want them some day. I kept +the secret well, didn’t I?’ + +‘Oh, yes,’ said Cyril, with fine scorn. ‘I found them the Sunday after, +when I was feeling in your Norfolks for the knife you borrowed off me. +But I thought you’d only sneaked them for Chinese lanterns, or reading +in bed by.’ + +‘Bobs,’ said Anthea, suddenly, ‘do you know where we are? This is +the underground passage, and look there--there’s the money and the +money-bags, and everything.’ + +By this time the ten eyes had got used to the light of the candles, and +no one could help seeing that Anthea spoke the truth. + +‘It seems an odd place to do good and kind acts in, though,’ said Jane. +‘There’s no one to do them to.’ + +‘Don’t you be too sure,’ said Cyril; ‘just round the next turning we +might find a prisoner who has languished here for years and years, and +we could take him out on our carpet and restore him to his sorrowing +friends.’ + +‘Of course we could,’ said Robert, standing up and holding the candle +above his head to see further off; ‘or we might find the bones of a +poor prisoner and take them to his friends to be buried properly--that’s +always a kind action in books, though I never could see what bones +matter.’ + +‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ said Jane. + +‘I know exactly where we shall find the bones, too,’ Robert went on. +‘You see that dark arch just along the passage? Well, just inside +there--’ + +‘If you don’t stop going on like that,’ said Jane, firmly, ‘I shall +scream, and then I’ll faint--so now then!’ + +‘And _I_ will, too,’ said Anthea. + +Robert was not pleased at being checked in his flight of fancy. + +‘You girls will never be great writers,’ he said bitterly. ‘They just +love to think of things in dungeons, and chains, and knobbly bare human +bones, and--’ + +Jane had opened her mouth to scream, but before she could decide how you +began when you wanted to faint, the golden voice of the Phoenix spoke +through the gloom. + +‘Peace!’ it said; ‘there are no bones here except the small but useful +sets that you have inside you. And you did not invite me to come out +with you to hear you talk about bones, but to see you do some good and +kind action.’ + +‘We can’t do it here,’ said Robert, sulkily. + +‘No,’ rejoined the bird. ‘The only thing we can do here, it seems, is to +try to frighten our little sisters.’ + +‘He didn’t, really, and I’m not so VERY little,’ said Jane, rather +ungratefully. + +Robert was silent. It was Cyril who suggested that perhaps they had +better take the money and go. + +‘That wouldn’t be a kind act, except to ourselves; and it wouldn’t be +good, whatever way you look at it,’ said Anthea, ‘to take money that’s +not ours.’ + +‘We might take it and spend it all on benefits to the poor and aged,’ +said Cyril. + +‘That wouldn’t make it right to steal,’ said Anthea, stoutly. + +‘I don’t know,’ said Cyril. They were all standing up now. ‘Stealing is +taking things that belong to some one else, and there’s no one else.’ + +‘It can’t be stealing if--’ + +‘That’s right,’ said Robert, with ironical approval; ‘stand here all day +arguing while the candles burn out. You’ll like it awfully when it’s all +dark again--and bony.’ + +‘Let’s get out, then,’ said Anthea. ‘We can argue as we go.’ So they +rolled up the carpet and went. But when they had crept along to the +place where the passage led into the topless tower they found the way +blocked by a great stone, which they could not move. + +‘There!’ said Robert. ‘I hope you’re satisfied!’ + +‘Everything has two ends,’ said the Phoenix, softly; ‘even a quarrel or +a secret passage.’ + +So they turned round and went back, and Robert was made to go first with +one of the candles, because he was the one who had begun to talk about +bones. And Cyril carried the carpet. + +‘I wish you hadn’t put bones into our heads,’ said Jane, as they went +along. + +‘I didn’t; you always had them. More bones than brains,’ said Robert. + +The passage was long, and there were arches and steps and turnings and +dark alcoves that the girls did not much like passing. The passage ended +in a flight of steps. Robert went up them. + +Suddenly he staggered heavily back on to the following feet of Jane, and +everybody screamed, ‘Oh! what is it?’ + +‘I’ve only bashed my head in,’ said Robert, when he had groaned for some +time; ‘that’s all. Don’t mention it; I like it. The stairs just go right +slap into the ceiling, and it’s a stone ceiling. You can’t do good and +kind actions underneath a paving-stone.’ + +‘Stairs aren’t made to lead just to paving-stones as a general rule,’ +said the Phoenix. ‘Put your shoulder to the wheel.’ + +‘There isn’t any wheel,’ said the injured Robert, still rubbing his +head. + +But Cyril had pushed past him to the top stair, and was already shoving +his hardest against the stone above. Of course, it did not give in the +least. + +‘If it’s a trap-door--’ said Cyril. And he stopped shoving and began to +feel about with his hands. + +‘Yes, there is a bolt. I can’t move it.’ + +By a happy chance Cyril had in his pocket the oil-can of his father’s +bicycle; he put the carpet down at the foot of the stairs, and he lay +on his back, with his head on the top step and his feet straggling down +among his young relations, and he oiled the bolt till the drops of rust +and oil fell down on his face. One even went into his mouth--open, as he +panted with the exertion of keeping up this unnatural position. Then +he tried again, but still the bolt would not move. So now he tied his +handkerchief--the one with the bacon-fat and marmalade on it--to the +bolt, and Robert’s handkerchief to that, in a reef knot, which cannot +come undone however much you pull, and, indeed, gets tighter and tighter +the more you pull it. This must not be confused with a granny knot, +which comes undone if you look at it. And then he and Robert pulled, +and the girls put their arms round their brothers and pulled too, and +suddenly the bolt gave way with a rusty scrunch, and they all rolled +together to the bottom of the stairs--all but the Phoenix, which had +taken to its wings when the pulling began. + +Nobody was hurt much, because the rolled-up carpet broke their fall; and +now, indeed, the shoulders of the boys were used to some purpose, for +the stone allowed them to heave it up. They felt it give; dust fell +freely on them. + +‘Now, then,’ cried Robert, forgetting his head and his temper, ‘push all +together. One, two, three!’ + +The stone was heaved up. It swung up on a creaking, unwilling hinge, and +showed a growing oblong of dazzling daylight; and it fell back with a +bang against something that kept it upright. Every one climbed out, +but there was not room for every one to stand comfortably in the +little paved house where they found themselves, so when the Phoenix had +fluttered up from the darkness they let the stone down, and it closed +like a trap-door, as indeed it was. + +You can have no idea how dusty and dirty the children were. Fortunately +there was no one to see them but each other. The place they were in +was a little shrine, built on the side of a road that went winding up +through yellow-green fields to the topless tower. Below them were fields +and orchards, all bare boughs and brown furrows, and little houses and +gardens. The shrine was a kind of tiny chapel with no front wall--just a +place for people to stop and rest in and wish to be good. So the Phoenix +told them. There was an image that had once been brightly coloured, but +the rain and snow had beaten in through the open front of the shrine, +and the poor image was dull and weather-stained. Under it was written: +‘St Jean de Luz. Priez pour nous.’ It was a sad little place, very +neglected and lonely, and yet it was nice, Anthea thought, that poor +travellers should come to this little rest-house in the hurry and worry +of their journeyings and be quiet for a few minutes, and think about +being good. The thought of St Jean de Luz--who had, no doubt, in his +time, been very good and kind--made Anthea want more than ever to do +something kind and good. + +‘Tell us,’ she said to the Phoenix, ‘what is the good and kind action +the carpet brought us here to do?’ + +‘I think it would be kind to find the owners of the treasure and tell +them about it,’ said Cyril. + +‘And give it them ALL?’ said Jane. + +‘Yes. But whose is it?’ + +‘I should go to the first house and ask the name of the owner of the +castle,’ said the golden bird, and really the idea seemed a good one. + +They dusted each other as well as they could and went down the road. A +little way on they found a tiny spring, bubbling out of the hillside and +falling into a rough stone basin surrounded by draggled hart’s-tongue +ferns, now hardly green at all. Here the children washed their hands +and faces and dried them on their pocket-handkerchiefs, which always, +on these occasions, seem unnaturally small. Cyril’s and Robert’s +handkerchiefs, indeed, rather undid the effects of the wash. But in +spite of this the party certainly looked cleaner than before. + +The first house they came to was a little white house with green +shutters and a slate roof. It stood in a prim little garden, and down +each side of the neat path were large stone vases for flowers to grow +in; but all the flowers were dead now. + +Along one side of the house was a sort of wide veranda, built of poles +and trellis-work, and a vine crawled all over it. It was wider than our +English verandas, and Anthea thought it must look lovely when the +green leaves and the grapes were there; but now there were only dry, +reddish-brown stalks and stems, with a few withered leaves caught in +them. + +The children walked up to the front door. It was green and narrow. A +chain with a handle hung beside it, and joined itself quite openly to a +rusty bell that hung under the porch. Cyril had pulled the bell and +its noisy clang was dying away before the terrible thought came to all. +Cyril spoke it. + +‘My hat!’ he breathed. ‘We don’t know any French!’ + +At this moment the door opened. A very tall, lean lady, with pale +ringlets like whitey-brown paper or oak shavings, stood before them. She +had an ugly grey dress and a black silk apron. Her eyes were small +and grey and not pretty, and the rims were red, as though she had been +crying. + +She addressed the party in something that sounded like a foreign +language, and ended with something which they were sure was a question. +Of course, no one could answer it. + +‘What does she say?’ Robert asked, looking down into the hollow of his +jacket, where the Phoenix was nestling. But before the Phoenix could +answer, the whitey-brown lady’s face was lighted up by a most charming +smile. + +‘You--you ar-r-re fr-r-rom the England!’ she cried. ‘I love so much +the England. Mais entrez--entrez donc tous! Enter, then--enter all. One +essuyes his feet on the carpet.’ She pointed to the mat. + +‘We only wanted to ask--’ + +‘I shall say you all that what you wish,’ said the lady. ‘Enter only!’ + +So they all went in, wiping their feet on a very clean mat, and putting +the carpet in a safe corner of the veranda. + +‘The most beautiful days of my life,’ said the lady, as she shut the +door, ‘did pass themselves in England. And since long time I have not +heard an English voice to repeal me the past.’ + +This warm welcome embarrassed every one, but most the boys, for the +floor of the hall was of such very clean red and white tiles, and +the floor of the sitting-room so very shiny--like a black +looking-glass--that each felt as though he had on far more boots than +usual, and far noisier. + +There was a wood fire, very small and very bright, on the hearth--neat +little logs laid on brass fire-dogs. Some portraits of powdered ladies +and gentlemen hung in oval frames on the pale walls. There were silver +candlesticks on the mantelpiece, and there were chairs and a table, very +slim and polite, with slender legs. The room was extremely bare, but +with a bright foreign bareness that was very cheerful, in an odd way of +its own. At the end of the polished table a very un-English little boy +sat on a footstool in a high-backed, uncomfortable-looking chair. He +wore black velvet, and the kind of collar--all frills and lacey--that +Robert would rather have died than wear; but then the little French boy +was much younger than Robert. + +‘Oh, how pretty!’ said every one. But no one meant the little French +boy, with the velvety short knickerbockers and the velvety short hair. + +What every one admired was a little, little Christmas-tree, very green, +and standing in a very red little flower-pot, and hung round with very +bright little things made of tinsel and coloured paper. There were tiny +candles on the tree, but they were not lighted yet. + +‘But yes--is it not that it is genteel?’ said the lady. ‘Sit down you +then, and let us see.’ + +The children sat down in a row on the stiff chairs against the wall, and +the lady lighted a long, slim red taper at the wood flame, and then she +drew the curtains and lit the little candles, and when they were all +lighted the little French boy suddenly shouted, ‘Bravo, ma tante! Oh, +que c’est gentil,’ and the English children shouted ‘Hooray!’ + +Then there was a struggle in the breast of Robert, and out fluttered the +Phoenix--spread his gold wings, flew to the top of the Christmas-tree, +and perched there. + +‘Ah! catch it, then,’ cried the lady; ‘it will itself burn--your genteel +parrakeet!’ + +‘It won’t,’ said Robert, ‘thank you.’ + +And the little French boy clapped his clean and tidy hands; but the lady +was so anxious that the Phoenix fluttered down and walked up and down on +the shiny walnut-wood table. + +‘Is it that it talks?’ asked the lady. + +And the Phoenix replied in excellent French. It said, ‘Parfaitement, +madame!’ + +‘Oh, the pretty parrakeet,’ said the lady. ‘Can it say still of other +things?’ + +And the Phoenix replied, this time in English, ‘Why are you sad so near +Christmas-time?’ + +The children looked at it with one gasp of horror and surprise, for +the youngest of them knew that it is far from manners to notice that +strangers have been crying, and much worse to ask them the reason of +their tears. And, of course, the lady began to cry again, very much +indeed, after calling the Phoenix a bird without a heart; and she could +not find her handkerchief, so Anthea offered hers, which was still very +damp and no use at all. She also hugged the lady, and this seemed to be +of more use than the handkerchief, so that presently the lady stopped +crying, and found her own handkerchief and dried her eyes, and called +Anthea a cherished angel. + +‘I am sorry we came just when you were so sad,’ said Anthea, ‘but we +really only wanted to ask you whose that castle is on the hill.’ + +‘Oh, my little angel,’ said the poor lady, sniffing, ‘to-day and for +hundreds of years the castle is to us, to our family. To-morrow it must +that I sell it to some strangers--and my little Henri, who ignores +all, he will not have never the lands paternal. But what will you? His +father, my brother--Mr the Marquis--has spent much of money, and it the +must, despite the sentiments of familial respect, that I admit that my +sainted father he also--’ + +‘How would you feel if you found a lot of money--hundreds and thousands +of gold pieces?’ asked Cyril. + +The lady smiled sadly. + +‘Ah! one has already recounted to you the legend?’ she said. ‘It is +true that one says that it is long time; oh! but long time, one of our +ancestors has hid a treasure--of gold, and of gold, and of gold--enough +to enrich my little Henri for the life. But all that, my children, it is +but the accounts of fays--’ + +‘She means fairy stories,’ whispered the Phoenix to Robert. ‘Tell her +what you have found.’ + +So Robert told, while Anthea and Jane hugged the lady for fear she +should faint for joy, like people in books, and they hugged her with the +earnest, joyous hugs of unselfish delight. + +‘It’s no use explaining how we got in,’ said Robert, when he had told +of the finding of the treasure, ‘because you would find it a little +difficult to understand, and much more difficult to believe. But we can +show you where the gold is and help you to fetch it away.’ + +The lady looked doubtfully at Robert as she absently returned the hugs +of the girls. + +‘No, he’s not making it up,’ said Anthea; ‘it’s true, TRUE, TRUE!--and +we are so glad.’ + +‘You would not be capable to torment an old woman?’ she said; ‘and it is +not possible that it be a dream.’ + +‘It really IS true,’ said Cyril; ‘and I congratulate you very much.’ + +His tone of studied politeness seemed to convince more than the raptures +of the others. + +‘If I do not dream,’ she said, ‘Henri come to Manon--and you--you shall +come all with me to Mr the Curate. Is it not?’ + +Manon was a wrinkled old woman with a red and yellow handkerchief +twisted round her head. She took Henri, who was already sleepy with the +excitement of his Christmas-tree and his visitors, and when the lady had +put on a stiff black cape and a wonderful black silk bonnet and a pair +of black wooden clogs over her black cashmere house-boots, the whole +party went down the road to a little white house--very like the one they +had left--where an old priest, with a good face, welcomed them with a +politeness so great that it hid his astonishment. + +The lady, with her French waving hands and her shrugging French +shoulders and her trembling French speech, told the story. And now the +priest, who knew no English, shrugged HIS shoulders and waved HIS hands +and spoke also in French. + +‘He thinks,’ whispered the Phoenix, ‘that her troubles have turned her +brain. What a pity you know no French!’ + +‘I do know a lot of French,’ whispered Robert, indignantly; ‘but it’s +all about the pencil of the gardener’s son and the penknife of the +baker’s niece--nothing that anyone ever wants to say.’ + +‘If _I_ speak,’ the bird whispered, ‘he’ll think HE’S mad, too.’ + +‘Tell me what to say.’ + +‘Say “C’est vrai, monsieur. Venez donc voir,”’ said the Phoenix; and +then Robert earned the undying respect of everybody by suddenly saying, +very loudly and distinctly-- + +‘Say vray, mossoo; venny dong vwaw.’ + +The priest was disappointed when he found that Robert’s French began and +ended with these useful words; but, at any rate, he saw that if the lady +was mad she was not the only one, and he put on a big beavery hat, and +got a candle and matches and a spade, and they all went up the hill to +the wayside shrine of St John of Luz. + +‘Now,’ said Robert, ‘I will go first and show you where it is.’ + +So they prised the stone up with a corner of the spade, and Robert did +go first, and they all followed and found the golden treasure exactly as +they had left it. And every one was flushed with the joy of performing +such a wonderfully kind action. + +Then the lady and the priest clasped hands and wept for joy, as French +people do, and knelt down and touched the money, and talked very fast +and both together, and the lady embraced all the children three times +each, and called them ‘little garden angels,’ and then she and the +priest shook each other by both hands again, and talked, and talked, and +talked, faster and more Frenchy than you would have believed possible. +And the children were struck dumb with joy and pleasure. + +‘Get away NOW,’ said the Phoenix softly, breaking in on the radiant +dream. + +So the children crept away, and out through the little shrine, and the +lady and the priest were so tearfully, talkatively happy that they never +noticed that the guardian angels had gone. + +The ‘garden angels’ ran down the hill to the lady’s little house, where +they had left the carpet on the veranda, and they spread it out and +said ‘Home,’ and no one saw them disappear, except little Henri, who +had flattened his nose into a white button against the window-glass, and +when he tried to tell his aunt she thought he had been dreaming. So that +was all right. + +‘It is much the best thing we’ve done,’ said Anthea, when they talked +it over at tea-time. ‘In the future we’ll only do kind actions with the +carpet.’ + +‘Ahem!’ said the Phoenix. + +‘I beg your pardon?’ said Anthea. + +‘Oh, nothing,’ said the bird. ‘I was only thinking!’ + + + +CHAPTER 7. MEWS FROM PERSIA + + +When you hear that the four children found themselves at Waterloo +Station quite un-taken-care-of, and with no one to meet them, it may +make you think that their parents were neither kind nor careful. But if +you think this you will be wrong. The fact is, mother arranged with Aunt +Emma that she was to meet the children at Waterloo, when they went back +from their Christmas holiday at Lyndhurst. The train was fixed, but not +the day. Then mother wrote to Aunt Emma, giving her careful instructions +about the day and the hour, and about luggage and cabs and things, and +gave the letter to Robert to post. But the hounds happened to meet near +Rufus Stone that morning, and what is more, on the way to the meet they +met Robert, and Robert met them, and instantly forgot all about posting +Aunt Emma’s letter, and never thought of it again until he and +the others had wandered three times up and down the platform at +Waterloo--which makes six in all--and had bumped against old gentlemen, +and stared in the faces of ladies, and been shoved by people in a hurry, +and ‘by-your-leaved’ by porters with trucks, and were quite, quite sure +that Aunt Emma was not there. Then suddenly the true truth of what he +had forgotten to do came home to Robert, and he said, ‘Oh, crikey!’ and +stood still with his mouth open, and let a porter with a Gladstone bag +in each hand and a bundle of umbrellas under one arm blunder heavily +into him, and never so much as said, ‘Where are you shoving to now?’ or, +‘Look out where you’re going, can’t you?’ The heavier bag smote him at +the knee, and he staggered, but he said nothing. + +When the others understood what was the matter I think they told Robert +what they thought of him. + +‘We must take the train to Croydon,’ said Anthea, ‘and find Aunt Emma.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Cyril, ‘and precious pleased those Jevonses would be to see +us and our traps.’ + +Aunt Emma, indeed, was staying with some Jevonses--very prim people. +They were middle-aged and wore very smart blouses, and they were fond of +matinees and shopping, and they did not care about children. + +‘I know MOTHER would be pleased to see us if we went back,’ said Jane. + +‘Yes, she would, but she’d think it was not right to show she was +pleased, because it’s Bob’s fault we’re not met. Don’t I know the sort +of thing?’ said Cyril. ‘Besides, we’ve no tin. No; we’ve got enough for +a growler among us, but not enough for tickets to the New Forest. We +must just go home. They won’t be so savage when they find we’ve really +got home all right. You know auntie was only going to take us home in a +cab.’ + +‘I believe we ought to go to Croydon,’ Anthea insisted. + +‘Aunt Emma would be out to a dead cert,’ said Robert. ‘Those Jevonses go +to the theatre every afternoon, I believe. Besides, there’s the Phoenix +at home, AND the carpet. I votes we call a four-wheeled cabman.’ + +A four-wheeled cabman was called--his cab was one of the old-fashioned +kind with straw in the bottom--and he was asked by Anthea to drive them +very carefully to their address. This he did, and the price he asked +for doing so was exactly the value of the gold coin grandpapa had given +Cyril for Christmas. This cast a gloom; but Cyril would never have +stooped to argue about a cab-fare, for fear the cabman should think he +was not accustomed to take cabs whenever he wanted them. For a reason +that was something like this he told the cabman to put the luggage +on the steps, and waited till the wheels of the growler had grittily +retired before he rang the bell. + +‘You see,’ he said, with his hand on the handle, ‘we don’t want cook +and Eliza asking us before HIM how it is we’ve come home alone, as if we +were babies.’ + +Here he rang the bell; and the moment its answering clang was heard, +every one felt that it would be some time before that bell was answered. +The sound of a bell is quite different, somehow, when there is anyone +inside the house who hears it. I can’t tell you why that is--but so it +is. + +‘I expect they’re changing their dresses,’ said Jane. + +‘Too late,’ said Anthea, ‘it must be past five. I expect Eliza’s gone to +post a letter, and cook’s gone to see the time.’ + +Cyril rang again. And the bell did its best to inform the listening +children that there was really no one human in the house. They rang +again and listened intently. The hearts of all sank low. It is a +terrible thing to be locked out of your own house, on a dark, muggy +January evening. + +‘There is no gas on anywhere,’ said Jane, in a broken voice. + +‘I expect they’ve left the gas on once too often, and the draught blew +it out, and they’re suffocated in their beds. Father always said they +would some day,’ said Robert cheerfully. + +‘Let’s go and fetch a policeman,’ said Anthea, trembling. + +‘And be taken up for trying to be burglars--no, thank you,’ said Cyril. +‘I heard father read out of the paper about a young man who got into his +own mother’s house, and they got him made a burglar only the other day.’ + +‘I only hope the gas hasn’t hurt the Phoenix,’ said Anthea. ‘It said it +wanted to stay in the bathroom cupboard, and I thought it would be all +right, because the servants never clean that out. But if it’s gone and +got out and been choked by gas--And besides, directly we open the door +we shall be choked, too. I KNEW we ought to have gone to Aunt Emma, at +Croydon. Oh, Squirrel, I wish we had. Let’s go NOW.’ + +‘Shut up,’ said her brother, briefly. ‘There’s some one rattling the +latch inside.’ Every one listened with all its ears, and every one stood +back as far from the door as the steps would allow. + +The latch rattled, and clicked. Then the flap of the letter-box lifted +itself--every one saw it by the flickering light of the gas-lamp that +shone through the leafless lime-tree by the gate--a golden eye seemed to +wink at them through the letter-slit, and a cautious beak whispered-- + +‘Are you alone?’ + +‘It’s the Phoenix,’ said every one, in a voice so joyous, and so full of +relief, as to be a sort of whispered shout. + +‘Hush!’ said the voice from the letter-box slit. ‘Your slaves have gone +a-merry-making. The latch of this portal is too stiff for my beak. +But at the side--the little window above the shelf whereon your bread +lies--it is not fastened.’ + +‘Righto!’ said Cyril. + +And Anthea added, ‘I wish you’d meet us there, dear Phoenix.’ + +The children crept round to the pantry window. It is at the side of the +house, and there is a green gate labelled ‘Tradesmen’s Entrance’, which +is always kept bolted. But if you get one foot on the fence between you +and next door, and one on the handle of the gate, you are over before +you know where you are. This, at least, was the experience of Cyril and +Robert, and even, if the truth must be told, of Anthea and Jane. So in +almost no time all four were in the narrow gravelled passage that runs +between that house and the next. + +Then Robert made a back, and Cyril hoisted himself up and got his +knicker-bockered knee on the concrete window-sill. He dived into the +pantry head first, as one dives into water, and his legs waved in the +air as he went, just as your legs do when you are first beginning +to learn to dive. The soles of his boots--squarish muddy +patches--disappeared. + +‘Give me a leg up,’ said Robert to his sisters. + +‘No, you don’t,’ said Jane firmly. ‘I’m not going to be left outside +here with just Anthea, and have something creep up behind us out of the +dark. Squirrel can go and open the back door.’ + +A light had sprung awake in the pantry. Cyril always said the Phoenix +turned the gas on with its beak, and lighted it with a waft of its wing; +but he was excited at the time, and perhaps he really did it himself +with matches, and then forgot all about it. He let the others in by the +back door. And when it had been bolted again the children went all over +the house and lighted every single gas-jet they could find. For they +couldn’t help feeling that this was just the dark dreary winter’s +evening when an armed burglar might easily be expected to appear at any +moment. There is nothing like light when you are afraid of burglars--or +of anything else, for that matter. + +And when all the gas-jets were lighted it was quite clear that the +Phoenix had made no mistake, and that Eliza and cook were really out, +and that there was no one in the house except the four children, and the +Phoenix, and the carpet, and the blackbeetles who lived in the cupboards +on each side of the nursery fire-place. These last were very pleased +that the children had come home again, especially when Anthea had +lighted the nursery fire. But, as usual, the children treated the loving +little blackbeetles with coldness and disdain. + +I wonder whether you know how to light a fire? I don’t mean how to +strike a match and set fire to the corners of the paper in a fire +someone has laid ready, but how to lay and light a fire all by yourself. +I will tell you how Anthea did it, and if ever you have to light one +yourself you may remember how it is done. First, she raked out the ashes +of the fire that had burned there a week ago--for Eliza had actually +never done this, though she had had plenty of time. In doing this Anthea +knocked her knuckle and made it bleed. Then she laid the largest and +handsomest cinders in the bottom of the grate. Then she took a sheet +of old newspaper (you ought never to light a fire with to-day’s +newspaper--it will not burn well, and there are other reasons against +it), and tore it into four quarters, and screwed each of these into a +loose ball, and put them on the cinders; then she got a bundle of wood +and broke the string, and stuck the sticks in so that their front ends +rested on the bars, and the back ends on the back of the paper balls. +In doing this she cut her finger slightly with the string, and when she +broke it, two of the sticks jumped up and hit her on the cheek. Then she +put more cinders and some bits of coal--no dust. She put most of that +on her hands, but there seemed to be enough left for her face. Then +she lighted the edges of the paper balls, and waited till she heard the +fizz-crack-crack-fizz of the wood as it began to burn. Then she went and +washed her hands and face under the tap in the back kitchen. + +Of course, you need not bark your knuckles, or cut your finger, or +bruise your cheek with wood, or black yourself all over; but otherwise, +this is a very good way to light a fire in London. In the real country +fires are lighted in a different and prettier way. + +But it is always good to wash your hands and face afterwards, wherever +you are. + +While Anthea was delighting the poor little blackbeetles with the +cheerful blaze, Jane had set the table for--I was going to say tea, but +the meal of which I am speaking was not exactly tea. Let us call it a +tea-ish meal. There was tea, certainly, for Anthea’s fire blazed and +crackled so kindly that it really seemed to be affectionately inviting +the kettle to come and sit upon its lap. So the kettle was brought and +tea made. But no milk could be found--so every one had six lumps of +sugar to each cup instead. The things to eat, on the other hand, were +nicer than usual. The boys looked about very carefully, and found in +the pantry some cold tongue, bread, butter, cheese, and part of a cold +pudding--very much nicer than cook ever made when they were at home. And +in the kitchen cupboard was half a Christmassy cake, a pot of strawberry +jam, and about a pound of mixed candied fruit, with soft crumbly slabs +of delicious sugar in each cup of lemon, orange, or citron. + +It was indeed, as Jane said, ‘a banquet fit for an Arabian Knight.’ + +The Phoenix perched on Robert’s chair, and listened kindly and +politely to all they had to tell it about their visit to Lyndhurst, +and underneath the table, by just stretching a toe down rather far, the +faithful carpet could be felt by all--even by Jane, whose legs were very +short. + +‘Your slaves will not return to-night,’ said the Phoenix. ‘They sleep +under the roof of the cook’s stepmother’s aunt, who is, I gather, +hostess to a large party to-night in honour of her husband’s cousin’s +sister-in-law’s mother’s ninetieth birthday.’ + +‘I don’t think they ought to have gone without leave,’ said Anthea, +‘however many relations they have, or however old they are; but I +suppose we ought to wash up.’ + +‘It’s not our business about the leave,’ said Cyril, firmly, ‘but I +simply won’t wash up for them. We got it, and we’ll clear it away; and +then we’ll go somewhere on the carpet. It’s not often we get a chance +of being out all night. We can go right away to the other side of the +equator, to the tropical climes, and see the sun rise over the great +Pacific Ocean.’ + +‘Right you are,’ said Robert. ‘I always did want to see the Southern +Cross and the stars as big as gas-lamps.’ + +‘DON’T go,’ said Anthea, very earnestly, ‘because I COULDN’T. I’m SURE +mother wouldn’t like us to leave the house and I should hate to be left +here alone.’ + +‘I’d stay with you,’ said Jane loyally. + +‘I know you would,’ said Anthea gratefully, ‘but even with you I’d much +rather not.’ + +‘Well,’ said Cyril, trying to be kind and amiable, ‘I don’t want you to +do anything you think’s wrong, BUT--’ + +He was silent; this silence said many things. + +‘I don’t see,’ Robert was beginning, when Anthea interrupted-- + +‘I’m quite sure. Sometimes you just think a thing’s wrong, and sometimes +you KNOW. And this is a KNOW time.’ + +The Phoenix turned kind golden eyes on her and opened a friendly beak to +say-- + +‘When it is, as you say, a “know time”, there is no more to be said. And +your noble brothers would never leave you.’ + +‘Of course not,’ said Cyril rather quickly. And Robert said so too. + +‘I myself,’ the Phoenix went on, ‘am willing to help in any way +possible. I will go personally--either by carpet or on the wing--and +fetch you anything you can think of to amuse you during the evening. In +order to waste no time I could go while you wash up.--Why,’ it went on +in a musing voice, ‘does one wash up teacups and wash down the stairs?’ + +‘You couldn’t wash stairs up, you know,’ said Anthea, ‘unless you began +at the bottom and went up feet first as you washed. I wish cook would +try that way for a change.’ + +‘I don’t,’ said Cyril, briefly. ‘I should hate the look of her +elastic-side boots sticking up.’ + +‘This is mere trifling,’ said the Phoenix. ‘Come, decide what I shall +fetch for you. I can get you anything you like.’ + +But of course they couldn’t decide. Many things were suggested--a +rocking-horse, jewelled chessmen, an elephant, a bicycle, a motor-car, +books with pictures, musical instruments, and many other things. But +a musical instrument is agreeable only to the player, unless he has +learned to play it really well; books are not sociable, bicycles cannot +be ridden without going out of doors, and the same is true of motor-cars +and elephants. Only two people can play chess at once with one set of +chessmen (and anyway it’s very much too much like lessons for a game), +and only one can ride on a rocking-horse. Suddenly, in the midst of the +discussion, the Phoenix spread its wings and fluttered to the floor, and +from there it spoke. + +‘I gather,’ it said, ‘from the carpet, that it wants you to let it go +to its old home, where it was born and brought up, and it will return +within the hour laden with a number of the most beautiful and delightful +products of its native land.’ + +‘What IS its native land?’ + +‘I didn’t gather. But since you can’t agree, and time is passing, and +the tea-things are not washed down--I mean washed up--’ + +‘I votes we do,’ said Robert. ‘It’ll stop all this jaw, anyway. And it’s +not bad to have surprises. Perhaps it’s a Turkey carpet, and it might +bring us Turkish delight.’ + +‘Or a Turkish patrol,’ said Robert. + +‘Or a Turkish bath,’ said Anthea. + +‘Or a Turkish towel,’ said Jane. + +‘Nonsense,’ Robert urged, ‘it said beautiful and delightful, and towels +and baths aren’t THAT, however good they may be for you. Let it go. I +suppose it won’t give us the slip,’ he added, pushing back his chair and +standing up. + +‘Hush!’ said the Phoenix; ‘how can you? Don’t trample on its feelings +just because it’s only a carpet.’ + +‘But how can it do it--unless one of us is on it to do the wishing?’ +asked Robert. He spoke with a rising hope that it MIGHT be necessary for +one to go and why not Robert? But the Phoenix quickly threw cold water +on his new-born dream. + +‘Why, you just write your wish on a paper, and pin it on the carpet.’ + +So a leaf was torn from Anthea’s arithmetic book, and on it Cyril wrote +in large round-hand the following: + + +We wish you to go to your dear native home, and bring back the most +beautiful and delightful productions of it you can--and not to be gone +long, please. + + (Signed) CYRIL. + ROBERT. + ANTHEA. + JANE. + + +Then the paper was laid on the carpet. + +‘Writing down, please,’ said the Phoenix; ‘the carpet can’t read a paper +whose back is turned to it, any more than you can.’ + +It was pinned fast, and the table and chairs having been moved, the +carpet simply and suddenly vanished, rather like a patch of water on a +hearth under a fierce fire. The edges got smaller and smaller, and then +it disappeared from sight. + +‘It may take it some time to collect the beautiful and delightful +things,’ said the Phoenix. ‘I should wash up--I mean wash down.’ + +So they did. There was plenty of hot water left in the kettle, and every +one helped--even the Phoenix, who took up cups by their handles with its +clever claws and dipped them in the hot water, and then stood them on +the table ready for Anthea to dry them. But the bird was rather slow, +because, as it said, though it was not above any sort of honest work, +messing about with dish-water was not exactly what it had been brought +up to. Everything was nicely washed up, and dried, and put in its proper +place, and the dish-cloth washed and hung on the edge of the copper +to dry, and the tea-cloth was hung on the line that goes across the +scullery. (If you are a duchess’s child, or a king’s, or a person of +high social position’s child, you will perhaps not know the difference +between a dish-cloth and a tea-cloth; but in that case your nurse has +been better instructed than you, and she will tell you all about it.) +And just as eight hands and one pair of claws were being dried on the +roller-towel behind the scullery door there came a strange sound from +the other side of the kitchen wall--the side where the nursery was. It +was a very strange sound, indeed--most odd, and unlike any other sounds +the children had ever heard. At least, they had heard sounds as much +like it as a toy engine’s whistle is like a steam siren’s. + +‘The carpet’s come back,’ said Robert; and the others felt that he was +right. + +‘But what has it brought with it?’ asked Jane. ‘It sounds like +Leviathan, that great beast.’ + +‘It couldn’t have been made in India, and have brought elephants? Even +baby ones would be rather awful in that room,’ said Cyril. ‘I vote we +take it in turns to squint through the keyhole.’ + +They did--in the order of their ages. The Phoenix, being the eldest by +some thousands of years, was entitled to the first peep. But-- + +‘Excuse me,’ it said, ruffling its golden feathers and sneezing softly; +‘looking through keyholes always gives me a cold in my golden eyes.’ + +So Cyril looked. + +‘I see something grey moving,’ said he. + +‘It’s a zoological garden of some sort, I bet,’ said Robert, when he had +taken his turn. And the soft rustling, bustling, ruffling, scuffling, +shuffling, fluffling noise went on inside. + +‘_I_ can’t see anything,’ said Anthea, ‘my eye tickles so.’ + +Then Jane’s turn came, and she put her eye to the keyhole. + +‘It’s a giant kitty-cat,’ she said; ‘and it’s asleep all over the +floor.’ + +‘Giant cats are tigers--father said so.’ + +‘No, he didn’t. He said tigers were giant cats. It’s not at all the same +thing.’ + +‘It’s no use sending the carpet to fetch precious things for you +if you’re afraid to look at them when they come,’ said the Phoenix, +sensibly. And Cyril, being the eldest, said-- + +‘Come on,’ and turned the handle. + +The gas had been left full on after tea, and everything in the room +could be plainly seen by the ten eyes at the door. At least, not +everything, for though the carpet was there it was invisible, because it +was completely covered by the hundred and ninety-nine beautiful objects +which it had brought from its birthplace. + +‘My hat!’ Cyril remarked. ‘I never thought about its being a PERSIAN +carpet.’ + +Yet it was now plain that it was so, for the beautiful objects which it +had brought back were cats--Persian cats, grey Persian cats, and there +were, as I have said, 199 of them, and they were sitting on the carpet +as close as they could get to each other. But the moment the children +entered the room the cats rose and stretched, and spread and overflowed +from the carpet to the floor, and in an instant the floor was a sea of +moving, mewing pussishness, and the children with one accord climbed to +the table, and gathered up their legs, and the people next door knocked +on the wall--and, indeed, no wonder, for the mews were Persian and +piercing. + +‘This is pretty poor sport,’ said Cyril. ‘What’s the matter with the +bounders?’ + +‘I imagine that they are hungry,’ said the Phoenix. ‘If you were to feed +them--’ + +‘We haven’t anything to feed them with,’ said Anthea in despair, and she +stroked the nearest Persian back. ‘Oh, pussies, do be quiet--we can’t +hear ourselves think.’ + +She had to shout this entreaty, for the mews were growing deafening, +‘and it would take pounds’ and pounds’ worth of cat’s-meat.’ + +‘Let’s ask the carpet to take them away,’ said Robert. But the girls +said ‘No.’ + +‘They are so soft and pussy,’ said Jane. + +‘And valuable,’ said Anthea, hastily. ‘We can sell them for lots and +lots of money.’ + +‘Why not send the carpet to get food for them?’ suggested the Phoenix, +and its golden voice came harsh and cracked with the effort it had to be +make to be heard above the increasing fierceness of the Persian mews. + +So it was written that the carpet should bring food for 199 Persian +cats, and the paper was pinned to the carpet as before. + +The carpet seemed to gather itself together, and the cats dropped off +it, as raindrops do from your mackintosh when you shake it. And the +carpet disappeared. + +Unless you have had one-hundred and ninety-nine well-grown Persian cats +in one small room, all hungry, and all saying so in unmistakable mews, +you can form but a poor idea of the noise that now deafened the children +and the Phoenix. The cats did not seem to have been at all properly +brought up. They seemed to have no idea of its being a mistake in +manners to ask for meals in a strange house--let alone to howl for +them--and they mewed, and they mewed, and they mewed, and they mewed, +till the children poked their fingers into their ears and waited in +silent agony, wondering why the whole of Camden Town did not come +knocking at the door to ask what was the matter, and only hoping that +the food for the cats would come before the neighbours did--and before +all the secret of the carpet and the Phoenix had to be given away beyond +recall to an indignant neighbourhood. + +The cats mewed and mewed and twisted their Persian forms in and out and +unfolded their Persian tails, and the children and the Phoenix huddled +together on the table. + +The Phoenix, Robert noticed suddenly, was trembling. + +‘So many cats,’ it said, ‘and they might not know I was the Phoenix. +These accidents happen so quickly. It quite un-mans me.’ + +This was a danger of which the children had not thought. + +‘Creep in,’ cried Robert, opening his jacket. + +And the Phoenix crept in--only just in time, for green eyes had glared, +pink noses had sniffed, white whiskers had twitched, and as Robert +buttoned his coat he disappeared to the waist in a wave of eager grey +Persian fur. And on the instant the good carpet slapped itself down on +the floor. And it was covered with rats--three hundred and ninety-eight +of them, I believe, two for each cat. + +‘How horrible!’ cried Anthea. ‘Oh, take them away!’ + +‘Take yourself away,’ said the Phoenix, ‘and me.’ + +‘I wish we’d never had a carpet,’ said Anthea, in tears. + +They hustled and crowded out of the door, and shut it, and locked it. +Cyril, with great presence of mind, lit a candle and turned off the gas +at the main. + +‘The rats’ll have a better chance in the dark,’ he said. + +The mewing had ceased. Every one listened in breathless silence. We all +know that cats eat rats--it is one of the first things we read in our +little brown reading books; but all those cats eating all those rats--it +wouldn’t bear thinking of. + +Suddenly Robert sniffed, in the silence of the dark kitchen, where the +only candle was burning all on one side, because of the draught. + +‘What a funny scent!’ he said. + +And as he spoke, a lantern flashed its light through the window of the +kitchen, a face peered in, and a voice said-- + +‘What’s all this row about? You let me in.’ + +It was the voice of the police! + +Robert tip-toed to the window, and spoke through the pane that had +been a little cracked since Cyril accidentally knocked it with a +walking-stick when he was playing at balancing it on his nose. (It was +after they had been to a circus.) + +‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘There’s no row. You listen; everything’s +as quiet as quiet.’ And indeed it was. + +The strange sweet scent grew stronger, and the Phoenix put out its beak. + +The policeman hesitated. + +‘They’re MUSK-rats,’ said the Phoenix. ‘I suppose some cats eat +them--but never Persian ones. What a mistake for a well-informed carpet +to make! Oh, what a night we’re having!’ + +‘Do go away,’ said Robert, nervously. ‘We’re just going to bed--that’s +our bedroom candle; there isn’t any row. Everything’s as quiet as a +mouse.’ + +A wild chorus of mews drowned his words, and with the mews were mingled +the shrieks of the musk-rats. What had happened? Had the cats tasted +them before deciding that they disliked the flavour? + +‘I’m a-coming in,’ said the policeman. ‘You’ve got a cat shut up there.’ + +‘A cat,’ said Cyril. ‘Oh, my only aunt! A cat!’ + +‘Come in, then,’ said Robert. ‘It’s your own look out. I advise you not. +Wait a shake, and I’ll undo the side gate.’ + +He undid the side gate, and the policeman, very cautiously, came in. And +there in the kitchen, by the light of one candle, with the mewing +and the screaming going like a dozen steam sirens, twenty waiting on +motor-cars, and half a hundred squeaking pumps, four agitated voices +shouted to the policeman four mixed and wholly different explanations of +the very mixed events of the evening. + +Did you ever try to explain the simplest thing to a policeman? + + + +CHAPTER 8. THE CATS, THE COW, AND THE BURGLAR + +The nursery was full of Persian cats and musk-rats that had been brought +there by the wishing carpet. The cats were mewing and the musk-rats were +squeaking so that you could hardly hear yourself speak. In the kitchen +were the four children, one candle, a concealed Phoenix, and a very +visible policeman. + +‘Now then, look here,’ said the Policeman, very loudly, and he pointed +his lantern at each child in turn, ‘what’s the meaning of this here +yelling and caterwauling. I tell you you’ve got a cat here, and some +one’s a ill-treating of it. What do you mean by it, eh?’ + +It was five to one, counting the Phoenix; but the policeman, who was +one, was of unusually fine size, and the five, including the Phoenix, +were small. The mews and the squeaks grew softer, and in the comparative +silence, Cyril said-- + +‘It’s true. There are a few cats here. But we’ve not hurt them. It’s +quite the opposite. We’ve just fed them.’ + +‘It don’t sound like it,’ said the policeman grimly. + +‘I daresay they’re not REAL cats,’ said Jane madly, perhaps they’re only +dream-cats.’ + +‘I’ll dream-cat you, my lady,’ was the brief response of the force. + +‘If you understood anything except people who do murders and stealings +and naughty things like that, I’d tell you all about it,’ said Robert; +‘but I’m certain you don’t. You’re not meant to shove your oar into +people’s private cat-keepings. You’re only supposed to interfere when +people shout “murder” and “stop thief” in the street. So there!’ + +The policeman assured them that he should see about that; and at this +point the Phoenix, who had been making itself small on the pot-shelf +under the dresser, among the saucepan lids and the fish-kettle, walked +on tip-toed claws in a noiseless and modest manner, and left the room +unnoticed by any one. + +‘Oh, don’t be so horrid,’ Anthea was saying, gently and earnestly. ‘We +LOVE cats--dear pussy-soft things. We wouldn’t hurt them for worlds. +Would we, Pussy?’ + +And Jane answered that of course they wouldn’t. And still the policeman +seemed unmoved by their eloquence. + +‘Now, look here,’ he said, ‘I’m a-going to see what’s in that room +beyond there, and--’ + +His voice was drowned in a wild burst of mewing and squeaking. And as +soon as it died down all four children began to explain at once; and +though the squeaking and mewing were not at their very loudest, yet +there was quite enough of both to make it very hard for the policeman +to understand a single word of any of the four wholly different +explanations now poured out to him. + +‘Stow it,’ he said at last. ‘I’m a-goin’ into the next room in the +execution of my duty. I’m a-goin’ to use my eyes--my ears have gone off +their chumps, what with you and them cats.’ + +And he pushed Robert aside, and strode through the door. + +‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said Robert. + +‘It’s tigers REALLY,’ said Jane. ‘Father said so. I wouldn’t go in, if I +were you.’ + +But the policeman was quite stony; nothing any one said seemed to make +any difference to him. Some policemen are like this, I believe. He +strode down the passage, and in another moment he would have been in the +room with all the cats and all the rats (musk), but at that very instant +a thin, sharp voice screamed from the street outside-- + +‘Murder--murder! Stop thief!’ + +The policeman stopped, with one regulation boot heavily poised in the +air. + +‘Eh?’ he said. + +And again the shrieks sounded shrilly and piercingly from the dark +street outside. + +‘Come on,’ said Robert. ‘Come and look after cats while somebody’s being +killed outside.’ For Robert had an inside feeling that told him quite +plainly WHO it was that was screaming. + +‘You young rip,’ said the policeman, ‘I’ll settle up with you bimeby.’ + +And he rushed out, and the children heard his boots going weightily +along the pavement, and the screams also going along, rather ahead of +the policeman; and both the murder-screams and the policeman’s boots +faded away in the remote distance. + +Then Robert smacked his knickerbocker loudly with his palm, and said-- + +‘Good old Phoenix! I should know its golden voice anywhere.’ + +And then every one understood how cleverly the Phoenix had caught at +what Robert had said about the real work of a policeman being to look +after murderers and thieves, and not after cats, and all hearts were +filled with admiring affection. + +‘But he’ll come back,’ said Anthea, mournfully, ‘as soon as it finds the +murderer is only a bright vision of a dream, and there isn’t one at all +really.’ + +‘No he won’t,’ said the soft voice of the clever Phoenix, as it flew +in. ‘HE DOES NOT KNOW WHERE YOUR HOUSE IS. I heard him own as much to a +fellow mercenary. Oh! what a night we are having! Lock the door, and let +us rid ourselves of this intolerable smell of the perfume peculiar +to the musk-rat and to the house of the trimmers of beards. If you’ll +excuse me, I will go to bed. I am worn out.’ + +It was Cyril who wrote the paper that told the carpet to take away the +rats and bring milk, because there seemed to be no doubt in any breast +that, however Persian cats may be, they must like milk. + +‘Let’s hope it won’t be musk-milk,’ said Anthea, in gloom, as she pinned +the paper face-downwards on the carpet. ‘Is there such a thing as a +musk-cow?’ she added anxiously, as the carpet shrivelled and vanished. +‘I do hope not. Perhaps really it WOULD have been wiser to let the +carpet take the cats away. It’s getting quite late, and we can’t keep +them all night.’ + +‘Oh, can’t we?’ was the bitter rejoinder of Robert, who had been +fastening the side door. ‘You might have consulted me,’ he went on. ‘I’m +not such an idiot as some people.’ + +‘Why, whatever--’ + +‘Don’t you see? We’ve jolly well GOT to keep the cats all night--oh, get +down, you furry beasts!--because we’ve had three wishes out of the old +carpet now, and we can’t get any more till to-morrow.’ + +The liveliness of Persian mews alone prevented the occurrence of a +dismal silence. + +Anthea spoke first. + +‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Do you know, I really do think they’re quieting +down a bit. Perhaps they heard us say milk.’ + +‘They can’t understand English,’ said Jane. ‘You forget they’re Persian +cats, Panther.’ + +‘Well,’ said Anthea, rather sharply, for she was tired and anxious, ‘who +told you “milk” wasn’t Persian for milk. Lots of English words are +just the same in French--at least I know “miaw” is, and “croquet”, and +“fiance”. Oh, pussies, do be quiet! Let’s stroke them as hard as we can +with both hands, and perhaps they’ll stop.’ + +So every one stroked grey fur till their hands were tired, and as soon +as a cat had been stroked enough to make it stop mewing it was pushed +gently away, and another mewing mouser was approached by the hands of +the strokers. And the noise was really more than half purr when the +carpet suddenly appeared in its proper place, and on it, instead of rows +of milk-cans, or even of milk-jugs, there was a COW. Not a Persian cow, +either, nor, most fortunately, a musk-cow, if there is such a thing, but +a smooth, sleek, dun-coloured Jersey cow, who blinked large soft eyes at +the gas-light and mooed in an amiable if rather inquiring manner. + +Anthea had always been afraid of cows; but now she tried to be brave. + +‘Anyway, it can’t run after me,’ she said to herself ‘There isn’t room +for it even to begin to run.’ + +The cow was perfectly placid. She behaved like a strayed duchess till +some one brought a saucer for the milk, and some one else tried to milk +the cow into it. Milking is very difficult. You may think it is easy, +but it is not. All the children were by this time strung up to a pitch +of heroism that would have been impossible to them in their ordinary +condition. Robert and Cyril held the cow by the horns; and Jane, when +she was quite sure that their end of the cow was quite secure, consented +to stand by, ready to hold the cow by the tail should occasion arise. +Anthea, holding the saucer, now advanced towards the cow. She remembered +to have heard that cows, when milked by strangers, are susceptible to +the soothing influence of the human voice. So, clutching her saucer very +tight, she sought for words to whose soothing influence the cow might be +susceptible. And her memory, troubled by the events of the night, which +seemed to go on and on for ever and ever, refused to help her with any +form of words suitable to address a Jersey cow in. + +‘Poor pussy, then. Lie down, then, good dog, lie down!’ was all that she +could think of to say, and she said it. + +And nobody laughed. The situation, full of grey mewing cats, was too +serious for that. Then Anthea, with a beating heart, tried to milk the +cow. Next moment the cow had knocked the saucer out of her hand and +trampled on it with one foot, while with the other three she had walked +on a foot each of Robert, Cyril, and Jane. + +Jane burst into tears. ‘Oh, how much too horrid everything is!’ she +cried. ‘Come away. Let’s go to bed and leave the horrid cats with the +hateful cow. Perhaps somebody will eat somebody else. And serve them +right.’ + +They did not go to bed, but they had a shivering council in the +drawing-room, which smelt of soot--and, indeed, a heap of this lay in +the fender. There had been no fire in the room since mother went +away, and all the chairs and tables were in the wrong places, and the +chrysanthemums were dead, and the water in the pot nearly dried up. +Anthea wrapped the embroidered woolly sofa blanket round Jane and +herself, while Robert and Cyril had a struggle, silent and brief, but +fierce, for the larger share of the fur hearthrug. + +‘It is most truly awful,’ said Anthea, ‘and I am so tired. Let’s let the +cats loose.’ + +‘And the cow, perhaps?’ said Cyril. ‘The police would find us at once. +That cow would stand at the gate and mew--I mean moo--to come in. And so +would the cats. No; I see quite well what we’ve got to do. We must +put them in baskets and leave them on people’s doorsteps, like orphan +foundlings.’ + +‘We’ve got three baskets, counting mother’s work one,’ said Jane +brightening. + +‘And there are nearly two hundred cats,’ said Anthea, ‘besides the +cow--and it would have to be a different-sized basket for her; and then +I don’t know how you’d carry it, and you’d never find a doorstep big +enough to put it on. Except the church one--and--’ + +‘Oh, well,’ said Cyril, ‘if you simply MAKE difficulties--’ + +‘I’m with you,’ said Robert. ‘Don’t fuss about the cow, Panther. It’s +simply GOT to stay the night, and I’m sure I’ve read that the cow is a +remunerating creature, and that means it will sit still and think +for hours. The carpet can take it away in the morning. And as for the +baskets, we’ll do them up in dusters, or pillow-cases, or bath-towels. +Come on, Squirrel. You girls can be out of it if you like.’ + +His tone was full of contempt, but Jane and Anthea were too tired and +desperate to care; even being ‘out of it’, which at other times they +could not have borne, now seemed quite a comfort. They snuggled down in +the sofa blanket, and Cyril threw the fur hearthrug over them. + +‘Ah, he said, ‘that’s all women are fit for--to keep safe and warm, +while the men do the work and run dangers and risks and things.’ + +‘I’m not,’ said Anthea, ‘you know I’m not.’ But Cyril was gone. + +It was warm under the blanket and the hearthrug, and Jane snuggled up +close to her sister; and Anthea cuddled Jane closely and kindly, and in +a sort of dream they heard the rise of a wave of mewing as Robert opened +the door of the nursery. They heard the booted search for baskets in +the back kitchen. They heard the side door open and close, and they +knew that each brother had gone out with at least one cat. Anthea’s +last thought was that it would take at least all night to get rid of +one hundred and ninety-nine cats by twos. There would be ninety-nine +journeys of two cats each, and one cat over. + +‘I almost think we might keep the one cat over,’ said Anthea. ‘I don’t +seem to care for cats just now, but I daresay I shall again some day.’ +And she fell asleep. Jane also was sleeping. + +It was Jane who awoke with a start, to find Anthea still asleep. As, in +the act of awakening, she kicked her sister, she wondered idly why +they should have gone to bed in their boots; but the next moment she +remembered where they were. + +There was a sound of muffled, shuffled feet on the stairs. Like the +heroine of the classic poem, Jane ‘thought it was the boys’, and as +she felt quite wide awake, and not nearly so tired as before, she crept +gently from Anthea’s side and followed the footsteps. They went down +into the basement; the cats, who seemed to have fallen into the sleep +of exhaustion, awoke at the sound of the approaching footsteps and mewed +piteously. Jane was at the foot of the stairs before she saw it was not +her brothers whose coming had roused her and the cats, but a burglar. +She knew he was a burglar at once, because he wore a fur cap and a red +and black charity-check comforter, and he had no business where he was. + +If you had been stood in jane’s shoes you would no doubt have run away +in them, appealing to the police and neighbours with horrid screams. But +Jane knew better. She had read a great many nice stories about burglars, +as well as some affecting pieces of poetry, and she knew that no burglar +will ever hurt a little girl if he meets her when burgling. Indeed, in +all the cases Jane had read of, his burglarishness was almost at once +forgotten in the interest he felt in the little girl’s artless prattle. +So if Jane hesitated for a moment before addressing the burglar, it +was only because she could not at once think of any remark sufficiently +prattling and artless to make a beginning with. In the stories and the +affecting poetry the child could never speak plainly, though it always +looked old enough to in the pictures. And Jane could not make up her +mind to lisp and ‘talk baby’, even to a burglar. And while she hesitated +he softly opened the nursery door and went in. + +Jane followed--just in time to see him sit down flat on the floor, +scattering cats as a stone thrown into a pool splashes water. + +She closed the door softly and stood there, still wondering whether she +COULD bring herself to say, ‘What’s ‘oo doing here, Mithter Wobber?’ and +whether any other kind of talk would do. + +Then she heard the burglar draw a long breath, and he spoke. + +‘It’s a judgement,’ he said, ‘so help me bob if it ain’t. Oh, ‘ere’s a +thing to ‘appen to a chap! Makes it come ‘ome to you, don’t it neither? +Cats an’ cats an’ cats. There couldn’t be all them cats. Let alone the +cow. If she ain’t the moral of the old man’s Daisy. She’s a dream out of +when I was a lad--I don’t mind ‘er so much. ‘Ere, Daisy, Daisy?’ + +The cow turned and looked at him. + +‘SHE’S all right,’ he went on. ‘Sort of company, too. Though them above +knows how she got into this downstairs parlour. But them cats--oh, take +‘em away, take ‘em away! I’ll chuck the ‘ole show--Oh, take ‘em away.’ + +‘Burglar,’ said Jane, close behind him, and he started convulsively, +and turned on her a blank face, whose pale lips trembled. ‘I can’t take +those cats away.’ + +‘Lor’ lumme!’ exclaimed the man; ‘if ‘ere ain’t another on ‘em. Are you +real, miss, or something I’ll wake up from presently?’ + +‘I am quite real,’ said Jane, relieved to find that a lisp was not +needed to make the burglar understand her. ‘And so,’ she added, ‘are the +cats.’ + +‘Then send for the police, send for the police, and I’ll go quiet. If +you ain’t no realler than them cats, I’m done, spunchuck--out of time. +Send for the police. I’ll go quiet. One thing, there’d not be room for +‘arf them cats in no cell as ever _I_ see.’ + +He ran his fingers through his hair, which was short, and his eyes +wandered wildly round the roomful of cats. + +‘Burglar,’ said Jane, kindly and softly, ‘if you didn’t like cats, what +did you come here for?’ + +‘Send for the police,’ was the unfortunate criminal’s only reply. ‘I’d +rather you would--honest, I’d rather.’ + +‘I daren’t,’ said Jane, ‘and besides, I’ve no one to send. I hate the +police. I wish he’d never been born.’ + +‘You’ve a feeling ‘art, miss,’ said the burglar; ‘but them cats is +really a little bit too thick.’ + +‘Look here,’ said Jane, ‘I won’t call the police. And I am quite a real +little girl, though I talk older than the kind you’ve met before when +you’ve been doing your burglings. And they are real cats--and they want +real milk--and--Didn’t you say the cow was like somebody’s Daisy that +you used to know?’ + +‘Wish I may die if she ain’t the very spit of her,’ replied the man. + +‘Well, then,’ said Jane--and a thrill of joyful pride ran through +her--‘perhaps you know how to milk cows?’ + +‘Perhaps I does,’ was the burglar’s cautious rejoinder. + +‘Then,’ said Jane, ‘if you will ONLY milk ours--you don’t know how we +shall always love you.’ + +The burglar replied that loving was all very well. + +‘If those cats only had a good long, wet, thirsty drink of milk,’ Jane +went on with eager persuasion, ‘they’d lie down and go to sleep as +likely as not, and then the police won’t come back. But if they go on +mewing like this he will, and then I don’t know what’ll become of us, or +you either.’ + +This argument seemed to decide the criminal. Jane fetched the wash-bowl +from the sink, and he spat on his hands and prepared to milk the cow. At +this instant boots were heard on the stairs. + +‘It’s all up,’ said the man, desperately, ‘this ‘ere’s a plant. ‘ERE’S +the police.’ He made as if to open the window and leap from it. + +‘It’s all right, I tell you,’ whispered Jane, in anguish. ‘I’ll say +you’re a friend of mine, or the good clergyman called in, or my uncle, +or ANYTHING--only do, do, do milk the cow. Oh, DON’T go--oh--oh, thank +goodness it’s only the boys!’ + +It was; and their entrance had awakened Anthea, who, with her brothers, +now crowded through the doorway. The man looked about him like a rat +looks round a trap. + +‘This is a friend of mine,’ said Jane; ‘he’s just called in, and he’s +going to milk the cow for us. ISN’T it good and kind of him?’ + +She winked at the others, and though they did not understand they played +up loyally. + +‘How do?’ said Cyril, ‘Very glad to meet you. Don’t let us interrupt the +milking.’ + +‘I shall ‘ave a ‘ead and a ‘arf in the morning, and no bloomin’ error,’ +remarked the burglar; but he began to milk the cow. + +Robert was winked at to stay and see that he did not leave off milking +or try to escape, and the others went to get things to put the milk in; +for it was now spurting and foaming in the wash-bowl, and the cats had +ceased from mewing and were crowding round the cow, with expressions of +hope and anticipation on their whiskered faces. + +‘We can’t get rid of any more cats,’ said Cyril, as he and his sisters +piled a tray high with saucers and soup-plates and platters and +pie-dishes, ‘the police nearly got us as it was. Not the same one--a +much stronger sort. He thought it really was a foundling orphan we’d +got. If it hadn’t been for me throwing the two bags of cat slap in +his eye and hauling Robert over a railing, and lying like mice under +a laurel-bush--Well, it’s jolly lucky I’m a good shot, that’s all. +He pranced off when he’d got the cat-bags off his face--thought we’d +bolted. And here we are.’ + +The gentle samishness of the milk swishing into the hand-bowl seemed +to have soothed the burglar very much. He went on milking in a sort of +happy dream, while the children got a cap and ladled the warm milk out +into the pie-dishes and plates, and platters and saucers, and set them +down to the music of Persian purrs and lappings. + +‘It makes me think of old times,’ said the burglar, smearing his ragged +coat-cuff across his eyes--‘about the apples in the orchard at home, +and the rats at threshing time, and the rabbits and the ferrets, and how +pretty it was seeing the pigs killed.’ + +Finding him in this softened mood, Jane said-- + +‘I wish you’d tell us how you came to choose our house for your +burglaring to-night. I am awfully glad you did. You have been so kind. I +don’t know what we should have done without you,’ she added hastily. ‘We +all love you ever so. Do tell us.’ + +The others added their affectionate entreaties, and at last the burglar +said-- + +‘Well, it’s my first job, and I didn’t expect to be made so welcome, and +that’s the truth, young gents and ladies. And I don’t know but what it +won’t be my last. For this ‘ere cow, she reminds me of my father, and I +know ‘ow ‘e’d ‘ave ‘ided me if I’d laid ‘ands on a ‘a’penny as wasn’t my +own.’ + +‘I’m sure he would,’ Jane agreed kindly; ‘but what made you come here?’ + +‘Well, miss,’ said the burglar, ‘you know best ‘ow you come by them +cats, and why you don’t like the police, so I’ll give myself away free, +and trust to your noble ‘earts. (You’d best bale out a bit, the pan’s +getting fullish.) I was a-selling oranges off of my barrow--for I ain’t +a burglar by trade, though you ‘ave used the name so free--an’ there was +a lady bought three ‘a’porth off me. An’ while she was a-pickin’ of them +out--very careful indeed, and I’m always glad when them sort gets a few +over-ripe ones--there was two other ladies talkin’ over the fence. An’ +one on ‘em said to the other on ‘em just like this-- + +“‘I’ve told both gells to come, and they can doss in with M’ria and +Jane, ‘cause their boss and his missis is miles away and the kids too. +So they can just lock up the ‘ouse and leave the gas a-burning, so’s +no one won’t know, and get back bright an’ early by ‘leven o’clock. And +we’ll make a night of it, Mrs Prosser, so we will. I’m just a-going +to run out to pop the letter in the post.” And then the lady what had +chosen the three ha’porth so careful, she said: “Lor, Mrs Wigson, I +wonder at you, and your hands all over suds. This good gentleman’ll slip +it into the post for yer, I’ll be bound, seeing I’m a customer of his.” + So they give me the letter, and of course I read the direction what was +written on it afore I shoved it into the post. And then when I’d sold +my barrowful, I was a-goin’ ‘ome with the chink in my pocket, and I’m +blowed if some bloomin’ thievin’ beggar didn’t nick the lot whilst I was +just a-wettin’ of my whistle, for callin’ of oranges is dry work. Nicked +the bloomin’ lot ‘e did--and me with not a farden to take ‘ome to my +brother and his missus.’ + +‘How awful!’ said Anthea, with much sympathy. + +‘Horful indeed, miss, I believe yer,’ the burglar rejoined, with deep +feeling. ‘You don’t know her temper when she’s roused. An’ I’m sure I +‘ope you never may, neither. And I’d ‘ad all my oranges off of ‘em. +So it came back to me what was wrote on the ongverlope, and I says to +myself, “Why not, seein’ as I’ve been done myself, and if they keeps two +slaveys there must be some pickings?” An’ so ‘ere I am. But them cats, +they’ve brought me back to the ways of honestness. Never no more.’ + +‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘these cats are very valuable--very indeed. And +we will give them all to you, if only you will take them away.’ + +‘I see they’re a breedy lot,’ replied the burglar. ‘But I don’t want no +bother with the coppers. Did you come by them honest now? Straight?’ + +‘They are all our very own,’ said Anthea, ‘we wanted them, but the +confidement--’ + +‘Consignment,’ whispered Cyril, ‘was larger than we wanted, and they’re +an awful bother. If you got your barrow, and some sacks or baskets, your +brother’s missus would be awfully pleased. My father says Persian cats +are worth pounds and pounds each.’ + +‘Well,’ said the burglar--and he was certainly moved by her remarks--‘I +see you’re in a hole--and I don’t mind lending a helping ‘and. I don’t +ask ‘ow you come by them. But I’ve got a pal--‘e’s a mark on cats. I’ll +fetch him along, and if he thinks they’d fetch anything above their +skins I don’t mind doin’ you a kindness.’ + +‘You won’t go away and never come back,’ said Jane, ‘because I don’t +think I COULD bear that.’ + +The burglar, quite touched by her emotion, swore sentimentally that, +alive or dead, he would come back. + +Then he went, and Cyril and Robert sent the girls to bed and sat up to +wait for his return. It soon seemed absurd to await him in a state +of wakefulness, but his stealthy tap on the window awoke them readily +enough. For he did return, with the pal and the barrow and the sacks. +The pal approved of the cats, now dormant in Persian repletion, and +they were bundled into the sacks, and taken away on the barrow--mewing, +indeed, but with mews too sleepy to attract public attention. + +‘I’m a fence--that’s what I am,’ said the burglar gloomily. ‘I never +thought I’d come down to this, and all acause er my kind ‘eart.’ + +Cyril knew that a fence is a receiver of stolen goods, and he replied +briskly-- + +‘I give you my sacred the cats aren’t stolen. What do you make the +time?’ + +‘I ain’t got the time on me,’ said the pal--‘but it was just about +chucking-out time as I come by the “Bull and Gate”. I shouldn’t wonder +if it was nigh upon one now.’ + +When the cats had been removed, and the boys and the burglar had parted +with warm expressions of friendship, there remained only the cow. + +‘She must stay all night,’ said Robert. ‘Cook’ll have a fit when she +sees her.’ + +‘All night?’ said Cyril. ‘Why--it’s tomorrow morning if it’s one. We can +have another wish!’ + +So the carpet was urged, in a hastily written note, to remove the cow to +wherever she belonged, and to return to its proper place on the nursery +floor. But the cow could not be got to move on to the carpet. So Robert +got the clothes line out of the back kitchen, and tied one end very +firmly to the cow’s horns, and the other end to a bunched-up corner of +the carpet, and said ‘Fire away.’ + +And the carpet and cow vanished together, and the boys went to bed, +tired out and only too thankful that the evening at last was over. + +Next morning the carpet lay calmly in its place, but one corner was very +badly torn. It was the corner that the cow had been tied on to. + + + +CHAPTER 9. THE BURGLAR’S BRIDE + + +The morning after the adventure of the Persian cats, the musk-rats, the +common cow, and the uncommon burglar, all the children slept till it was +ten o’clock; and then it was only Cyril who woke; but he attended to +the others, so that by half past ten every one was ready to help to get +breakfast. It was shivery cold, and there was but little in the house +that was really worth eating. + +Robert had arranged a thoughtful little surprise for the absent +servants. He had made a neat and delightful booby trap over the kitchen +door, and as soon as they heard the front door click open and knew the +servants had come back, all four children hid in the cupboard under +the stairs and listened with delight to the entrance--the tumble, the +splash, the scuffle, and the remarks of the servants. They heard the +cook say it was a judgement on them for leaving the place to itself; +she seemed to think that a booby trap was a kind of plant that was quite +likely to grow, all by itself, in a dwelling that was left shut up. But +the housemaid, more acute, judged that someone must have been in the +house--a view confirmed by the sight of the breakfast things on the +nursery table. + +The cupboard under the stairs was very tight and paraffiny, however, and +a silent struggle for a place on top ended in the door bursting open +and discharging Jane, who rolled like a football to the feet of the +servants. + +‘Now,’ said Cyril, firmly, when the cook’s hysterics had become quieter, +and the housemaid had time to say what she thought of them, ‘don’t you +begin jawing us. We aren’t going to stand it. We know too much. You’ll +please make an extra special treacle roley for dinner, and we’ll have a +tinned tongue.’ + +‘I daresay,’ said the housemaid, indignant, still in her outdoor things +and with her hat very much on one side. ‘Don’t you come a-threatening +me, Master Cyril, because I won’t stand it, so I tell you. You tell +your ma about us being out? Much I care! She’ll be sorry for me when she +hears about my dear great-aunt by marriage as brought me up from a child +and was a mother to me. She sent for me, she did, she wasn’t expected +to last the night, from the spasms going to her legs--and cook was that +kind and careful she couldn’t let me go alone, so--’ + +‘Don’t,’ said Anthea, in real distress. ‘You know where liars go to, +Eliza--at least if you don’t--’ + +‘Liars indeed!’ said Eliza, ‘I won’t demean myself talking to you.’ + +‘How’s Mrs Wigson?’ said Robert, ‘and DID you keep it up last night?’ + +The mouth of the housemaid fell open. + +‘Did you doss with Maria or Emily?’ asked Cyril. + +‘How did Mrs Prosser enjoy herself?’ asked Jane. + +‘Forbear,’ said Cyril, ‘they’ve had enough. Whether we tell or not +depends on your later life,’ he went on, addressing the servants. ‘If +you are decent to us we’ll be decent to you. You’d better make that +treacle roley--and if I were you, Eliza, I’d do a little housework and +cleaning, just for a change.’ + +The servants gave in once and for all. + +‘There’s nothing like firmness,’ Cyril went on, when the breakfast +things were cleared away and the children were alone in the nursery. +‘People are always talking of difficulties with servants. It’s quite +simple, when you know the way. We can do what we like now and they won’t +peach. I think we’ve broken THEIR proud spirit. Let’s go somewhere by +carpet.’ + +‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ said the Phoenix, yawning, as it swooped +down from its roost on the curtain pole. ‘I’ve given you one or two +hints, but now concealment is at an end, and I see I must speak out.’ + +It perched on the back of a chair and swayed to and fro, like a parrot +on a swing. + +‘What’s the matter now?’ said Anthea. She was not quite so gentle as +usual, because she was still weary from the excitement of last night’s +cats. ‘I’m tired of things happening. I shan’t go anywhere on the +carpet. I’m going to darn my stockings.’ + +‘Darn!’ said the Phoenix, ‘darn! From those young lips these strange +expressions--’ + +‘Mend, then,’ said Anthea, ‘with a needle and wool.’ + +The Phoenix opened and shut its wings thoughtfully. + +‘Your stockings,’ it said, ‘are much less important than they now appear +to you. But the carpet--look at the bare worn patches, look at the great +rent at yonder corner. The carpet has been your faithful friend--your +willing servant. How have you requited its devoted service?’ + +‘Dear Phoenix,’ Anthea urged, ‘don’t talk in that horrid lecturing tone. +You make me feel as if I’d done something wrong. And really it is a +wishing carpet, and we haven’t done anything else to it--only wishes.’ + +‘Only wishes,’ repeated the Phoenix, ruffling its neck feathers angrily, +‘and what sort of wishes? Wishing people to be in a good temper, for +instance. What carpet did you ever hear of that had such a wish asked +of it? But this noble fabric, on which you trample so recklessly’ (every +one removed its boots from the carpet and stood on the linoleum), ‘this +carpet never flinched. It did what you asked, but the wear and tear must +have been awful. And then last night--I don’t blame you about the cats +and the rats, for those were its own choice; but what carpet could stand +a heavy cow hanging on to it at one corner?’ + +‘I should think the cats and rats were worse,’ said Robert, ‘look at all +their claws.’ + +‘Yes,’ said the bird, ‘eleven thousand nine hundred and forty of them--I +daresay you noticed? I should be surprised if these had not left their +mark.’ + +‘Good gracious,’ said Jane, sitting down suddenly on the floor, and +patting the edge of the carpet softly; ‘do you mean it’s WEARING OUT?’ + +‘Its life with you has not been a luxurious one,’ said the Phoenix. + +‘French mud twice. Sand of sunny shores twice. Soaking in southern seas +once. India once. Goodness knows where in Persia once. Musk-rat-land +once. And once, wherever the cow came from. Hold your carpet up to the +light, and with cautious tenderness, if YOU please.’ + +With cautious tenderness the boys held the carpet up to the light; the +girls looked, and a shiver of regret ran through them as they saw how +those eleven thoousand nine hundred and forty claws had run through the +carpet. It was full of little holes: there were some large ones, and +more than one thin place. At one corner a strip of it was torn, and hung +forlornly. + +‘We must mend it,’ said Anthea; ‘never mind about my stockings. I can +sew them up in lumps with sewing cotton if there’s no time to do them +properly. I know it’s awful and no girl would who respected herself, +and all that; but the poor dear carpet’s more important than my silly +stockings. Let’s go out now this very minute.’ + +So out they all went, and bought wool to mend the carpet; but there +is no shop in Camden Town where you can buy wishing-wool, no, nor in +Kentish Town either. However, ordinary Scotch heather-mixture fingering +seemed good enough, and this they bought, and all that day Jane and +Anthea darned and darned and darned. The boys went out for a walk in +the afternoon, and the gentle Phoenix paced up and down the table--for +exercise, as it said--and talked to the industrious girls about their +carpet. + +‘It is not an ordinary, ignorant, innocent carpet from Kidderminster,’ +it said, ‘it is a carpet with a past--a Persian past. Do you know that +in happier years, when that carpet was the property of caliphs, viziers, +kings, and sultans, it never lay on a floor?’ + +‘I thought the floor was the proper home of a carpet,’ Jane interrupted. + +‘Not of a MAGIC carpet,’ said the Phoenix; ‘why, if it had been allowed +to lie about on floors there wouldn’t be much of it left now. No, +indeed! It has lived in chests of cedarwood, inlaid with pearl and +ivory, wrapped in priceless tissues of cloth of gold, embroidered with +gems of fabulous value. It has reposed in the sandal-wood caskets of +princesses, and in the rose-attar-scented treasure-houses of kings. +Never, never, had any one degraded it by walking on it--except in the +way of business, when wishes were required, and then they always took +their shoes off. And YOU--’ + +‘Oh, DON’T!’ said Jane, very near tears. ‘You know you’d never have been +hatched at all if it hadn’t been for mother wanting a carpet for us to +walk on.’ + +‘You needn’t have walked so much or so hard!’ said the bird, ‘but +come, dry that crystal tear, and I will relate to you the story of the +Princess Zulieka, the Prince of Asia, and the magic carpet.’ + +‘Relate away,’ said Anthea--‘I mean, please do.’ + +‘The Princess Zulieka, fairest of royal ladies,’ began the bird, ‘had in +her cradle been the subject of several enchantments. Her grandmother had +been in her day--’ + +But what in her day Zulieka’s grandmother had been was destined never to +be revealed, for Cyril and Robert suddenly burst into the room, and on +each brow were the traces of deep emotion. On Cyril’s pale brow stood +beads of agitation and perspiration, and on the scarlet brow of Robert +was a large black smear. + +‘What ails ye both?’ asked the Phoenix, and it added tartly that +story-telling was quite impossible if people would come interrupting +like that. + +‘Oh, do shut up, for any sake!’ said Cyril, sinking into a chair. + +Robert smoothed the ruffled golden feathers, adding kindly-- + +‘Squirrel doesn’t mean to be a beast. It’s only that the MOST AWFUL +thing has happened, and stories don’t seem to matter so much. Don’t be +cross. You won’t be when you’ve heard what’s happened.’ + +‘Well, what HAS happened?’ said the bird, still rather crossly; and +Anthea and Jane paused with long needles poised in air, and long +needlefuls of Scotch heather-mixture fingering wool drooping from them. + +‘The most awful thing you can possibly think of,’ said Cyril. ‘That nice +chap--our own burglar--the police have got him, on suspicion of stolen +cats. That’s what his brother’s missis told me.’ + +‘Oh, begin at the beginning!’ cried Anthea impatiently. + +‘Well, then, we went out, and down by where the undertaker’s is, with +the china flowers in the window--you know. There was a crowd, and of +course we went to have a squint. And it was two bobbies and our burglar +between them, and he was being dragged along; and he said, “I tell you +them cats was GIVE me. I got ‘em in exchange for me milking a cow in a +basement parlour up Camden Town way.” + +‘And the people laughed. Beasts! And then one of the policemen said +perhaps he could give the name and address of the cow, and he said, no, +he couldn’t; but he could take them there if they’d only leave go of his +coat collar, and give him a chance to get his breath. And the policeman +said he could tell all that to the magistrate in the morning. He didn’t +see us, and so we came away.’ + +‘Oh, Cyril, how COULD you?’ said Anthea. + +‘Don’t be a pudding-head,’ Cyril advised. ‘A fat lot of good it would +have done if we’d let him see us. No one would have believed a word we +said. They’d have thought we were kidding. We did better than let him +see us. We asked a boy where he lived and he told us, and we went there, +and it’s a little greengrocer’s shop, and we bought some Brazil nuts. +Here they are.’ The girls waved away the Brazil nuts with loathing and +contempt. + +‘Well, we had to buy SOMETHING, and while we were making up our minds +what to buy we heard his brother’s missis talking. She said when he came +home with all them miaoulers she thought there was more in it than met +the eye. But he WOULD go out this morning with the two likeliest of +them, one under each arm. She said he sent her out to buy blue ribbon to +put round their beastly necks, and she said if he got three months’ hard +it was her dying word that he’d got the blue ribbon to thank for it; +that, and his own silly thieving ways, taking cats that anybody would +know he couldn’t have come by in the way of business, instead of things +that wouldn’t have been missed, which Lord knows there are plenty such, +and--’ + +‘Oh, STOP!’ cried Jane. And indeed it was time, for Cyril seemed like a +clock that had been wound up, and could not help going on. ‘Where is he +now?’ + +‘At the police-station,’ said Robert, for Cyril was out of breath. ‘The +boy told us they’d put him in the cells, and would bring him up +before the Beak in the morning. I thought it was a jolly lark last +night--getting him to take the cats--but now--’ + +‘The end of a lark,’ said the Phoenix, ‘is the Beak.’ + +‘Let’s go to him,’ cried both the girls jumping up. ‘Let’s go and tell +the truth. They MUST believe us.’ + +‘They CAN’T,’ said Cyril. ‘Just think! If any one came to you with such +a tale, you couldn’t believe it, however much you tried. We should only +mix things up worse for him.’ + +‘There must be something we could do,’ said Jane, sniffing very +much--‘my own dear pet burglar! I can’t bear it. And he was so nice, +the way he talked about his father, and how he was going to be so extra +honest. Dear Phoenix, you MUST be able to help us. You’re so good and +kind and pretty and clever. Do, do tell us what to do.’ + +The Phoenix rubbed its beak thoughtfully with its claw. + +‘You might rescue him,’ it said, ‘and conceal him here, till the +law-supporters had forgotten about him.’ + +‘That would be ages and ages,’ said Cyril, ‘and we couldn’t conceal him +here. Father might come home at any moment, and if he found the burglar +here HE wouldn’t believe the true truth any more than the police would. +That’s the worst of the truth. Nobody ever believes it. Couldn’t we take +him somewhere else?’ + +Jane clapped her hands. + +‘The sunny southern shore!’ she cried, ‘where the cook is being queen. +He and she would be company for each other!’ + +And really the idea did not seem bad, if only he would consent to go. + +So, all talking at once, the children arranged to wait till evening, and +then to seek the dear burglar in his lonely cell. + +Meantime Jane and Anthea darned away as hard as they could, to make the +carpet as strong as possible. For all felt how terrible it would be if +the precious burglar, while being carried to the sunny southern shore, +were to tumble through a hole in the carpet, and be lost for ever in the +sunny southern sea. + +The servants were tired after Mrs Wigson’s party, so every one went to +bed early, and when the Phoenix reported that both servants were snoring +in a heartfelt and candid manner, the children got up--they had never +undressed; just putting their nightgowns on over their things had been +enough to deceive Eliza when she came to turn out the gas. So they were +ready for anything, and they stood on the carpet and said-- + +‘I wish we were in our burglar’s lonely cell.’ and instantly they were. + +I think every one had expected the cell to be the ‘deepest dungeon below +the castle moat’. I am sure no one had doubted that the burglar, chained +by heavy fetters to a ring in the damp stone wall, would be tossing +uneasily on a bed of straw, with a pitcher of water and a mouldering +crust, untasted, beside him. Robert, remembering the underground passage +and the treasure, had brought a candle and matches, but these were not +needed. + +The cell was a little white-washed room about twelve feet long and +six feet wide. On one side of it was a sort of shelf sloping a little +towards the wall. On this were two rugs, striped blue and yellow, and a +water-proof pillow. Rolled in the rugs, and with his head on the pillow, +lay the burglar, fast asleep. (He had had his tea, though this the +children did not know--it had come from the coffee-shop round the +corner, in very thick crockery.) The scene was plainly revealed by the +light of a gas-lamp in the passage outside, which shone into the cell +through a pane of thick glass over the door. + +‘I shall gag him,’ said Cyril, ‘and Robert will hold him down. Anthea +and Jane and the Phoenix can whisper soft nothings to him while he +gradually awakes.’ + +This plan did not have the success it deserved, because the burglar, +curiously enough, was much stronger, even in his sleep, than Robert and +Cyril, and at the first touch of their hands he leapt up and shouted out +something very loud indeed. + +Instantly steps were heard outside. Anthea threw her arms round the +burglar and whispered-- + +‘It’s us--the ones that gave you the cats. We’ve come to save you, only +don’t let on we’re here. Can’t we hide somewhere?’ + +Heavy boots sounded on the flagged passage outside, and a firm voice +shouted-- + +‘Here--you--stop that row, will you?’ + +‘All right, governor,’ replied the burglar, still with Anthea’s arms +round him; ‘I was only a-talking in my sleep. No offence.’ + +It was an awful moment. Would the boots and the voice come in. Yes! No! +The voice said-- + +‘Well, stow it, will you?’ + +And the boots went heavily away, along the passage and up some sounding +stone stairs. + +‘Now then,’ whispered Anthea. + +‘How the blue Moses did you get in?’ asked the burglar, in a hoarse +whisper of amazement. + +‘On the carpet,’ said Jane, truly. + +‘Stow that,’ said the burglar. ‘One on you I could ‘a’ swallowed, but +four--AND a yellow fowl.’ + +‘Look here,’ said Cyril, sternly, ‘you wouldn’t have believed any one if +they’d told you beforehand about your finding a cow and all those cats +in our nursery.’ + +‘That I wouldn’t,’ said the burglar, with whispered fervour, ‘so help me +Bob, I wouldn’t.’ + +‘Well, then,’ Cyril went on, ignoring this appeal to his brother, ‘just +try to believe what we tell you and act accordingly. It can’t do you any +HARM, you know,’ he went on in hoarse whispered earnestness. ‘You can’t +be very much worse off than you are now, you know. But if you’ll just +trust to us we’ll get you out of this right enough. No one saw us come +in. The question is, where would you like to go?’ + +‘I’d like to go to Boolong,’ was the instant reply of the burglar. ‘I’ve +always wanted to go on that there trip, but I’ve never ‘ad the ready at +the right time of the year.’ + +‘Boolong is a town like London,’ said Cyril, well meaning, but +inaccurate, ‘how could you get a living there?’ + +The burglar scratched his head in deep doubt. + +‘It’s ‘ard to get a ‘onest living anywheres nowadays,’ he said, and his +voice was sad. + +‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Jane, sympathetically; ‘but how about a sunny +southern shore, where there’s nothing to do at all unless you want to.’ + +‘That’s my billet, miss,’ replied the burglar. ‘I never did care about +work--not like some people, always fussing about.’ + +‘Did you never like any sort of work?’ asked Anthea, severely. + +‘Lor’, lumme, yes,’ he answered, ‘gardening was my ‘obby, so it was. But +father died afore ‘e could bind me to a nurseryman, an’--’ + +‘We’ll take you to the sunny southern shore,’ said Jane; ‘you’ve no idea +what the flowers are like.’ + +‘Our old cook’s there,’ said Anthea. ‘She’s queen--’ + +‘Oh, chuck it,’ the burglar whispered, clutching at his head with both +hands. ‘I knowed the first minute I see them cats and that cow as it was +a judgement on me. I don’t know now whether I’m a-standing on my hat or +my boots, so help me I don’t. If you CAN get me out, get me, and if you +can’t, get along with you for goodness’ sake, and give me a chanst +to think about what’ll be most likely to go down with the Beak in the +morning.’ + +‘Come on to the carpet, then,’ said Anthea, gently shoving. The others +quietly pulled, and the moment the feet of the burglar were planted on +the carpet Anthea wished: + +‘I wish we were all on the sunny southern shore where cook is.’ + +And instantly they were. There were the rainbow sands, the tropic +glories of leaf and flower, and there, of course, was the cook, crowned +with white flowers, and with all the wrinkles of crossness and tiredness +and hard work wiped out of her face. + +‘Why, cook, you’re quite pretty!’ Anthea said, as soon as she had got +her breath after the tumble-rush-whirl of the carpet. The burglar stood +rubbing his eyes in the brilliant tropic sunlight, and gazing wildly +round him on the vivid hues of the tropic land. + +‘Penny plain and tuppence coloured!’ he exclaimed pensively, ‘and well +worth any tuppence, however hard-earned.’ + +The cook was seated on a grassy mound with her court of copper-coloured +savages around her. The burglar pointed a grimy finger at these. + +‘Are they tame?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Do they bite or scratch, or do +anything to yer with poisoned arrows or oyster shells or that?’ + +‘Don’t you be so timid,’ said the cook. ‘Look’e ‘ere, this ‘ere’s only +a dream what you’ve come into, an’ as it’s only a dream there’s no +nonsense about what a young lady like me ought to say or not, so I’ll +say you’re the best-looking fellow I’ve seen this many a day. And the +dream goes on and on, seemingly, as long as you behaves. The things what +you has to eat and drink tastes just as good as real ones, and--’ + +‘Look ‘ere,’ said the burglar, ‘I’ve come ‘ere straight outer the pleece +station. These ‘ere kids’ll tell you it ain’t no blame er mine.’ + +‘Well, you WERE a burglar, you know,’ said the truthful Anthea gently. + +‘Only because I was druv to it by dishonest blokes, as well you knows, +miss,’ rejoined the criminal. ‘Blowed if this ain’t the ‘ottest January +as I’ve known for years.’ + +‘Wouldn’t you like a bath?’ asked the queen, ‘and some white clothes +like me?’ + +‘I should only look a juggins in ‘em, miss, thanking you all the same,’ +was the reply; ‘but a bath I wouldn’t resist, and my shirt was only +clean on week before last.’ + +Cyril and Robert led him to a rocky pool, where he bathed luxuriously. +Then, in shirt and trousers he sat on the sand and spoke. + +‘That cook, or queen, or whatever you call her--her with the white bokay +on her ‘ed--she’s my sort. Wonder if she’d keep company!’ + +‘I should ask her.’ + +‘I was always a quick hitter,’ the man went on; ‘it’s a word and a blow +with me. I will.’ + +In shirt and trousers, and crowned with a scented flowery wreath which +Cyril hastily wove as they returned to the court of the queen, the +burglar stood before the cook and spoke. + +‘Look ‘ere, miss,’ he said. ‘You an’ me being’ all forlorn-like, both on +us, in this ‘ere dream, or whatever you calls it, I’d like to tell you +straight as I likes yer looks.’ + +The cook smiled and looked down bashfully. + +‘I’m a single man--what you might call a batcheldore. I’m mild in my +‘abits, which these kids’ll tell you the same, and I’d like to ‘ave the +pleasure of walkin’ out with you next Sunday.’ + +‘Lor!’ said the queen cook, ‘’ow sudden you are, mister.’ + +‘Walking out means you’re going to be married,’ said Anthea. ‘Why not +get married and have done with it? _I_ would.’ + +‘I don’t mind if I do,’ said the burglar. But the cook said-- + +‘No, miss. Not me, not even in a dream. I don’t say anythink ag’in the +young chap’s looks, but I always swore I’d be married in church, if at +all--and, anyway, I don’t believe these here savages would know how +to keep a registering office, even if I was to show them. No, mister, +thanking you kindly, if you can’t bring a clergyman into the dream I’ll +live and die like what I am.’ + +‘Will you marry her if we get a clergyman?’ asked the match-making +Anthea. + +‘I’m agreeable, miss, I’m sure,’ said he, pulling his wreath straight. +‘’Ow this ‘ere bokay do tiddle a chap’s ears to be sure!’ + +So, very hurriedly, the carpet was spread out, and instructed to fetch +a clergyman. The instructions were written on the inside of Cyril’s cap +with a piece of billiard chalk Robert had got from the marker at the +hotel at Lyndhurst. The carpet disappeared, and more quickly than you +would have thought possible it came back, bearing on its bosom the +Reverend Septimus Blenkinsop. + +The Reverend Septimus was rather a nice young man, but very much mazed +and muddled, because when he saw a strange carpet laid out at his feet, +in his own study, he naturally walked on it to examine it more closely. +And he happened to stand on one of the thin places that Jane and Anthea +had darned, so that he was half on wishing carpet and half on plain +Scotch heather-mixture fingering, which has no magic properties at all. + +The effect of this was that he was only half there--so that the children +could just see through him, as though he had been a ghost. And as for +him, he saw the sunny southern shore, the cook and the burglar and the +children quite plainly; but through them all he saw, quite plainly also, +his study at home, with the books and the pictures and the marble clock +that had been presented to him when he left his last situation. + +He seemed to himself to be in a sort of insane fit, so that it did not +matter what he did--and he married the burglar to the cook. The cook +said that she would rather have had a solider kind of a clergyman, one +that you couldn’t see through so plain, but perhaps this was real enough +for a dream. + +And of course the clergyman, though misty, was really real, and able +to marry people, and he did. When the ceremony was over the clergyman +wandered about the island collecting botanical specimens, for he was a +great botanist, and the ruling passion was strong even in an insane fit. + +There was a splendid wedding feast. Can you fancy Jane and Anthea, +and Robert and Cyril, dancing merrily in a ring, hand-in-hand with +copper-coloured savages, round the happy couple, the queen cook and the +burglar consort? There were more flowers gathered and thrown than you +have ever even dreamed of, and before the children took carpet for home +the now married-and-settled burglar made a speech. + +‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘and savages of both kinds, only I know +you can’t understand what I’m a saying of, but we’ll let that pass. +If this is a dream, I’m on. If it ain’t, I’m onner than ever. If it’s +betwixt and between--well, I’m honest, and I can’t say more. I don’t +want no more ‘igh London society--I’ve got some one to put my arm around +of; and I’ve got the whole lot of this ‘ere island for my allotment, and +if I don’t grow some broccoli as’ll open the judge’s eye at the cottage +flower shows, well, strike me pink! All I ask is, as these young gents +and ladies’ll bring some parsley seed into the dream, and a penn’orth of +radish seed, and threepenn’orth of onion, and I wouldn’t mind goin’ to +fourpence or fippence for mixed kale, only I ain’t got a brown, so I +don’t deceive you. And there’s one thing more, you might take away the +parson. I don’t like things what I can see ‘alf through, so here’s how!’ +He drained a coconut-shell of palm wine. + +It was now past midnight--though it was tea-time on the island. + +With all good wishes the children took their leave. They also collected +the clergyman and took him back to his study and his presentation clock. + +The Phoenix kindly carried the seeds next day to the burglar and his +bride, and returned with the most satisfactory news of the happy pair. + +‘He’s made a wooden spade and started on his allotment,’ it said, ‘and +she is weaving him a shirt and trousers of the most radiant whiteness.’ + +The police never knew how the burglar got away. In Kentish Town Police +Station his escape is still spoken of with bated breath as the Persian +mystery. + +As for the Reverend Septimus Blenkinsop, he felt that he had had a +very insane fit indeed, and he was sure it was due to over-study. So he +planned a little dissipation, and took his two maiden aunts to Paris, +where they enjoyed a dazzling round of museums and picture galleries, +and came back feeling that they had indeed seen life. He never told his +aunts or any one else about the marriage on the island--because no +one likes it to be generally known if he has had insane fits, however +interesting and unusual. + + + +CHAPTER 10. THE HOLE IN THE CARPET + + + Hooray! hooray! hooray! + Mother comes home to-day; + Mother comes home to-day, + Hooray! hooray! hooray!’ + +Jane sang this simple song directly after breakfast, and the Phoenix +shed crystal tears of affectionate sympathy. + +‘How beautiful,’ it said, ‘is filial devotion!’ + +‘She won’t be home till past bedtime, though,’ said Robert. ‘We might +have one more carpet-day.’ + +He was glad that mother was coming home--quite glad, very glad; but at +the same time that gladness was rudely contradicted by a quite strong +feeling of sorrow, because now they could not go out all day on the +carpet. + +‘I do wish we could go and get something nice for mother, only she’d +want to know where we got it,’ said Anthea. ‘And she’d never, never +believe it, the truth. People never do, somehow, if it’s at all +interesting.’ + +‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Robert. ‘Suppose we wished the carpet to take +us somewhere where we could find a purse with money in it--then we could +buy her something.’ + +‘Suppose it took us somewhere foreign, and the purse was covered with +strange Eastern devices, embroidered in rich silks, and full of money +that wasn’t money at all here, only foreign curiosities, then we +couldn’t spend it, and people would bother about where we got it, and we +shouldn’t know how on earth to get out of it at all.’ + +Cyril moved the table off the carpet as he spoke, and its leg caught +in one of Anthea’s darns and ripped away most of it, as well as a large +slit in the carpet. + +‘Well, now you HAVE done it,’ said Robert. + +But Anthea was a really first-class sister. She did not say a word +till she had got out the Scotch heather-mixture fingering wool and the +darning-needle and the thimble and the scissors, and by that time she +had been able to get the better of her natural wish to be thoroughly +disagreeable, and was able to say quite kindly-- + +‘Never mind, Squirrel, I’ll soon mend it.’ + +Cyril thumped her on the back. He understood exactly how she had felt, +and he was not an ungrateful brother. + +‘Respecting the purse containing coins,’ the Phoenix said, scratching +its invisible ear thoughtfully with its shining claw, ‘it might be as +well, perhaps, to state clearly the amount which you wish to find, as +well as the country where you wish to find it, and the nature of the +coins which you prefer. It would be indeed a cold moment when you should +find a purse containing but three oboloi.’ + +‘How much is an oboloi?’ + +‘An obol is about twopence halfpenny,’ the Phoenix replied. + +‘Yes,’ said Jane, ‘and if you find a purse I suppose it is only because +some one has lost it, and you ought to take it to the policeman.’ + +‘The situation,’ remarked the Phoenix, ‘does indeed bristle with +difficulties.’ + +‘What about a buried treasure,’ said Cyril, ‘and every one was dead that +it belonged to?’ + +‘Mother wouldn’t believe THAT,’ said more than one voice. + +‘Suppose,’ said Robert--‘suppose we asked to be taken where we could +find a purse and give it back to the person it belonged to, and they +would give us something for finding it?’ + +‘We aren’t allowed to take money from strangers. You know we aren’t, +Bobs,’ said Anthea, making a knot at the end of a needleful of Scotch +heather-mixture fingering wool (which is very wrong, and you must never +do it when you are darning). + +‘No, THAT wouldn’t do,’ said Cyril. ‘Let’s chuck it and go to the North +Pole, or somewhere really interesting.’ + +‘No,’ said the girls together, ‘there must be SOME way.’ + +‘Wait a sec,’ Anthea added. ‘I’ve got an idea coming. Don’t speak.’ + +There was a silence as she paused with the darning-needle in the air! +Suddenly she spoke: + +‘I see. Let’s tell the carpet to take us somewhere where we can get the +money for mother’s present, and--and--and get it some way that she’ll +believe in and not think wrong.’ + +‘Well, I must say you are learning the way to get the most out of the +carpet,’ said Cyril. He spoke more heartily and kindly than usual, +because he remembered how Anthea had refrained from snarking him about +tearing the carpet. + +‘Yes,’ said the Phoenix, ‘you certainly are. And you have to remember +that if you take a thing out it doesn’t stay in.’ + +No one paid any attention to this remark at the time, but afterwards +every one thought of it. + +‘Do hurry up, Panther,’ said Robert; and that was why Anthea did hurry +up, and why the big darn in the middle of the carpet was all open and +webby like a fishing net, not tight and close like woven cloth, which is +what a good, well-behaved darn should be. + +Then every one put on its outdoor things, the Phoenix fluttered on to +the mantelpiece and arranged its golden feathers in the glass, and all +was ready. Every one got on to the carpet. + +‘Please go slowly, dear carpet,’ Anthea began; we like to see where +we’re going.’ And then she added the difficult wish that had been +decided on. + +Next moment the carpet, stiff and raftlike, was sailing over the roofs +of Kentish Town. + +‘I wish--No, I don’t mean that. I mean it’s a PITY we aren’t higher up,’ +said Anthea, as the edge of the carpet grazed a chimney-pot. + +‘That’s right. Be careful,’ said the Phoenix, in warning tones. ‘If you +wish when you’re on a wishing carpet, you DO wish, and there’s an end of +it.’ + +So for a short time no one spoke, and the carpet sailed on in calm +magnificence over St Pancras and King’s Cross stations and over the +crowded streets of Clerkenwell. + +‘We’re going out Greenwich way,’ said Cyril, as they crossed the streak +of rough, tumbled water that was the Thames. ‘We might go and have a +look at the Palace.’ + +On and on the carpet swept, still keeping much nearer to the +chimney-pots than the children found at all comfortable. And then, just +over New Cross, a terrible thing happened. + +Jane and Robert were in the middle of the carpet. Part of them was +on the carpet, and part of them--the heaviest part--was on the great +central darn. + +‘It’s all very misty,’ said Jane; ‘it looks partly like out of doors +and partly like in the nursery at home. I feel as if I was going to have +measles; everything looked awfully rum then, remember.’ + +‘I feel just exactly the same,’ Robert said. + +‘It’s the hole,’ said the Phoenix; ‘it’s not measles whatever that +possession may be.’ + +And at that both Robert and Jane suddenly, and at once, made a bound to +try and get on to the safer part of the carpet, and the darn gave way +and their boots went up, and the heavy heads and bodies of them went +down through the hole, and they landed in a position something between +sitting and sprawling on the flat leads on the top of a high, grey, +gloomy, respectable house whose address was 705, Amersham Road, New +Cross. + +The carpet seemed to awaken to new energy as soon as it had got rid of +their weight, and it rose high in the air. The others lay down flat and +peeped over the edge of the rising carpet. + +‘Are you hurt?’ cried Cyril, and Robert shouted ‘No,’ and next moment +the carpet had sped away, and Jane and Robert were hidden from the sight +of the others by a stack of smoky chimneys. + +‘Oh, how awful!’ said Anthea. + +‘It might have been worse,’ said the Phoenix. ‘What would have been +the sentiments of the survivors if that darn had given way when we were +crossing the river?’ + +‘Yes, there’s that,’ said Cyril, recovering himself. ‘They’ll be all +right. They’ll howl till some one gets them down, or drop tiles into +the front garden to attract attention of passersby. Bobs has got my +one-and-fivepence--lucky you forgot to mend that hole in my pocket, +Panther, or he wouldn’t have had it. They can tram it home.’ + +But Anthea would not be comforted. + +‘It’s all my fault,’ she said. ‘I KNEW the proper way to darn, and I +didn’t do it. It’s all my fault. Let’s go home and patch the carpet with +your Etons--something really strong--and send it to fetch them.’ + +‘All right,’ said Cyril; ‘but your Sunday jacket is stronger than my +Etons. We must just chuck mother’s present, that’s all. I wish--’ + +‘Stop!’ cried the Phoenix; ‘the carpet is dropping to earth.’ + +And indeed it was. + +It sank swiftly, yet steadily, and landed on the pavement of the +Deptford Road. It tipped a little as it landed, so that Cyril and Anthea +naturally walked off it, and in an instant it had rolled itself up and +hidden behind a gate-post. It did this so quickly that not a single +person in the Deptford Road noticed it. The Phoenix rustled its way into +the breast of Cyril’s coat, and almost at the same moment a well-known +voice remarked-- + +‘Well, I never! What on earth are you doing here?’ + +They were face to face with their pet uncle--their Uncle Reginald. + +‘We DID think of going to Greenwich Palace and talking about Nelson,’ +said Cyril, telling as much of the truth as he thought his uncle could +believe. + +‘And where are the others?’ asked Uncle Reginald. + +‘I don’t exactly know,’ Cyril replied, this time quite truthfully. + +‘Well,’ said Uncle Reginald, ‘I must fly. I’ve a case in the County +Court. That’s the worst of being a beastly solicitor. One can’t take the +chances of life when one gets them. If only I could come with you to the +Painted Hall and give you lunch at the “Ship” afterwards! But, alas! it +may not be.’ + +The uncle felt in his pocket. + +‘_I_ mustn’t enjoy myself,’ he said, ‘but that’s no reason why you +shouldn’t. Here, divide this by four, and the product ought to give you +some desired result. Take care of yourselves. Adieu.’ + +And waving a cheery farewell with his neat umbrella, the good and +high-hatted uncle passed away, leaving Cyril and Anthea to exchange +eloquent glances over the shining golden sovereign that lay in Cyril’s +hand. + +‘Well!’ said Anthea. + +‘Well!’ said Cyril. + +‘Well!’ said the Phoenix. + +‘Good old carpet!’ said Cyril, joyously. + +‘It WAS clever of it--so adequate and yet so simple,’ said the Phoenix, +with calm approval. + +‘Oh, come on home and let’s mend the carpet. I am a beast. I’d forgotten +the others just for a minute,’ said the conscience-stricken Anthea. + +They unrolled the carpet quickly and slyly--they did not want to attract +public attention--and the moment their feet were on the carpet Anthea +wished to be at home, and instantly they were. + +The kindness of their excellent uncle had made it unnecessary for them +to go to such extremes as Cyril’s Etons or Anthea’s Sunday jacket for +the patching of the carpet. + +Anthea set to work at once to draw the edges of the broken darn +together, and Cyril hastily went out and bought a large piece of the +marble-patterned American oil-cloth which careful house-wives use to +cover dressers and kitchen tables. It was the strongest thing he could +think of. + +Then they set to work to line the carpet throughout with the oil-cloth. +The nursery felt very odd and empty without the others, and Cyril did +not feel so sure as he had done about their being able to ‘tram it’ +home. So he tried to help Anthea, which was very good of him, but not +much use to her. + +The Phoenix watched them for a time, but it was plainly growing more and +more restless. It fluffed up its splendid feathers, and stood first on +one gilded claw and then on the other, and at last it said-- + +‘I can bear it no longer. This suspense! My Robert--who set my egg to +hatch--in the bosom of whose Norfolk raiment I have nestled so often and +so pleasantly! I think, if you’ll excuse me--’ + +‘Yes--DO,’ cried Anthea, ‘I wish we’d thought of asking you before.’ + +Cyril opened the window. The Phoenix flapped its sunbright wings and +vanished. + +‘So THAT’S all right,’ said Cyril, taking up his needle and instantly +pricking his hand in a new place. + + +Of course I know that what you have really wanted to know about all this +time is not what Anthea and Cyril did, but what happened to Jane and +Robert after they fell through the carpet on to the leads of the house +which was called number 705, Amersham Road. + +But I had to tell you the other first. That is one of the most annoying +things about stories, you cannot tell all the different parts of them at +the same time. + +Robert’s first remark when he found himself seated on the damp, cold, +sooty leads was-- + +‘Here’s a go!’ + +Jane’s first act was tears. + +‘Dry up, Pussy; don’t be a little duffer,’ said her brother, kindly, +‘it’ll be all right.’ + +And then he looked about, just as Cyril had known he would, for +something to throw down, so as to attract the attention of the wayfarers +far below in the street. He could not find anything. Curiously enough, +there were no stones on the leads, not even a loose tile. The roof was +of slate, and every single slate knew its place and kept it. But, as so +often happens, in looking for one thing he found another. There was a +trap-door leading down into the house. + +And that trap-door was not fastened. + +‘Stop snivelling and come here, Jane,’ he cried, encouragingly. ‘Lend a +hand to heave this up. If we can get into the house, we might sneak down +without meeting any one, with luck. Come on.’ + +They heaved up the door till it stood straight up, and, as they bent to +look into the hole below, the door fell back with a hollow clang on the +leads behind, and with its noise was mingled a blood-curdling scream +from underneath. + +‘Discovered!’ hissed Robert. ‘Oh, my cats alive!’ + +They were indeed discovered. + +They found themselves looking down into an attic, which was also +a lumber-room. It had boxes and broken chairs, old fenders and +picture-frames, and rag-bags hanging from nails. + +In the middle of the floor was a box, open, half full of clothes. Other +clothes lay on the floor in neat piles. In the middle of the piles of +clothes sat a lady, very fat indeed, with her feet sticking out straight +in front of her. And it was she who had screamed, and who, in fact, was +still screaming. + +‘Don’t!’ cried Jane, ‘please don’t! We won’t hurt you.’ + +‘Where are the rest of your gang?’ asked the lady, stopping short in the +middle of a scream. + +‘The others have gone on, on the wishing carpet,’ said Jane truthfully. + +‘The wishing carpet?’ said the lady. + +‘Yes,’ said Jane, before Robert could say ‘You shut up!’ ‘You must have +read about it. The Phoenix is with them.’ + +Then the lady got up, and picking her way carefully between the piles of +clothes she got to the door and through it. She shut it behind her, and +the two children could hear her calling ‘Septimus! Septimus!’ in a loud +yet frightened way. + +‘Now,’ said Robert quickly; ‘I’ll drop first.’ + +He hung by his hands and dropped through the trap-door. + +‘Now you. Hang by your hands. I’ll catch you. Oh, there’s no time for +jaw. Drop, I say.’ + +Jane dropped. + +Robert tried to catch her, and even before they had finished the +breathless roll among the piles of clothes, which was what his catching +ended in, he whispered-- + +‘We’ll hide--behind those fenders and things; they’ll think we’ve gone +along the roofs. Then, when all is calm, we’ll creep down the stairs and +take our chance.’ + +They hastily hid. A corner of an iron bedstead stuck into Robert’s side, +and Jane had only standing room for one foot--but they bore it--and when +the lady came back, not with Septimus, but with another lady, they held +their breath and their hearts beat thickly. + +‘Gone!’ said the first lady; ‘poor little things--quite mad, my +dear--and at large! We must lock this room and send for the police.’ + +‘Let me look out,’ said the second lady, who was, if possible, older +and thinner and primmer than the first. So the two ladies dragged a box +under the trap-door and put another box on the top of it, and then they +both climbed up very carefully and put their two trim, tidy heads out of +the trap-door to look for the ‘mad children’. + +‘Now,’ whispered Robert, getting the bedstead leg out of his side. + +They managed to creep out from their hiding-place and out through the +door before the two ladies had done looking out of the trap-door on to +the empty leads. + +Robert and Jane tiptoed down the stairs--one flight, two flights. Then +they looked over the banisters. Horror! a servant was coming up with a +loaded scuttle. + +The children with one consent crept swiftly through the first open door. + +The room was a study, calm and gentlemanly, with rows of books, a +writing table, and a pair of embroidered slippers warming themselves in +the fender. The children hid behind the window-curtains. As they passed +the table they saw on it a missionary-box with its bottom label torn +off, open and empty. + +‘Oh, how awful!’ whispered Jane. ‘We shall never get away alive.’ + +‘Hush!’ said Robert, not a moment too soon, for there were steps on the +stairs, and next instant the two ladies came into the room. They did not +see the children, but they saw the empty missionary box. + +‘I knew it,’ said one. ‘Selina, it WAS a gang. I was certain of it from +the first. The children were not mad. They were sent to distract our +attention while their confederates robbed the house.’ + +‘I am afraid you are right,’ said Selina; ‘and WHERE ARE THEY NOW?’ + +‘Downstairs, no doubt, collecting the silver milk-jug and sugar-basin +and the punch-ladle that was Uncle Joe’s, and Aunt Jerusha’s teaspoons. +I shall go down.’ + +‘Oh, don’t be so rash and heroic,’ said Selina. ‘Amelia, we must call +the police from the window. Lock the door. I WILL--I will--’ + +The words ended in a yell as Selina, rushing to the window, came face to +face with the hidden children. + +‘Oh, don’t!’ said Jane; ‘how can you be so unkind? We AREN’T burglars, +and we haven’t any gang, and we didn’t open your missionary-box. +We opened our own once, but we didn’t have to use the money, so our +consciences made us put it back and--DON’T! Oh, I wish you wouldn’t--’ + +Miss Selina had seized Jane and Miss Amelia captured Robert. The +children found themselves held fast by strong, slim hands, pink at the +wrists and white at the knuckles. + +‘We’ve got YOU, at any rate,’ said Miss Amelia. ‘Selina, your captive +is smaller than mine. You open the window at once and call “Murder!” as +loud as you can. + +Selina obeyed; but when she had opened the window, instead of calling +‘Murder!’ she called ‘Septimus!’ because at that very moment she saw her +nephew coming in at the gate. + +In another minute he had let himself in with his latch-key and had +mounted the stairs. As he came into the room Jane and Robert each +uttered a shriek of joy so loud and so sudden that the ladies leaped +with surprise, and nearly let them go. + +‘It’s our own clergyman,’ cried Jane. + +‘Don’t you remember us?’ asked Robert. ‘You married our burglar for +us--don’t you remember?’ + +‘I KNEW it was a gang,’ said Amelia. ‘Septimus, these abandoned children +are members of a desperate burgling gang who are robbing the house. They +have already forced the missionary-box and purloined its contents.’ + +The Reverend Septimus passed his hand wearily over his brow. + +‘I feel a little faint,’ he said, ‘running upstairs so quickly.’ + +‘We never touched the beastly box,’ said Robert. + +‘Then your confederates did,’ said Miss Selina. + +‘No, no,’ said the curate, hastily. ‘_I_ opened the box myself. +This morning I found I had not enough small change for the Mothers’ +Independent Unity Measles and Croup Insurance payments. I suppose this +is NOT a dream, is it?’ + +‘Dream? No, indeed. Search the house. I insist upon it.’ + +The curate, still pale and trembling, searched the house, which, of +course, was blamelessly free of burglars. + +When he came back he sank wearily into his chair. + +‘Aren’t you going to let us go?’ asked Robert, with furious indignation, +for there is something in being held by a strong lady that sets the +blood of a boy boiling in his veins with anger and despair. ‘We’ve never +done anything to you. It’s all the carpet. It dropped us on the leads. +WE couldn’t help it. You know how it carried you over to the island, and +you had to marry the burglar to the cook.’ + +‘Oh, my head!’ said the curate. + +‘Never mind your head just now,’ said Robert; ‘try to be honest and +honourable, and do your duty in that state of life!’ + +‘This is a judgement on me for something, I suppose,’ said the Reverend +Septimus, wearily, ‘but I really cannot at the moment remember what.’ + +‘Send for the police,’ said Miss Selina. + +‘Send for a doctor,’ said the curate. + +‘Do you think they ARE mad, then,’ said Miss Amelia. + +‘I think I am,’ said the curate. + +Jane had been crying ever since her capture. Now she said-- ‘You aren’t +now, but perhaps you will be, if--And it would serve you jolly well +right, too.’ + +‘Aunt Selina,’ said the curate, ‘and Aunt Amelia, believe me, this is +only an insane dream. You will realize it soon. It has happened to me +before. But do not let us be unjust, even in a dream. Do not hold the +children; they have done no harm. As I said before, it was I who opened +the box.’ + +The strong, bony hands unwillingly loosened their grasp. Robert shook +himself and stood in sulky resentment. But Jane ran to the curate and +embraced him so suddenly that he had not time to defend himself. + +‘You’re a dear,’ she said. ‘It IS like a dream just at first, but you +get used to it. Now DO let us go. There’s a good, kind, honourable +clergyman.’ + +‘I don’t know,’ said the Reverend Septimus; ‘it’s a difficult problem. +It is such a very unusual dream. Perhaps it’s only a sort of other +life--quite real enough for you to be mad in. And if you’re mad, there +might be a dream-asylum where you’d be kindly treated, and in time +restored, cured, to your sorrowing relatives. It is very hard to see +your duty plainly, even in ordinary life, and these dream-circumstances +are so complicated--’ + +‘If it’s a dream,’ said Robert, ‘you will wake up directly, and then +you’d be sorry if you’d sent us into a dream-asylum, because you might +never get into the same dream again and let us out, and so we might stay +there for ever, and then what about our sorrowing relatives who aren’t +in the dreams at all?’ + +But all the curate could now say was, ‘Oh, my head!’ + +And Jane and Robert felt quite ill with helplessness and hopelessness. A +really conscientious curate is a very difficult thing to manage. + +And then, just as the hopelessness and the helplessness were getting to +be almost more than they could bear, the two children suddenly felt that +extraordinary shrinking feeling that you always have when you are just +going to vanish. And the next moment they had vanished, and the Reverend +Septimus was left alone with his aunts. + +‘I knew it was a dream,’ he cried, wildly. ‘I’ve had something like +it before. Did you dream it too, Aunt Selina, and you, Aunt Amelia? I +dreamed that you did, you know.’ + +Aunt Selina looked at him and then at Aunt Amelia. Then she said +boldly-- + +‘What do you mean? WE haven’t been dreaming anything. You must have +dropped off in your chair.’ + +The curate heaved a sigh of relief. + +‘Oh, if it’s only _I_,’ he said; ‘if we’d all dreamed it I could never +have believed it, never!’ + +Afterwards Aunt Selina said to the other aunt-- + +‘Yes, I know it was an untruth, and I shall doubtless be punished for it +in due course. But I could see the poor dear fellow’s brain giving way +before my very eyes. He couldn’t have stood the strain of three dreams. +It WAS odd, wasn’t it? All three of us dreaming the same thing at the +same moment. We must never tell dear Seppy. But I shall send an account +of it to the Psychical Society, with stars instead of names, you know.’ + +And she did. And you can read all about it in one of the society’s fat +Blue-books. + +Of course, you understand what had happened? The intelligent Phoenix had +simply gone straight off to the Psammead, and had wished Robert and Jane +at home. And, of course, they were at home at once. Cyril and Anthea had +not half finished mending the carpet. + +When the joyful emotions of reunion had calmed down a little, they +all went out and spent what was left of Uncle Reginald’s sovereign in +presents for mother. They bought her a pink silk handkerchief, a pair of +blue and white vases, a bottle of scent, a packet of Christmas candles, +and a cake of soap shaped and coloured like a tomato, and one that was +so like an orange that almost any one you had given it to would have +tried to peel it--if they liked oranges, of course. Also they bought a +cake with icing on, and the rest of the money they spent on flowers to +put in the vases. + +When they had arranged all the things on a table, with the candles stuck +up on a plate ready to light the moment mother’s cab was heard, they +washed themselves thoroughly and put on tidier clothes. + +Then Robert said, ‘Good old Psammead,’ and the others said so too. + +‘But, really, it’s just as much good old Phoenix,’ said Robert. ‘Suppose +it hadn’t thought of getting the wish!’ + +‘Ah!’ said the Phoenix, ‘it is perhaps fortunate for you that I am such +a competent bird.’ + +‘There’s mother’s cab,’ cried Anthea, and the Phoenix hid and they +lighted the candles, and next moment mother was home again. + +She liked her presents very much, and found their story of Uncle +Reginald and the sovereign easy and even pleasant to believe. + +‘Good old carpet,’ were Cyril’s last sleepy words. + +‘What there is of it,’ said the Phoenix, from the cornice-pole. + + + +CHAPTER 11. THE BEGINNING OF THE END + + +‘Well, I MUST say,’ mother said, looking at the wishing carpet as it +lay, all darned and mended and backed with shiny American cloth, on the +floor of the nursery--‘I MUST say I’ve never in my life bought such a +bad bargain as that carpet.’ + +A soft ‘Oh!’ of contradiction sprang to the lips of Cyril, Robert, Jane, +and Anthea. Mother looked at them quickly, and said-- + +‘Well, of course, I see you’ve mended it very nicely, and that was sweet +of you, dears.’ + +‘The boys helped too,’ said the dears, honourably. + +‘But, still--twenty-two and ninepence! It ought to have lasted for +years. It’s simply dreadful now. Well, never mind, darlings, you’ve +done your best. I think we’ll have coconut matting next time. A carpet +doesn’t have an easy life of it in this room, does it?’ + +‘It’s not our fault, mother, is it, that our boots are the really +reliable kind?’ Robert asked the question more in sorrow than in anger. + +‘No, dear, we can’t help our boots,’ said mother, cheerfully, ‘but we +might change them when we come in, perhaps. It’s just an idea of mine. +I wouldn’t dream of scolding on the very first morning after I’ve come +home. Oh, my Lamb, how could you?’ + +This conversation was at breakfast, and the Lamb had been beautifully +good until every one was looking at the carpet, and then it was for him +but the work of a moment to turn a glass dish of syrupy blackberry jam +upside down on his young head. It was the work of a good many minutes +and several persons to get the jam off him again, and this interesting +work took people’s minds off the carpet, and nothing more was said just +then about its badness as a bargain and about what mother hoped for from +coconut matting. + +When the Lamb was clean again he had to be taken care of while mother +rumpled her hair and inked her fingers and made her head ache over the +difficult and twisted house-keeping accounts which cook gave her on +dirty bits of paper, and which were supposed to explain how it was that +cook had only fivepence-half-penny and a lot of unpaid bills left out +of all the money mother had sent her for house-keeping. Mother was very +clever, but even she could not quite understand the cook’s accounts. + +The Lamb was very glad to have his brothers and sisters to play with +him. He had not forgotten them a bit, and he made them play all the old +exhausting games: ‘Whirling Worlds’, where you swing the baby round and +round by his hands; and ‘Leg and Wing’, where you swing him from side +to side by one ankle and one wrist. There was also climbing Vesuvius. +In this game the baby walks up you, and when he is standing on your +shoulders, you shout as loud as you can, which is the rumbling of the +burning mountain, and then tumble him gently on to the floor, and roll +him there, which is the destruction of Pompeii. + +‘All the same, I wish we could decide what we’d better say next time +mother says anything about the carpet,’ said Cyril, breathlessly ceasing +to be a burning mountain. + +‘Well, you talk and decide,’ said Anthea; ‘here, you lovely ducky Lamb. +Come to Panther and play Noah’s Ark.’ + +The Lamb came with his pretty hair all tumbled and his face all dusty +from the destruction of Pompeii, and instantly became a baby snake, +hissing and wriggling and creeping in Anthea’s arms, as she said-- + + + ‘I love my little baby snake, + He hisses when he is awake, + He creeps with such a wriggly creep, + He wriggles even in his sleep.’ + + +‘Crocky,’ said the Lamb, and showed all his little teeth. So Anthea went +on-- + + + ‘I love my little crocodile, + I love his truthful toothful smile; + It is so wonderful and wide, + I like to see it--FROM OUTSIDE.’ + + +‘Well, you see,’ Cyril was saying; ‘it’s just the old bother. Mother +can’t believe the real true truth about the carpet, and--’ + +‘You speak sooth, O Cyril,’ remarked the Phoenix, coming out from the +cupboard where the blackbeetles lived, and the torn books, and the +broken slates, and odd pieces of toys that had lost the rest of +themselves. ‘Now hear the wisdom of Phoenix, the son of the Phoenix--’ + +‘There is a society called that,’ said Cyril. + +‘Where is it? And what is a society?’ asked the bird. + +‘It’s a sort of joined-together lot of people--a sort of brotherhood--a +kind of--well, something very like your temple, you know, only quite +different.’ + +‘I take your meaning,’ said the Phoenix. ‘I would fain see these calling +themselves Sons of the Phoenix.’ + +‘But what about your words of wisdom?’ + +‘Wisdom is always welcome,’ said the Phoenix. + +‘Pretty Polly!’ remarked the Lamb, reaching his hands towards the golden +speaker. + +The Phoenix modestly retreated behind Robert, and Anthea hastened to +distract the attention of the Lamb by murmuring-- + + + “I love my little baby rabbit; + But oh! he has a dreadful habit + Of paddling out among the rocks + And soaking both his bunny socks.’ + + +‘I don’t think you’d care about the sons of the Phoenix, really,’ said +Robert. ‘I have heard that they don’t do anything fiery. They only drink +a great deal. Much more than other people, because they drink lemonade +and fizzy things, and the more you drink of those the more good you +get.’ + +‘In your mind, perhaps,’ said Jane; ‘but it wouldn’t be good in your +body. You’d get too balloony.’ + +The Phoenix yawned. + +‘Look here,’ said Anthea; ‘I really have an idea. This isn’t like a +common carpet. It’s very magic indeed. Don’t you think, if we put Tatcho +on it, and then gave it a rest, the magic part of it might grow, like +hair is supposed to do?’ + +‘It might,’ said Robert; ‘but I should think paraffin would do as +well--at any rate as far as the smell goes, and that seems to be the +great thing about Tatcho.’ + +But with all its faults Anthea’s idea was something to do, and they did +it. + +It was Cyril who fetched the Tatcho bottle from father’s washhand-stand. +But the bottle had not much in it. + +‘We mustn’t take it all,’ Jane said, ‘in case father’s hair began to +come off suddenly. If he hadn’t anything to put on it, it might all +drop off before Eliza had time to get round to the chemist’s for another +bottle. It would be dreadful to have a bald father, and it would all be +our fault.’ + +‘And wigs are very expensive, I believe,’ said Anthea. ‘Look here, leave +enough in the bottle to wet father’s head all over with in case any +emergency emerges--and let’s make up with paraffin. I expect it’s the +smell that does the good really--and the smell’s exactly the same.’ + +So a small teaspoonful of the Tatcho was put on the edges of the worst +darn in the carpet and rubbed carefully into the roots of the hairs of +it, and all the parts that there was not enough Tatcho for had paraffin +rubbed into them with a piece of flannel. Then the flannel was burned. +It made a gay flame, which delighted the Phoenix and the Lamb. + +‘How often,’ said mother, opening the door--‘how often am I to tell you +that you are NOT to play with paraffin? What have you been doing?’ + +‘We have burnt a paraffiny rag,’ Anthea answered. + +It was no use telling mother what they had done to the carpet. She did +not know it was a magic carpet, and no one wants to be laughed at for +trying to mend an ordinary carpet with lamp-oil. + +‘Well, don’t do it again,’ said mother. ‘And now, away with melancholy! +Father has sent a telegram. Look!’ She held it out, and the children, +holding it by its yielding corners, read-- + + +‘Box for kiddies at Garrick. Stalls for us, Haymarket. Meet Charing +Cross, 6.30.’ + + +‘That means,’ said mother, ‘that you’re going to see “The Water Babies” + all by your happy selves, and father and I will take you and fetch you. +Give me the Lamb, dear, and you and Jane put clean lace in your red +evening frocks, and I shouldn’t wonder if you found they wanted ironing. +This paraffin smell is ghastly. Run and get out your frocks.’ + +The frocks did want ironing--wanted it rather badly, as it happened; +for, being of tomato-Coloured Liberty silk, they had been found very +useful for tableaux vivants when a red dress was required for Cardinal +Richelieu. They were very nice tableaux, these, and I wish I could tell +you about them; but one cannot tell everything in a story. You would +have been specially interested in hearing about the tableau of the +Princes in the Tower, when one of the pillows burst, and the youthful +Princes were so covered with feathers that the picture might very well +have been called ‘Michaelmas Eve; or, Plucking the Geese’. + +Ironing the dresses and sewing the lace in occupied some time, and no +one was dull, because there was the theatre to look forward to, and also +the possible growth of hairs on the carpet, for which every one kept +looking anxiously. By four o’clock Jane was almost sure that several +hairs were beginning to grow. + +The Phoenix perched on the fender, and its conversation, as usual, was +entertaining and instructive--like school prizes are said to be. But it +seemed a little absent-minded, and even a little sad. + +‘Don’t you feel well, Phoenix, dear?’ asked Anthea, stooping to take an +iron off the fire. + +‘I am not sick,’ replied the golden bird, with a gloomy shake of the +head; ‘but I am getting old.’ + +‘Why, you’ve hardly been hatched any time at all.’ + +‘Time,’ remarked the Phoenix, ‘is measured by heartbeats. I’m sure the +palpitations I’ve had since I’ve known you are enough to blanch the +feathers of any bird.’ + +‘But I thought you lived 500 years,’ said Robert, and you’ve hardly +begun this set of years. Think of all the time that’s before you.’ + +‘Time,’ said the Phoenix, ‘is, as you are probably aware, merely a +convenient fiction. There is no such thing as time. I have lived in +these two months at a pace which generously counterbalances 500 years of +life in the desert. I am old, I am weary. I feel as if I ought to lay my +egg, and lay me down to my fiery sleep. But unless I’m careful I shall +be hatched again instantly, and that is a misfortune which I really +do not think I COULD endure. But do not let me intrude these desperate +personal reflections on your youthful happiness. What is the show at the +theatre to-night? Wrestlers? Gladiators? A combat of cameleopards and +unicorns?’ + +‘I don’t think so,’ said Cyril; ‘it’s called “The Water Babies”, and +if it’s like the book there isn’t any gladiating in it. There are +chimney-sweeps and professors, and a lobster and an otter and a salmon, +and children living in the water.’ + +‘It sounds chilly.’ The Phoenix shivered, and went to sit on the tongs. + +‘I don’t suppose there will be REAL water,’ said Jane. ‘And theatres are +very warm and pretty, with a lot of gold and lamps. Wouldn’t you like to +come with us?’ + +‘_I_ was just going to say that,’ said Robert, in injured tones, ‘only +I know how rude it is to interrupt. Do come, Phoenix, old chap; it will +cheer you up. It’ll make you laugh like any thing. Mr Bourchier always +makes ripping plays. You ought to have seen “Shock-headed Peter” last +year.’ + +‘Your words are strange,’ said the Phoenix, ‘but I will come with you. +The revels of this Bourchier, of whom you speak, may help me to forget +the weight of my years.’ So that evening the Phoenix snugged inside the +waistcoat of Robert’s Etons--a very tight fit it seemed both to Robert +and to the Phoenix--and was taken to the play. + +Robert had to pretend to be cold at the glittering, many-mirrored +restaurant where they ate dinner, with father in evening dress, with +a very shiny white shirt-front, and mother looking lovely in her grey +evening dress, that changes into pink and green when she moves. Robert +pretended that he was too cold to take off his great-coat, and so sat +sweltering through what would otherwise have been a most thrilling meal. +He felt that he was a blot on the smart beauty of the family, and he +hoped the Phoenix knew what he was suffering for its sake. Of course, +we are all pleased to suffer for the sake of others, but we like them +to know it unless we are the very best and noblest kind of people, and +Robert was just ordinary. + +Father was full of jokes and fun, and every one laughed all the time, +even with their mouths full, which is not manners. Robert thought father +would not have been quite so funny about his keeping his over-coat on if +father had known all the truth. And there Robert was probably right. + +When dinner was finished to the last grape and the last paddle in the +finger glasses--for it was a really truly grown-up dinner--the children +were taken to the theatre, guided to a box close to the stage, and left. + +Father’s parting words were: ‘Now, don’t you stir out of this box, +whatever you do. I shall be back before the end of the play. Be good +and you will be happy. Is this zone torrid enough for the abandonment of +great-coats, Bobs? No? Well, then, I should say you were sickening for +something--mumps or measles or thrush or teething. Goodbye.’ + +He went, and Robert was at last able to remove his coat, mop his +perspiring brow, and release the crushed and dishevelled Phoenix. Robert +had to arrange his damp hair at the looking-glass at the back of the +box, and the Phoenix had to preen its disordered feathers for some time +before either of them was fit to be seen. + +They were very, very early. When the lights went up fully, the Phoenix, +balancing itself on the gilded back of a chair, swayed in ecstasy. + +‘How fair a scene is this!’ it murmured; ‘how far fairer than my temple! +Or have I guessed aright? Have you brought me hither to lift up my heart +with emotions of joyous surprise? Tell me, my Robert, is it not that +this, THIS is my true temple, and the other was but a humble shrine +frequented by outcasts?’ + +‘I don’t know about outcasts,’ said Robert, ‘but you can call this your +temple if you like. Hush! the music is beginning.’ + +I am not going to tell you about the play. As I said before, one can’t +tell everything, and no doubt you saw ‘The Water Babies’ yourselves. If +you did not it was a shame, or, rather, a pity. + +What I must tell you is that, though Cyril and Jane and Robert and +Anthea enjoyed it as much as any children possibly could, the pleasure +of the Phoenix was far, far greater than theirs. + +‘This is indeed my temple,’ it said again and again. ‘What radiant +rites! And all to do honour to me!’ + +The songs in the play it took to be hymns in its honour. The choruses +were choric songs in its praise. The electric lights, it said, were +magic torches lighted for its sake, and it was so charmed with the +footlights that the children could hardly persuade it to sit still. But +when the limelight was shown it could contain its approval no longer. It +flapped its golden wings, and cried in a voice that could be heard all +over the theatre: + +‘Well done, my servants! Ye have my favour and my countenance!’ + +Little Tom on the stage stopped short in what he was saying. A deep +breath was drawn by hundreds of lungs, every eye in the house turned to +the box where the luckless children cringed, and most people hissed, or +said ‘Shish!’ or ‘Turn them out!’ + +Then the play went on, and an attendant presently came to the box and +spoke wrathfully. + +‘It wasn’t us, indeed it wasn’t,’ said Anthea, earnestly; ‘it was the +bird.’ + +The man said well, then, they must keep their bird very quiet. +‘Disturbing every one like this,’ he said. + +‘It won’t do it again,’ said Robert, glancing imploringly at the golden +bird; ‘I’m sure it won’t.’ + +‘You have my leave to depart,’ said the Phoenix gently. + +‘Well, he is a beauty, and no mistake,’ said the attendant, ‘only I’d +cover him up during the acts. It upsets the performance.’ + +And he went. + +‘Don’t speak again, there’s a dear,’ said Anthea; ‘you wouldn’t like to +interfere with your own temple, would you?’ + +So now the Phoenix was quiet, but it kept whispering to the children. It +wanted to know why there was no altar, no fire, no incense, and became +so excited and fretful and tiresome that four at least of the party of +five wished deeply that it had been left at home. + +What happened next was entirely the fault of the Phoenix. It was not +in the least the fault of the theatre people, and no one could ever +understand afterwards how it did happen. No one, that is, except the +guilty bird itself and the four children. The Phoenix was balancing +itself on the gilt back of the chair, swaying backwards and forwards and +up and down, as you may see your own domestic parrot do. I mean the grey +one with the red tail. All eyes were on the stage, where the lobster +was delighting the audience with that gem of a song, ‘If you can’t walk +straight, walk sideways!’ when the Phoenix murmured warmly-- + +‘No altar, no fire, no incense!’ and then, before any of the children +could even begin to think of stopping it, it spread its bright wings and +swept round the theatre, brushing its gleaming feathers against delicate +hangings and gilded woodwork. + +It seemed to have made but one circular wing-sweep, such as you may see +a gull make over grey water on a stormy day. Next moment it was perched +again on the chair-back--and all round the theatre, where it had passed, +little sparks shone like tinsel seeds, then little smoke wreaths curled +up like growing plants--little flames opened like flower-buds. People +whispered--then people shrieked. + +‘Fire! Fire!’ The curtain went down--the lights went up. + +‘Fire!’ cried every one, and made for the doors. + +‘A magnificent idea!’ said the Phoenix, complacently. ‘An enormous +altar--fire supplied free of charge. Doesn’t the incense smell +delicious?’ + +The only smell was the stifling smell of smoke, of burning silk, or +scorching varnish. + +The little flames had opened now into great flame-flowers. The people in +the theatre were shouting and pressing towards the doors. + +‘Oh, how COULD you!’ cried Jane. ‘Let’s get out.’ + +‘Father said stay here,’ said Anthea, very pale, and trying to speak in +her ordinary voice. + +‘He didn’t mean stay and be roasted,’ said Robert. ‘No boys on burning +decks for me, thank you.’ + +‘Not much,’ said Cyril, and he opened the door of the box. + +But a fierce waft of smoke and hot air made him shut it again. It was +not possible to get out that way. + +They looked over the front of the box. Could they climb down? + +It would be possible, certainly; but would they be much better off? + +‘Look at the people,’ moaned Anthea; ‘we couldn’t get through.’ + +And, indeed, the crowd round the doors looked as thick as flies in the +jam-making season. + +‘I wish we’d never seen the Phoenix,’ cried Jane. + +Even at that awful moment Robert looked round to see if the bird +had overheard a speech which, however natural, was hardly polite or +grateful. + +The Phoenix was gone. + +‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘I’ve read about fires in papers; I’m sure it’s +all right. Let’s wait here, as father said.’ + +‘We can’t do anything else,’ said Anthea bitterly. + +‘Look here,’ said Robert, ‘I’m NOT frightened--no, I’m not. The Phoenix +has never been a skunk yet, and I’m certain it’ll see us through +somehow. I believe in the Phoenix!’ + +‘The Phoenix thanks you, O Robert,’ said a golden voice at his feet, and +there was the Phoenix itself, on the Wishing Carpet. + +‘Quick!’ it said. ‘Stand on those portions of the carpet which are truly +antique and authentic--and--’ + +A sudden jet of flame stopped its words. Alas! the Phoenix had +unconsciously warmed to its subject, and in the unintentional heat of +the moment had set fire to the paraffin with which that morning the +children had anointed the carpet. It burned merrily. The children tried +in vain to stamp it out. They had to stand back and let it burn itself +out. When the paraffin had burned away it was found that it had taken +with it all the darns of Scotch heather-mixture fingering. Only the +fabric of the old carpet was left--and that was full of holes. + +‘Come,’ said the Phoenix, ‘I’m cool now.’ + +The four children got on to what was left of the carpet. Very careful +they were not to leave a leg or a hand hanging over one of the holes. It +was very hot--the theatre was a pit of fire. Every one else had got out. + +Jane had to sit on Anthea’s lap. + +‘Home!’ said Cyril, and instantly the cool draught from under the +nursery door played upon their legs as they sat. They were all on +the carpet still, and the carpet was lying in its proper place on the +nursery floor, as calm and unmoved as though it had never been to the +theatre or taken part in a fire in its life. + +Four long breaths of deep relief were instantly breathed. The draught +which they had never liked before was for the moment quite pleasant. And +they were safe. And every one else was safe. The theatre had been quite +empty when they left. Every one was sure of that. + +They presently found themselves all talking at once. Somehow none of +their adventures had given them so much to talk about. None other had +seemed so real. + +‘Did you notice--?’ they said, and ‘Do you remember--?’ + +When suddenly Anthea’s face turned pale under the dirt which it had +collected on it during the fire. + +‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘mother and father! Oh, how awful! They’ll think we’re +burned to cinders. Oh, let’s go this minute and tell them we aren’t.’ + +‘We should only miss them,’ said the sensible Cyril. + +‘Well--YOU go then,’ said Anthea, ‘or I will. Only do wash your face +first. Mother will be sure to think you are burnt to a cinder if she +sees you as black as that, and she’ll faint or be ill or something. Oh, +I wish we’d never got to know that Phoenix.’ + +‘Hush!’ said Robert; ‘it’s no use being rude to the bird. I suppose it +can’t help its nature. Perhaps we’d better wash too. Now I come to think +of it my hands are rather--’ + +No one had noticed the Phoenix since it had bidden them to step on the +carpet. And no one noticed that no one had noticed. + +All were partially clean, and Cyril was just plunging into his +great-coat to go and look for his parents--he, and not unjustly, called +it looking for a needle in a bundle of hay--when the sound of father’s +latchkey in the front door sent every one bounding up the stairs. + +‘Are you all safe?’ cried mother’s voice; ‘are you all safe?’ and the +next moment she was kneeling on the linoleum of the hall, trying to +kiss four damp children at once, and laughing and crying by turns, while +father stood looking on and saying he was blessed or something. + +‘But how did you guess we’d come home,’ said Cyril, later, when every +one was calm enough for talking. + +‘Well, it was rather a rum thing. We heard the Garrick was on fire, and +of course we went straight there,’ said father, briskly. ‘We couldn’t +find you, of course--and we couldn’t get in--but the firemen told +us every one was safely out. And then I heard a voice at my ear say, +“Cyril, Anthea, Robert, and Jane”--and something touched me on the +shoulder. It was a great yellow pigeon, and it got in the way of my +seeing who’d spoken. It fluttered off, and then some one said in the +other ear, “They’re safe at home”; and when I turned again, to see who +it was speaking, hanged if there wasn’t that confounded pigeon on my +other shoulder. Dazed by the fire, I suppose. Your mother said it was +the voice of--’ + +‘I said it was the bird that spoke,’ said mother, ‘and so it was. Or at +least I thought so then. It wasn’t a pigeon. It was an orange-coloured +cockatoo. I don’t care who it was that spoke. It was true and you’re +safe.’ + +Mother began to cry again, and father said bed was a good place after +the pleasures of the stage. + +So every one went there. + +Robert had a talk to the Phoenix that night. + +‘Oh, very well,’ said the bird, when Robert had said what he felt, +‘didn’t you know that I had power over fire? Do not distress yourself. +I, like my high priests in Lombard Street, can undo the work of flames. +Kindly open the casement.’ + +It flew out. + +That was why the papers said next day that the fire at the theatre had +done less damage than had been anticipated. As a matter of fact it had +done none, for the Phoenix spent the night in putting things straight. +How the management accounted for this, and how many of the theatre +officials still believe that they were mad on that night will never be +known. + + +Next day mother saw the burnt holes in the carpet. + +‘It caught where it was paraffiny,’ said Anthea. + +‘I must get rid of that carpet at once,’ said mother. + +But what the children said in sad whispers to each other, as they +pondered over last night’s events, was-- + +‘We must get rid of that Phoenix.’ + + + +CHAPTER 12. THE END OF THE END + + +‘Egg, toast, tea, milk, tea-cup and saucer, egg-spoon, knife, +butter--that’s all, I think,’ remarked Anthea, as she put the last +touches to mother’s breakfast-tray, and went, very carefully up the +stairs, feeling for every step with her toes, and holding on to the tray +with all her fingers. She crept into mother’s room and set the tray on a +chair. Then she pulled one of the blinds up very softly. + +‘Is your head better, mammy dear?’ she asked, in the soft little voice +that she kept expressly for mother’s headaches. ‘I’ve brought your +brekkie, and I’ve put the little cloth with clover-leaves on it, the one +I made you.’ + +‘That’s very nice,’ said mother sleepily. + +Anthea knew exactly what to do for mothers with headaches who had +breakfast in bed. She fetched warm water and put just enough eau de +Cologne in it, and bathed mother’s face and hands with the sweet-scented +water. Then mother was able to think about breakfast. + +‘But what’s the matter with my girl?’ she asked, when her eyes got used +to the light. + +‘Oh, I’m so sorry you’re ill,’ Anthea said. ‘It’s that horrible fire and +you being so frightened. Father said so. And we all feel as if it was +our faults. I can’t explain, but--’ + +‘It wasn’t your fault a bit, you darling goosie,’ mother said. ‘How +could it be?’ + +‘That’s just what I can’t tell you,’ said Anthea. ‘I haven’t got +a futile brain like you and father, to think of ways of explaining +everything.’ + +Mother laughed. + +‘My futile brain--or did you mean fertile?--anyway, it feels very stiff +and sore this morning--but I shall be quite all right by and by. And +don’t be a silly little pet girl. The fire wasn’t your faults. No; I +don’t want the egg, dear. I’ll go to sleep again, I think. Don’t you +worry. And tell cook not to bother me about meals. You can order what +you like for lunch.’ + +Anthea closed the door very mousily, and instantly went downstairs and +ordered what she liked for lunch. She ordered a pair of turkeys, a large +plum-pudding, cheese-cakes, and almonds and raisins. + +Cook told her to go along, do. And she might as well not have ordered +anything, for when lunch came it was just hashed mutton and semolina +pudding, and cook had forgotten the sippets for the mutton hash and the +semolina pudding was burnt. + +When Anthea rejoined the others she found them all plunged in the gloom +where she was herself. For every one knew that the days of the carpet +were now numbered. Indeed, so worn was it that you could almost have +numbered its threads. + +So that now, after nearly a month of magic happenings, the time was at +hand when life would have to go on in the dull, ordinary way and Jane, +Robert, Anthea, and Cyril would be just in the same position as the +other children who live in Camden Town, the children whom these four had +so often pitied, and perhaps a little despised. + +‘We shall be just like them,’ Cyril said. + +‘Except,’ said Robert, ‘that we shall have more things to remember and +be sorry we haven’t got.’ + +‘Mother’s going to send away the carpet as soon as she’s well enough to +see about that coconut matting. Fancy us with coconut-matting--us! And +we’ve walked under live coconut-trees on the island where you can’t have +whooping-cough.’ + +‘Pretty island,’ said the Lamb; ‘paint-box sands and sea all shiny +sparkly.’ + +His brothers and sisters had often wondered whether he remembered that +island. Now they knew that he did. + +‘Yes,’ said Cyril; ‘no more cheap return trips by carpet for us--that’s +a dead cert.’ + +They were all talking about the carpet, but what they were all thinking +about was the Phoenix. + +The golden bird had been so kind, so friendly, so polite, so +instructive--and now it had set fire to a theatre and made mother ill. + +Nobody blamed the bird. It had acted in a perfectly natural manner. But +every one saw that it must not be asked to prolong its visit. Indeed, in +plain English it must be asked to go! + +The four children felt like base spies and treacherous friends; and each +in its mind was saying who ought not to be the one to tell the Phoenix +that there could no longer be a place for it in that happy home in +Camden Town. Each child was quite sure that one of them ought to speak +out in a fair and manly way, but nobody wanted to be the one. + +They could not talk the whole thing over as they would have liked to do, +because the Phoenix itself was in the cupboard, among the blackbeetles +and the odd shoes and the broken chessmen. + +But Anthea tried. + +‘It’s very horrid. I do hate thinking things about people, and not being +able to say the things you’re thinking because of the way they would +feel when they thought what things you were thinking, and wondered +what they’d done to make you think things like that, and why you were +thinking them.’ + +Anthea was so anxious that the Phoenix should not understand what she +said that she made a speech completely baffling to all. It was not till +she pointed to the cupboard in which all believed the Phoenix to be that +Cyril understood. + +‘Yes,’ he said, while Jane and Robert were trying to tell each other how +deeply they didn’t understand what Anthea were saying; ‘but after recent +eventfulnesses a new leaf has to be turned over, and, after all, +mother is more important than the feelings of any of the lower forms of +creation, however unnatural.’ + +‘How beautifully you do do it,’ said Anthea, absently beginning to build +a card-house for the Lamb--‘mixing up what you’re saying, I mean. We +ought to practise doing it so as to be ready for mysterious occasions. +We’re talking about THAT,’ she said to Jane and Robert, frowning, and +nodding towards the cupboard where the Phoenix was. Then Robert and Jane +understood, and each opened its mouth to speak. + +‘Wait a minute,’ said Anthea quickly; ‘the game is to twist up what you +want to say so that no one can understand what you’re saying except the +people you want to understand it, and sometimes not them.’ + +‘The ancient philosophers,’ said a golden voice, ‘Well understood the +art of which you speak.’ + +Of course it was the Phoenix, who had not been in the cupboard at all, +but had been cocking a golden eye at them from the cornice during the +whole conversation. + +‘Pretty dickie!’ remarked the Lamb. ‘CANARY dickie!’ + +‘Poor misguided infant,’ said the Phoenix. + +There was a painful pause; the four could not but think it likely that +the Phoenix had understood their very veiled allusions, accompanied as +they had been by gestures indicating the cupboard. For the Phoenix was +not wanting in intelligence. + +‘We were just saying--’ Cyril began, and I hope he was not going to +say anything but the truth. Whatever it was he did not say it, for the +Phoenix interrupted him, and all breathed more freely as it spoke. + +‘I gather,’ it said, ‘that you have some tidings of a fatal nature to +communicate to our degraded black brothers who run to and fro for ever +yonder.’ It pointed a claw at the cupboard, where the blackbeetles +lived. + +‘Canary TALK,’ said the Lamb joyously; ‘go and show mammy.’ + +He wriggled off Anthea’s lap. + +‘Mammy’s asleep,’ said Jane, hastily. ‘Come and be wild beasts in a cage +under the table.’ + +But the Lamb caught his feet and hands, and even his head, so often and +so deeply in the holes of the carpet that the cage, or table, had to be +moved on to the linoleum, and the carpet lay bare to sight with all its +horrid holes. + +‘Ah,’ said the bird, ‘it isn’t long for this world.’ + +‘No,’ said Robert; ‘everything comes to an end. It’s awful.’ + +‘Sometimes the end is peace,’ remarked the Phoenix. ‘I imagine that +unless it comes soon the end of your carpet will be pieces.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Cyril, respectfully kicking what was left of the carpet. The +movement of its bright colours caught the eye of the Lamb, who went down +on all fours instantly and began to pull at the red and blue threads. + +‘Aggedydaggedygaggedy,’ murmured the Lamb; ‘daggedy ag ag ag!’ + +And before any one could have winked (even if they had wanted to, and it +would not have been of the slightest use) the middle of the floor showed +bare, an island of boards surrounded by a sea of linoleum. The magic +carpet was gone, AND SO WAS THE LAMB! + +There was a horrible silence. The Lamb--the baby, all alone--had been +wafted away on that untrustworthy carpet, so full of holes and magic. +And no one could know where he was. And no one could follow him because +there was now no carpet to follow on. + +Jane burst into tears, but Anthea, though pale and frantic, was +dry-eyed. + +‘It MUST be a dream,’ she said. + +‘That’s what the clergyman said,’ remarked Robert forlornly; ‘but it +wasn’t, and it isn’t.’ + +‘But the Lamb never wished,’ said Cyril; ‘he was only talking Bosh.’ + +‘The carpet understands all speech,’ said the Phoenix, ‘even Bosh. I +know not this Boshland, but be assured that its tongue is not unknown to +the carpet.’ + +‘Do you mean, then,’ said Anthea, in white terror, ‘that when he was +saying “Agglety dag,” or whatever it was, that he meant something by +it?’ + +‘All speech has meaning,’ said the Phoenix. + +‘There I think you’re wrong,’ said Cyril; ‘even people who talk English +sometimes say things that don’t mean anything in particular.’ + +‘Oh, never mind that now,’ moaned Anthea; ‘you think “Aggety dag” meant +something to him and the carpet?’ + +‘Beyond doubt it held the same meaning to the carpet as to the luckless +infant,’ the Phoenix said calmly. + +‘And WHAT did it mean? Oh WHAT?’ + +‘Unfortunately,’ the bird rejoined, ‘I never studied Bosh.’ + +Jane sobbed noisily, but the others were calm with what is sometimes +called the calmness of despair. The Lamb was gone--the Lamb, their own +precious baby brother--who had never in his happy little life been for a +moment out of the sight of eyes that loved him--he was gone. He had gone +alone into the great world with no other companion and protector than a +carpet with holes in it. The children had never really understood +before what an enormously big place the world is. And the Lamb might be +anywhere in it! + +‘And it’s no use going to look for him.’ Cyril, in flat and wretched +tones, only said what the others were thinking. + +‘Do you wish him to return?’ the Phoenix asked; it seemed to speak with +some surprise. + +‘Of course we do!’ cried everybody. + +‘Isn’t he more trouble than he’s worth?’ asked the bird doubtfully. + +‘No, no. Oh, we do want him back! We do!’ + +‘Then,’ said the wearer of gold plumage, ‘if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just +pop out and see what I can do.’ + +Cyril flung open the window, and the Phoenix popped out. + +‘Oh, if only mother goes on sleeping! Oh, suppose she wakes up and wants +the Lamb! Oh, suppose the servants come! Stop crying, Jane. It’s no +earthly good. No, I’m not crying myself--at least I wasn’t till you said +so, and I shouldn’t anyway if--if there was any mortal thing we could +do. Oh, oh, oh!’ + +Cyril and Robert were boys, and boys never cry, of course. Still, the +position was a terrible one, and I do not wonder that they made faces in +their efforts to behave in a really manly way. + +And at this awful moment mother’s bell rang. + +A breathless stillness held the children. Then Anthea dried her eyes. +She looked round her and caught up the poker. She held it out to Cyril. + +‘Hit my hand hard,’ she said; ‘I must show mother some reason for my +eyes being like they are. Harder,’ she cried as Cyril gently tapped her +with the iron handle. And Cyril, agitated and trembling, nerved himself +to hit harder, and hit very much harder than he intended. + +Anthea screamed. + +‘Oh, Panther, I didn’t mean to hurt, really,’ cried Cyril, clattering +the poker back into the fender. + +‘It’s--all--right,’ said Anthea breathlessly, clasping the hurt hand +with the one that wasn’t hurt; ‘it’s--getting--red.’ + +It was--a round red and blue bump was rising on the back of it. ‘Now, +Robert,’ she said, trying to breathe more evenly, ‘you go out--oh, I +don’t know where--on to the dustbin--anywhere--and I shall tell mother +you and the Lamb are out.’ + +Anthea was now ready to deceive her mother for as long as ever she +could. Deceit is very wrong, we know, but it seemed to Anthea that it +was her plain duty to keep her mother from being frightened about the +Lamb as long as possible. And the Phoenix might help. + +‘It always has helped,’ Robert said; ‘it got us out of the tower, and +even when it made the fire in the theatre it got us out all right. I’m +certain it will manage somehow.’ + +Mother’s bell rang again. + +‘Oh, Eliza’s never answered it,’ cried Anthea; ‘she never does. Oh, I +must go.’ + +And she went. + +Her heart beat bumpingly as she climbed the stairs. Mother would be +certain to notice her eyes--well, her hand would account for that. But +the Lamb-- + +‘No, I must NOT think of the Lamb, she said to herself, and bit her +tongue till her eyes watered again, so as to give herself something +else to think of. Her arms and legs and back, and even her tear-reddened +face, felt stiff with her resolution not to let mother be worried if she +could help it. + +She opened the door softly. + +‘Yes, mother?’ she said. + +‘Dearest,’ said mother, ‘the Lamb--’ + +Anthea tried to be brave. She tried to say that the Lamb and Robert were +out. Perhaps she tried too hard. Anyway, when she opened her mouth no +words came. So she stood with it open. It seemed easier to keep from +crying with one’s mouth in that unusual position. + +‘The Lamb,’ mother went on; ‘he was very good at first, but he’s pulled +the toilet-cover off the dressing-table with all the brushes and +pots and things, and now he’s so quiet I’m sure he’s in some dreadful +mischief. And I can’t see him from here, and if I’d got out of bed to +see I’m sure I should have fainted.’ + +‘Do you mean he’s HERE?’ said Anthea. + +‘Of course he’s here,’ said mother, a little impatiently. ‘Where did you +think he was?’ + +Anthea went round the foot of the big mahogany bed. There was a pause. + +‘He’s not here NOW,’ she said. + +That he had been there was plain, from the toilet-cover on the floor, +the scattered pots and bottles, the wandering brushes and combs, all +involved in the tangle of ribbons and laces which an open drawer had +yielded to the baby’s inquisitive fingers. + +‘He must have crept out, then,’ said mother; ‘do keep him with you, +there’s a darling. If I don’t get some sleep I shall be a wreck when +father comes home.’ + +Anthea closed the door softly. Then she tore downstairs and burst into +the nursery, crying-- + +‘He must have wished he was with mother. He’s been there all the time. +“Aggety dag--“’ + +The unusual word was frozen on her lip, as people say in books. + +For there, on the floor, lay the carpet, and on the carpet, surrounded +by his brothers and by Jane, sat the Lamb. He had covered his face and +clothes with vaseline and violet powder, but he was easily recognizable +in spite of this disguise. + +‘You are right,’ said the Phoenix, who was also present; ‘it is evident +that, as you say, “Aggety dag” is Bosh for “I want to be where my mother +is,” and so the faithful carpet understood it.’ + +‘But how,’ said Anthea, catching up the Lamb and hugging him--‘how did +he get back here?’ + +‘Oh,’ said the Phoenix, ‘I flew to the Psammead and wished that your +infant brother were restored to your midst, and immediately it was so.’ + +‘Oh, I am glad, I am glad!’ cried Anthea, still hugging the baby. ‘Oh, +you darling! Shut up, Jane! I don’t care HOW much he comes off on +me! Cyril! You and Robert roll that carpet up and put it in the +beetle-cupboard. He might say “Aggety dag” again, and it might mean +something quite different next time. Now, my Lamb, Panther’ll clean you +a little. Come on.’ + +‘I hope the beetles won’t go wishing,’ said Cyril, as they rolled up the +carpet. + + +Two days later mother was well enough to go out, and that evening the +coconut matting came home. The children had talked and talked, and +thought and thought, but they had not found any polite way of telling +the Phoenix that they did not want it to stay any longer. + +The days had been days spent by the children in embarrassment, and by +the Phoenix in sleep. + +And, now the matting was laid down, the Phoenix awoke and fluttered down +on to it. + +It shook its crested head. + +‘I like not this carpet,’ it said; ‘it is harsh and unyielding, and it +hurts my golden feet.’ + +‘We’ve jolly well got to get used to its hurting OUR golden feet,’ said +Cyril. + +‘This, then,’ said the bird, ‘supersedes the Wishing Carpet.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Robert, ‘if you mean that it’s instead of it.’ + +‘And the magic web?’ inquired the Phoenix, with sudden eagerness. + +‘It’s the rag-and-bottle man’s day to-morrow,’ said Anthea, in a low +voice; ‘he will take it away.’ + +The Phoenix fluttered up to its favourite perch on the chair-back. + +‘Hear me!’ it cried, ‘oh youthful children of men, and restrain your +tears of misery and despair, for what must be must be, and I would not +remember you, thousands of years hence, as base ingrates and crawling +worms compact of low selfishness.’ + +‘I should hope not, indeed,’ said Cyril. + +‘Weep not,’ the bird went on; ‘I really do beg that you won’t weep. + +I will not seek to break the news to you gently. Let the blow fall at +once. The time has come when I must leave you.’ + +All four children breathed forth a long sigh of relief. + +‘We needn’t have bothered so about how to break the news to it,’ +whispered Cyril. + +‘Ah, sigh not so,’ said the bird, gently. ‘All meetings end in partings. +I must leave you. I have sought to prepare you for this. Ah, do not give +way!’ + +‘Must you really go--so soon?’ murmured Anthea. It was what she had +often heard her mother say to calling ladies in the afternoon. + +‘I must, really; thank you so much, dear,’ replied the bird, just as +though it had been one of the ladies. + +‘I am weary,’ it went on. ‘I desire to rest--after all the happenings +of this last moon I do desire really to rest, and I ask of you one last +boon.’ + +‘Any little thing we can do,’ said Robert. + +Now that it had really come to parting with the Phoenix, whose favourite +he had always been, Robert did feel almost as miserable as the Phoenix +thought they all did. + +‘I ask but the relic designed for the rag-and-bottle man. Give me what +is left of the carpet and let me go.’ + +‘Dare we?’ said Anthea. ‘Would mother mind?’ + +‘I have dared greatly for your sakes,’ remarked the bird. + +‘Well, then, we will,’ said Robert. + +The Phoenix fluffed out its feathers joyously. + +‘Nor shall you regret it, children of golden hearts,’ it said. +‘Quick--spread the carpet and leave me alone; but first pile high the +fire. Then, while I am immersed in the sacred preliminary rites, do ye +prepare sweet-smelling woods and spices for the last act of parting.’ + +The children spread out what was left of the carpet. And, after all, +though this was just what they would have wished to have happened, all +hearts were sad. Then they put half a scuttle of coal on the fire and +went out, closing the door on the Phoenix--left, at last, alone with the +carpet. + +‘One of us must keep watch,’ said Robert, excitedly, as soon as they +were all out of the room, ‘and the others can go and buy sweet woods and +spices. Get the very best that money can buy, and plenty of them. +Don’t let’s stand to a threepence or so. I want it to have a jolly good +send-off. It’s the only thing that’ll make us feel less horrid inside.’ + +It was felt that Robert, as the pet of the Phoenix, ought to have the +last melancholy pleasure of choosing the materials for its funeral pyre. + +‘I’ll keep watch if you like,’ said Cyril. ‘I don’t mind. And, besides, +it’s raining hard, and my boots let in the wet. You might call and see +if my other ones are “really reliable” again yet.’ + +So they left Cyril, standing like a Roman sentinel outside the door +inside which the Phoenix was getting ready for the great change, and +they all went out to buy the precious things for the last sad rites. + +‘Robert is right,’ Anthea said; ‘this is no time for being careful about +our money. Let’s go to the stationer’s first, and buy a whole packet of +lead-pencils. They’re cheaper if you buy them by the packet.’ + +This was a thing that they had always wanted to do, but it needed the +great excitement of a funeral pyre and a parting from a beloved Phoenix +to screw them up to the extravagance. + +The people at the stationer’s said that the pencils were real +cedar-wood, so I hope they were, for stationers should always speak +the truth. At any rate they cost one-and-fourpence. Also they spent +sevenpence three-farthings on a little sandal-wood box inlaid with +ivory. + +‘Because,’ said Anthea, ‘I know sandalwood smells sweet, and when it’s +burned it smells very sweet indeed.’ + +‘Ivory doesn’t smell at all,’ said Robert, ‘but I expect when you burn +it it smells most awful vile, like bones.’ + +At the grocer’s they bought all the spices they could remember the names +of--shell-like mace, cloves like blunt nails, peppercorns, the long +and the round kind; ginger, the dry sort, of course; and the beautiful +bloom-covered shells of fragrant cinnamon. Allspice too, and caraway +seeds (caraway seeds that smelt most deadly when the time came for +burning them). + +Camphor and oil of lavender were bought at the chemist’s, and also a +little scent sachet labelled ‘Violettes de Parme’. + +They took the things home and found Cyril still on guard. When they had +knocked and the golden voice of the Phoenix had said ‘Come in,’ they +went in. + +There lay the carpet--or what was left of it--and on it lay an egg, +exactly like the one out of which the Phoenix had been hatched. + +The Phoenix was walking round and round the egg, clucking with joy and +pride. + +‘I’ve laid it, you see,’ it said, ‘and as fine an egg as ever I laid in +all my born days.’ + +Every one said yes, it was indeed a beauty. + +The things which the children had bought were now taken out of their +papers and arranged on the table, and when the Phoenix had been +persuaded to leave its egg for a moment and look at the materials for +its last fire it was quite overcome. + +‘Never, never have I had a finer pyre than this will be. You shall not +regret it,’ it said, wiping away a golden tear. ‘Write quickly: “Go and +tell the Psammead to fulfil the last wish of the Phoenix, and return +instantly”.’ + +But Robert wished to be polite and he wrote-- + +‘Please go and ask the Psammead to be so kind as to fulfil the Phoenix’s +last wish, and come straight back, if you please.’ The paper was pinned +to the carpet, which vanished and returned in the flash of an eye. + +Then another paper was written ordering the carpet to take the egg +somewhere where it wouldn’t be hatched for another two thousand years. +The Phoenix tore itself away from its cherished egg, which it watched +with yearning tenderness till, the paper being pinned on, the carpet +hastily rolled itself up round the egg, and both vanished for ever from +the nursery of the house in Camden Town. + +‘Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!’ said everybody. + +‘Bear up,’ said the bird; ‘do you think _I_ don’t suffer, being parted +from my precious new-laid egg like this? Come, conquer your emotions and +build my fire.’ + +‘OH!’ cried Robert, suddenly, and wholly breaking down, ‘I can’t BEAR +you to go!’ + +The Phoenix perched on his shoulder and rubbed its beak softly against +his ear. + +‘The sorrows of youth soon appear but as dreams,’ it said. ‘Farewell, +Robert of my heart. I have loved you well.’ + +The fire had burnt to a red glow. One by one the spices and sweet woods +were laid on it. Some smelt nice and some--the caraway seeds and the +Violettes de Parme sachet among them--smelt worse than you would think +possible. + +‘Farewell, farewell, farewell, farewell!’ said the Phoenix, in a +far-away voice. + +‘Oh, GOOD-BYE,’ said every one, and now all were in tears. + +The bright bird fluttered seven times round the room and settled in the +hot heart of the fire. The sweet gums and spices and woods flared and +flickered around it, but its golden feathers did not burn. It seemed to +grow red-hot to the very inside heart of it--and then before the eight +eyes of its friends it fell together, a heap of white ashes, and the +flames of the cedar pencils and the sandal-wood box met and joined above +it. + + +‘Whatever have you done with the carpet?’ asked mother next day. + +‘We gave it to some one who wanted it very much. The name began with a +P,’ said Jane. + +The others instantly hushed her. + +‘Oh, well, it wasn’t worth twopence,’ said mother. + +‘The person who began with P said we shouldn’t lose by it,’ Jane went on +before she could be stopped. + +‘I daresay!’ said mother, laughing. + +But that very night a great box came, addressed to the children by all +their names. Eliza never could remember the name of the carrier who +brought it. It wasn’t Carter Paterson or the Parcels Delivery. + +It was instantly opened. It was a big wooden box, and it had to +be opened with a hammer and the kitchen poker; the long nails came +squeaking out, and boards scrunched as they were wrenched off. Inside +the box was soft paper, with beautiful Chinese patterns on it--blue and +green and red and violet. And under the paper--well, almost everything +lovely that you can think of. Everything of reasonable size, I mean; +for, of course, there were no motors or flying machines or thoroughbred +chargers. But there really was almost everything else. Everything that +the children had always wanted--toys and games and books, and chocolate +and candied cherries and paint-boxes and photographic cameras, and all +the presents they had always wanted to give to father and mother and the +Lamb, only they had never had the money for them. At the very bottom +of the box was a tiny golden feather. No one saw it but Robert, and he +picked it up and hid it in the breast of his jacket, which had been +so often the nesting-place of the golden bird. When he went to bed the +feather was gone. It was the last he ever saw of the Phoenix. + +Pinned to the lovely fur cloak that mother had always wanted was a +paper, and it said-- + +‘In return for the carpet. With gratitude.--P.’ + +You may guess how father and mother talked it over. They decided at +last the person who had had the carpet, and whom, curiously enough, the +children were quite unable to describe, must be an insane millionaire +who amused himself by playing at being a rag-and-bone man. But the +children knew better. + +They knew that this was the fulfilment, by the powerful Psammead, of the +last wish of the Phoenix, and that this glorious and delightful boxful +of treasures was really the very, very, very end of the Phoenix and the +Carpet. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Phoenix and the Carpet, by E. 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Nesbit + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Phoenix and the Carpet, by E. Nesbit + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Phoenix and the Carpet + +Author: E. Nesbit + +Release Date: August 2, 2008 [EBook #836] +Last Updated: October 11, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHOENIX AND THE CARPET *** + + + + +Produced by Jo Churcher, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE PHOENIX AND THE CARPET + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By E. Nesbit + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h4> + TO<br /><br /> My Dear Godson<br /> HUBERT GRIFFITH<br /> and his sister<br /> + MARGARET + </h4> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TO HUBERT + + Dear Hubert, if I ever found + A wishing-carpet lying round, + I’d stand upon it, and I’d say: + ‘Take me to Hubert, right away!’ + And then we’d travel very far + To where the magic countries are + That you and I will never see, + And choose the loveliest gifts for you, from me. + + But oh! alack! and well-a-day! + No wishing-carpets come my way. + I never found a Phoenix yet, + And Psammeads are so hard to get! + So I give you nothing fine— + Only this book your book and mine, + And hers, whose name by yours is set; + Your book, my book, the book of Margaret! + + E. NESBIT + DYMCHURCH + September, 1904 +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER 1. THE EGG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER 2. THE TOPLESS TOWER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER 3. THE QUEEN COOK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER 4. TWO BAZAARS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER 5. THE TEMPLE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER 6. DOING GOOD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER 7. MEWS FROM PERSIA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER 8. THE CATS, THE COW, AND THE + BURGLAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER 9. THE BURGLAR’S BRIDE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER 10. THE HOLE IN THE CARPET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER 11. THE BEGINNING OF THE END </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER 12. THE END OF THE END </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1. THE EGG + </h2> + <p> + It began with the day when it was almost the Fifth of November, and a + doubt arose in some breast—Robert’s, I fancy—as to the quality + of the fireworks laid in for the Guy Fawkes celebration. + </p> + <p> + ‘They were jolly cheap,’ said whoever it was, and I think it was Robert, + ‘and suppose they didn’t go off on the night? Those Prosser kids would + have something to snigger about then.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The ones <i>I</i> got are all right,’ Jane said; ‘I know they are, + because the man at the shop said they were worth thribble the money—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m sure thribble isn’t grammar,’ Anthea said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Cyril; ‘one word can’t be grammar all by + itself, so you needn’t be so jolly clever.’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea was rummaging in the corner-drawers of her mind for a very + disagreeable answer, when she remembered what a wet day it was, and how + the boys had been disappointed of that ride to London and back on the top + of the tram, which their mother had promised them as a reward for not + having once forgotten, for six whole days, to wipe their boots on the mat + when they came home from school. + </p> + <p> + So Anthea only said, ‘Don’t be so jolly clever yourself, Squirrel. And the + fireworks look all right, and you’ll have the eightpence that your tram + fares didn’t cost to-day, to buy something more with. You ought to get a + perfectly lovely Catharine wheel for eightpence.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I daresay,’ said Cyril, coldly; ‘but it’s not YOUR eightpence anyhow—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But look here,’ said Robert, ‘really now, about the fireworks. We don’t + want to be disgraced before those kids next door. They think because they + wear red plush on Sundays no one else is any good.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wouldn’t wear plush if it was ever so—unless it was black to be + beheaded in, if I was Mary Queen of Scots,’ said Anthea, with scorn. + </p> + <p> + Robert stuck steadily to his point. One great point about Robert is the + steadiness with which he can stick. + </p> + <p> + ‘I think we ought to test them,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘You young duffer,’ said Cyril, ‘fireworks are like postage-stamps. You + can only use them once.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you suppose it means by “Carter’s tested seeds” in the + advertisement?’ + </p> + <p> + There was a blank silence. Then Cyril touched his forehead with his finger + and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + ‘A little wrong here,’ he said. ‘I was always afraid of that with poor + Robert. All that cleverness, you know, and being top in algebra so often—it’s + bound to tell—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dry up,’ said Robert, fiercely. ‘Don’t you see? You can’t TEST seeds if + you do them ALL. You just take a few here and there, and if those grow you + can feel pretty sure the others will be—what do you call it?—Father + told me—“up to sample”. Don’t you think we ought to sample the + fire-works? Just shut our eyes and each draw one out, and then try them.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But it’s raining cats and dogs,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘And Queen Anne is dead,’ rejoined Robert. No one was in a very good + temper. ‘We needn’t go out to do them; we can just move back the table, + and let them off on the old tea-tray we play toboggans with. I don’t know + what YOU think, but <i>I</i> think it’s time we did something, and that + would be really useful; because then we shouldn’t just HOPE the fireworks + would make those Prossers sit up—we should KNOW.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It WOULD be something to do,’ Cyril owned with languid approval. + </p> + <p> + So the table was moved back. And then the hole in the carpet, that had + been near the window till the carpet was turned round, showed most + awfully. But Anthea stole out on tip-toe, and got the tray when cook + wasn’t looking, and brought it in and put it over the hole. + </p> + <p> + Then all the fireworks were put on the table, and each of the four + children shut its eyes very tight and put out its hand and grasped + something. Robert took a cracker, Cyril and Anthea had Roman candles; but + Jane’s fat paw closed on the gem of the whole collection, the + Jack-in-the-box that had cost two shillings, and one at least of the party—I + will not say which, because it was sorry afterwards—declared that + Jane had done it on purpose. Nobody was pleased. For the worst of it was + that these four children, with a very proper dislike of anything even + faintly bordering on the sneakish, had a law, unalterable as those of the + Medes and Persians, that one had to stand by the results of a toss-up, or + a drawing of lots, or any other appeal to chance, however much one might + happen to dislike the way things were turning out. + </p> + <p> + ‘I didn’t mean to,’ said Jane, near tears. ‘I don’t care, I’ll draw + another—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You know jolly well you can’t,’ said Cyril, bitterly. ‘It’s settled. It’s + Medium and Persian. You’ve done it, and you’ll have to stand by it—and + us too, worse luck. Never mind. YOU’LL have your pocket-money before the + Fifth. Anyway, we’ll have the Jack-in-the-box LAST, and get the most out + of it we can.’ + </p> + <p> + So the cracker and the Roman candles were lighted, and they were all that + could be expected for the money; but when it came to the Jack-in-the-box + it simply sat in the tray and laughed at them, as Cyril said. They tried + to light it with paper and they tried to light it with matches; they tried + to light it with Vesuvian fusees from the pocket of father’s second-best + overcoat that was hanging in the hall. And then Anthea slipped away to the + cupboard under the stairs where the brooms and dustpans were kept, and the + rosiny fire-lighters that smell so nice and like the woods where + pine-trees grow, and the old newspapers and the bees-wax and turpentine, + and the horrid an stiff dark rags that are used for cleaning brass and + furniture, and the paraffin for the lamps. She came back with a little pot + that had once cost sevenpence-halfpenny when it was full of red-currant + jelly; but the jelly had been all eaten long ago, and now Anthea had + filled the jar with paraffin. She came in, and she threw the paraffin over + the tray just at the moment when Cyril was trying with the twenty-third + match to light the Jack-in-the-box. The Jack-in-the-box did not catch fire + any more than usual, but the paraffin acted quite differently, and in an + instant a hot flash of flame leapt up and burnt off Cyril’s eyelashes, and + scorched the faces of all four before they could spring back. They backed, + in four instantaneous bounds, as far as they could, which was to the wall, + and the pillar of fire reached from floor to ceiling. + </p> + <p> + ‘My hat,’ said Cyril, with emotion, ‘You’ve done it this time, Anthea.’ + </p> + <p> + The flame was spreading out under the ceiling like the rose of fire in Mr + Rider Haggard’s exciting story about Allan Quatermain. Robert and Cyril + saw that no time was to be lost. They turned up the edges of the carpet, + and kicked them over the tray. This cut off the column of fire, and it + disappeared and there was nothing left but smoke and a dreadful smell of + lamps that have been turned too low. + </p> + <p> + All hands now rushed to the rescue, and the paraffin fire was only a + bundle of trampled carpet, when suddenly a sharp crack beneath their feet + made the amateur firemen start back. Another crack—the carpet moved + as if it had had a cat wrapped in it; the Jack-in-the-box had at last + allowed itself to be lighted, and it was going off with desperate violence + inside the carpet. + </p> + <p> + Robert, with the air of one doing the only possible thing, rushed to the + window and opened it. Anthea screamed, Jane burst into tears, and Cyril + turned the table wrong way up on top of the carpet heap. But the firework + went on, banging and bursting and spluttering even underneath the table. + </p> + <p> + Next moment mother rushed in, attracted by the howls of Anthea, and in a + few moments the firework desisted and there was a dead silence, and the + children stood looking at each other’s black faces, and, out of the + corners of their eyes, at mother’s white one. + </p> + <p> + The fact that the nursery carpet was ruined occasioned but little + surprise, nor was any one really astonished that bed should prove the + immediate end of the adventure. It has been said that all roads lead to + Rome; this may be true, but at any rate, in early youth I am quite sure + that many roads lead to BED, and stop there—or YOU do. + </p> + <p> + The rest of the fireworks were confiscated, and mother was not pleased + when father let them off himself in the back garden, though he said, + ‘Well, how else can you get rid of them, my dear?’ + </p> + <p> + You see, father had forgotten that the children were in disgrace, and that + their bedroom windows looked out on to the back garden. So that they all + saw the fireworks most beautifully, and admired the skill with which + father handled them. + </p> + <p> + Next day all was forgotten and forgiven; only the nursery had to be deeply + cleaned (like spring-cleaning), and the ceiling had to be whitewashed. + </p> + <p> + And mother went out; and just at tea-time next day a man came with a + rolled-up carpet, and father paid him, and mother said— + </p> + <p> + ‘If the carpet isn’t in good condition, you know, I shall expect you to + change it.’ And the man replied— + </p> + <p> + ‘There ain’t a thread gone in it nowhere, mum. It’s a bargain, if ever + there was one, and I’m more’n ‘arf sorry I let it go at the price; but we + can’t resist the lydies, can we, sir?’ and he winked at father and went + away. + </p> + <p> + Then the carpet was put down in the nursery, and sure enough there wasn’t + a hole in it anywhere. + </p> + <p> + As the last fold was unrolled something hard and loud-sounding bumped out + of it and trundled along the nursery floor. All the children scrambled for + it, and Cyril got it. He took it to the gas. It was shaped like an egg, + very yellow and shiny, half-transparent, and it had an odd sort of light + in it that changed as you held it in different ways. It was as though it + was an egg with a yolk of pale fire that just showed through the stone. + </p> + <p> + ‘I MAY keep it, mayn’t I, mother?’ Cyril asked. + </p> + <p> + And of course mother said no; they must take it back to the man who had + brought the carpet, because she had only paid for a carpet, and not for a + stone egg with a fiery yolk to it. + </p> + <p> + So she told them where the shop was, and it was in the Kentish Town Road, + not far from the hotel that is called the Bull and Gate. It was a poky + little shop, and the man was arranging furniture outside on the pavement + very cunningly, so that the more broken parts should show as little as + possible. And directly he saw the children he knew them again, and he + began at once, without giving them a chance to speak. + </p> + <p> + ‘No you don’t’ he cried loudly; ‘I ain’t a-goin’ to take back no carpets, + so don’t you make no bloomin’ errer. A bargain’s a bargain, and the + carpet’s puffik throughout.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We don’t want you to take it back,’ said Cyril; ‘but we found something + in it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It must have got into it up at your place, then,’ said the man, with + indignant promptness, ‘for there ain’t nothing in nothing as I sell. It’s + all as clean as a whistle.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I never said it wasn’t CLEAN,’ said Cyril, ‘but—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, if it’s MOTHS,’ said the man, ‘that’s easy cured with borax. But I + expect it was only an odd one. I tell you the carpet’s good through and + through. It hadn’t got no moths when it left my ‘ands—not so much as + an hegg.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But that’s just it,’ interrupted Jane; ‘there WAS so much as an egg.’ + </p> + <p> + The man made a sort of rush at the children and stamped his foot. + </p> + <p> + ‘Clear out, I say!’ he shouted, ‘or I’ll call for the police. A nice thing + for customers to ‘ear you a-coming ‘ere a-charging me with finding things + in goods what I sells. ‘Ere, be off, afore I sends you off with a flea in + your ears. Hi! constable—’ + </p> + <p> + The children fled, and they think, and their father thinks, that they + couldn’t have done anything else. Mother has her own opinion. + </p> + <p> + But father said they might keep the egg. + </p> + <p> + ‘The man certainly didn’t know the egg was there when he brought the + carpet,’ said he, ‘any more than your mother did, and we’ve as much right + to it as he had.’ + </p> + <p> + So the egg was put on the mantelpiece, where it quite brightened up the + dingy nursery. The nursery was dingy, because it was a basement room, and + its windows looked out on a stone area with a rockery made of clinkers + facing the windows. Nothing grew in the rockery except London pride and + snails. + </p> + <p> + The room had been described in the house agent’s list as a ‘convenient + breakfast-room in basement,’ and in the daytime it was rather dark. This + did not matter so much in the evenings when the gas was alight, but then + it was in the evening that the blackbeetles got so sociable, and used to + come out of the low cupboards on each side of the fireplace where their + homes were, and try to make friends with the children. At least, I suppose + that was what they wanted, but the children never would. + </p> + <p> + On the Fifth of November father and mother went to the theatre, and the + children were not happy, because the Prossers next door had lots of + fireworks and they had none. + </p> + <p> + They were not even allowed to have a bonfire in the garden. + </p> + <p> + ‘No more playing with fire, thank you,’ was father’s answer, when they + asked him. + </p> + <p> + When the baby had been put to bed the children sat sadly round the fire in + the nursery. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m beastly bored,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s talk about the Psammead,’ said Anthea, who generally tried to give + the conversation a cheerful turn. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s the good of TALKING?’ said Cyril. ‘What I want is for something to + happen. It’s awfully stuffy for a chap not to be allowed out in the + evenings. There’s simply nothing to do when you’ve got through your + homers.’ + </p> + <p> + Jane finished the last of her home-lessons and shut the book with a bang. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ve got the pleasure of memory,’ said she. ‘Just think of last + holidays.’ + </p> + <p> + Last holidays, indeed, offered something to think of—for they had + been spent in the country at a white house between a sand-pit and a + gravel-pit, and things had happened. The children had found a Psammead, or + sand-fairy, and it had let them have anything they wished for—just + exactly anything, with no bother about its not being really for their + good, or anything like that. And if you want to know what kind of things + they wished for, and how their wishes turned out you can read it all in a + book called Five Children and It (It was the Psammead). If you’ve not read + it, perhaps I ought to tell you that the fifth child was the baby brother, + who was called the Lamb, because the first thing he ever said was ‘Baa!’ + and that the other children were not particularly handsome, nor were they + extra clever, nor extraordinarily good. But they were not bad sorts on the + whole; in fact, they were rather like you. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t want to think about the pleasures of memory,’ said Cyril; ‘I want + some more things to happen.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We’re very much luckier than any one else, as it is,’ said Jane. ‘Why, no + one else ever found a Psammead. We ought to be grateful.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why shouldn’t we GO ON being, though?’ Cyril asked—‘lucky, I mean, + not grateful. Why’s it all got to stop?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps something will happen,’ said Anthea, comfortably. ‘Do you know, + sometimes I think we are the sort of people that things DO happen to.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s like that in history,’ said Jane: ‘some kings are full of + interesting things, and others—nothing ever happens to them, except + their being born and crowned and buried, and sometimes not that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think Panther’s right,’ said Cyril: ‘I think we are the sort of people + things do happen to. I have a sort of feeling things would happen right + enough if we could only give them a shove. It just wants something to + start it. That’s all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish they taught magic at school,’ Jane sighed. ‘I believe if we could + do a little magic it might make something happen.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wonder how you begin?’ Robert looked round the room, but he got no + ideas from the faded green curtains, or the drab Venetian blinds, or the + worn brown oil-cloth on the floor. Even the new carpet suggested nothing, + though its pattern was a very wonderful one, and always seemed as though + it were just going to make you think of something. + </p> + <p> + ‘I could begin right enough,’ said Anthea; ‘I’ve read lots about it. But I + believe it’s wrong in the Bible.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s only wrong in the Bible because people wanted to hurt other people. + I don’t see how things can be wrong unless they hurt somebody, and we + don’t want to hurt anybody; and what’s more, we jolly well couldn’t if we + tried. Let’s get the Ingoldsby Legends. There’s a thing about Abra-cadabra + there,’ said Cyril, yawning. ‘We may as well play at magic. Let’s be + Knights Templars. They were awfully gone on magic. They used to work + spells or something with a goat and a goose. Father says so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, that’s all right,’ said Robert, unkindly; ‘you can play the goat + right enough, and Jane knows how to be a goose.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll get Ingoldsby,’ said Anthea, hastily. ‘You turn up the hearthrug.’ + </p> + <p> + So they traced strange figures on the linoleum, where the hearthrug had + kept it clean. They traced them with chalk that Robert had nicked from the + top of the mathematical master’s desk at school. You know, of course, that + it is stealing to take a new stick of chalk, but it is not wrong to take a + broken piece, so long as you only take one. (I do not know the reason of + this rule, nor who made it.) And they chanted all the gloomiest songs they + could think of. And, of course, nothing happened. So then Anthea said, + ‘I’m sure a magic fire ought to be made of sweet-smelling wood, and have + magic gums and essences and things in it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know any sweet-smelling wood, except cedar,’ said Robert; ‘but + I’ve got some ends of cedar-wood lead pencil.’ + </p> + <p> + So they burned the ends of lead pencil. And still nothing happened. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s burn some of the eucalyptus oil we have for our colds,’ said + Anthea. + </p> + <p> + And they did. It certainly smelt very strong. And they burned lumps of + camphor out of the big chest. It was very bright, and made a horrid black + smoke, which looked very magical. But still nothing happened. Then they + got some clean tea-cloths from the dresser drawer in the kitchen, and + waved them over the magic chalk-tracings, and sang ‘The Hymn of the + Moravian Nuns at Bethlehem’, which is very impressive. And still nothing + happened. So they waved more and more wildly, and Robert’s tea-cloth + caught the golden egg and whisked it off the mantelpiece, and it fell into + the fender and rolled under the grate. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, crikey!’ said more than one voice. + </p> + <p> + And every one instantly fell down flat on its front to look under the + grate, and there lay the egg, glowing in a nest of hot ashes. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not smashed, anyhow,’ said Robert, and he put his hand under the + grate and picked up the egg. But the egg was much hotter than any one + would have believed it could possibly get in such a short time, and Robert + had to drop it with a cry of ‘Bother!’ It fell on the top bar of the + grate, and bounced right into the glowing red-hot heart of the fire. + </p> + <p> + ‘The tongs!’ cried Anthea. But, alas, no one could remember where they + were. Every one had forgotten that the tongs had last been used to fish up + the doll’s teapot from the bottom of the water-butt, where the Lamb had + dropped it. So the nursery tongs were resting between the water-butt and + the dustbin, and cook refused to lend the kitchen ones. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind,’ said Robert, ‘we’ll get it out with the poker and the + shovel.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, stop,’ cried Anthea. ‘Look at it! Look! look! look! I do believe + something IS going to happen!’ + </p> + <p> + For the egg was now red-hot, and inside it something was moving. Next + moment there was a soft cracking sound; the egg burst in two, and out of + it came a flame-coloured bird. It rested a moment among the flames, and as + it rested there the four children could see it growing bigger and bigger + under their eyes. + </p> + <p> + Every mouth was a-gape, every eye a-goggle. + </p> + <p> + The bird rose in its nest of fire, stretched its wings, and flew out into + the room. It flew round and round, and round again, and where it passed + the air was warm. Then it perched on the fender. The children looked at + each other. Then Cyril put out a hand towards the bird. It put its head on + one side and looked up at him, as you may have seen a parrot do when it is + just going to speak, so that the children were hardly astonished at all + when it said, ‘Be careful; I am not nearly cool yet.’ + </p> + <p> + They were not astonished, but they were very, very much interested. + </p> + <p> + They looked at the bird, and it was certainly worth looking at. Its + feathers were like gold. It was about as large as a bantam, only its beak + was not at all bantam-shaped. ‘I believe I know what it is,’ said Robert. + ‘I’ve seen a picture.’ + </p> + <p> + He hurried away. A hasty dash and scramble among the papers on father’s + study table yielded, as the sum-books say, ‘the desired result’. But when + he came back into the room holding out a paper, and crying, ‘I say, look + here,’ the others all said ‘Hush!’ and he hushed obediently and instantly, + for the bird was speaking. + </p> + <p> + ‘Which of you,’ it was saying, ‘put the egg into the fire?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He did,’ said three voices, and three fingers pointed at Robert. + </p> + <p> + The bird bowed; at least it was more like that than anything else. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am your grateful debtor,’ it said with a high-bred air. + </p> + <p> + The children were all choking with wonder and curiosity—all except + Robert. He held the paper in his hand, and he KNEW. He said so. He said— + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>I</i> know who you are.’ + </p> + <p> + And he opened and displayed a printed paper, at the head of which was a + little picture of a bird sitting in a nest of flames. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are the Phoenix,’ said Robert; and the bird was quite pleased. + </p> + <p> + ‘My fame has lived then for two thousand years,’ it said. ‘Allow me to + look at my portrait.’ It looked at the page which Robert, kneeling down, + spread out in the fender, and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not a flattering likeness... And what are these characters?’ it + asked, pointing to the printed part. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, that’s all dullish; it’s not much about YOU, you know,’ said Cyril, + with unconscious politeness; ‘but you’re in lots of books.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘With portraits?’ asked the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, no,’ said Cyril; ‘in fact, I don’t think I ever saw any portrait of + you but that one, but I can read you something about yourself, if you + like.’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix nodded, and Cyril went off and fetched Volume X of the old + Encyclopedia, and on page 246 he found the following:— + </p> + <p> + ‘Phoenix—in ornithology, a fabulous bird of antiquity.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Antiquity is quite correct,’ said the Phoenix, ‘but fabulous—well, + do I look it?’ + </p> + <p> + Every one shook its head. Cyril went on— + </p> + <p> + ‘The ancients speak of this bird as single, or the only one of its kind.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s right enough,’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘They describe it as about the size of an eagle.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Eagles are of different sizes,’ said the Phoenix; ‘it’s not at all a good + description.’ + </p> + <p> + All the children were kneeling on the hearthrug, to be as near the Phoenix + as possible. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll boil your brains,’ it said. ‘Look out, I’m nearly cool now;’ and + with a whirr of golden wings it fluttered from the fender to the table. It + was so nearly cool that there was only a very faint smell of burning when + it had settled itself on the table-cloth. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s only a very little scorched,’ said the Phoenix, apologetically; ‘it + will come out in the wash. Please go on reading.’ + </p> + <p> + The children gathered round the table. + </p> + <p> + ‘The size of an eagle,’ Cyril went on, ‘its head finely crested with a + beautiful plumage, its neck covered with feathers of a gold colour, and + the rest of its body purple; only the tail white, and the eyes sparkling + like stars. They say that it lives about five hundred years in the + wilderness, and when advanced in age it builds itself a pile of sweet wood + and aromatic gums, fires it with the wafting of its wings, and thus burns + itself; and that from its ashes arises a worm, which in time grows up to + be a Phoenix. Hence the Phoenicians gave—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind what they gave,’ said the Phoenix, ruffling its golden + feathers. ‘They never gave much, anyway; they always were people who gave + nothing for nothing. That book ought to be destroyed. It’s most + inaccurate. The rest of my body was never purple, and as for my—tail—well, + I simply ask you, IS it white?’ + </p> + <p> + It turned round and gravely presented its golden tail to the children. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, it’s not,’ said everybody. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, and it never was,’ said the Phoenix. ‘And that about the worm is just + a vulgar insult. The Phoenix has an egg, like all respectable birds. It + makes a pile—that part’s all right—and it lays its egg, and it + burns itself; and it goes to sleep and wakes up in its egg, and comes out + and goes on living again, and so on for ever and ever. I can’t tell you + how weary I got of it—such a restless existence; no repose.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But how did your egg get HERE?’ asked Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, that’s my life-secret,’ said the Phoenix. ‘I couldn’t tell it to any + one who wasn’t really sympathetic. I’ve always been a misunderstood bird. + You can tell that by what they say about the worm. I might tell YOU,’ it + went on, looking at Robert with eyes that were indeed starry. ‘You put me + on the fire—’ Robert looked uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + ‘The rest of us made the fire of sweet-scented woods and gums, though,’ + said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘And—and it was an accident my putting you on the fire,’ said + Robert, telling the truth with some difficulty, for he did not know how + the Phoenix might take it. It took it in the most unexpected manner. + </p> + <p> + ‘Your candid avowal,’ it said, ‘removes my last scruple. I will tell you + my story.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you won’t vanish, or anything sudden will you? asked Anthea, + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why?’ it asked, puffing out the golden feathers, ‘do you wish me to stay + here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh YES,’ said every one, with unmistakable sincerity. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why?’ asked the Phoenix again, looking modestly at the table-cloth. + </p> + <p> + ‘Because,’ said every one at once, and then stopped short; only Jane added + after a pause, ‘you are the most beautiful person we’ve ever seen.’ ‘You + are a sensible child,’ said the Phoenix, ‘and I will NOT vanish or + anything sudden. And I will tell you my tale. I had resided, as your book + says, for many thousand years in the wilderness, which is a large, quiet + place with very little really good society, and I was becoming weary of + the monotony of my existence. But I acquired the habit of laying my egg + and burning myself every five hundred years—and you know how + difficult it is to break yourself of a habit.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Cyril; ‘Jane used to bite her nails.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But I broke myself of it,’ urged Jane, rather hurt, ‘You know I did.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not till they put bitter aloes on them,’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘I doubt,’ said the bird, gravely, ‘whether even bitter aloes (the aloe, + by the way, has a bad habit of its own, which it might well cure before + seeking to cure others; I allude to its indolent practice of flowering but + once a century), I doubt whether even bitter aloes could have cured ME. + But I WAS cured. I awoke one morning from a feverish dream—it was + getting near the time for me to lay that tiresome fire and lay that + tedious egg upon it—and I saw two people, a man and a woman. They + were sitting on a carpet—and when I accosted them civilly they + narrated to me their life-story, which, as you have not yet heard it, I + will now proceed to relate. They were a prince and princess, and the story + of their parents was one which I am sure you will like to hear. In early + youth the mother of the princess happened to hear the story of a certain + enchanter, and in that story I am sure you will be interested. The + enchanter—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, please don’t,’ said Anthea. ‘I can’t understand all these beginnings + of stories, and you seem to be getting deeper and deeper in them every + minute. Do tell us your OWN story. That’s what we really want to hear.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said the Phoenix, seeming on the whole rather flattered, ‘to cut + about seventy long stories short (though <i>I</i> had to listen to them + all—but to be sure in the wilderness there is plenty of time), this + prince and princess were so fond of each other that they did not want any + one else, and the enchanter—don’t be alarmed, I won’t go into his + history—had given them a magic carpet (you’ve heard of a magic + carpet?), and they had just sat on it and told it to take them right away + from every one—and it had brought them to the wilderness. And as + they meant to stay there they had no further use for the carpet, so they + gave it to me. That was indeed the chance of a lifetime!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t see what you wanted with a carpet,’ said Jane, ‘when you’ve got + those lovely wings.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They ARE nice wings, aren’t they?’ said the Phoenix, simpering and + spreading them out. ‘Well, I got the prince to lay out the carpet, and I + laid my egg on it; then I said to the carpet, “Now, my excellent carpet, + prove your worth. Take that egg somewhere where it can’t be hatched for + two thousand years, and where, when that time’s up, some one will light a + fire of sweet wood and aromatic gums, and put the egg in to hatch;” and + you see it’s all come out exactly as I said. The words were no sooner out + of my beak than egg and carpet disappeared. The royal lovers assisted to + arrange my pile, and soothed my last moments. I burnt myself up and knew + no more till I awoke on yonder altar.’ + </p> + <p> + It pointed its claw at the grate. + </p> + <p> + ‘But the carpet,’ said Robert, ‘the magic carpet that takes you anywhere + you wish. What became of that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, THAT?’ said the Phoenix, carelessly—‘I should say that that is + the carpet. I remember the pattern perfectly.’ + </p> + <p> + It pointed as it spoke to the floor, where lay the carpet which mother had + bought in the Kentish Town Road for twenty-two shillings and ninepence. + </p> + <p> + At that instant father’s latch-key was heard in the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘OH,’ whispered Cyril, ‘now we shall catch it for not being in bed!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wish yourself there,’ said the Phoenix, in a hurried whisper, ‘and then + wish the carpet back in its place.’ + </p> + <p> + No sooner said than done. It made one a little giddy, certainly, and a + little breathless; but when things seemed right way up again, there the + children were, in bed, and the lights were out. + </p> + <p> + They heard the soft voice of the Phoenix through the darkness. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall sleep on the cornice above your curtains,’ it said. ‘Please don’t + mention me to your kinsfolk.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not much good,’ said Robert, ‘they’d never believe us. I say,’ he called + through the half-open door to the girls; ‘talk about adventures and things + happening. We ought to be able to get some fun out of a magic carpet AND a + Phoenix.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Rather,’ said the girls, in bed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Children,’ said father, on the stairs, ‘go to sleep at once. What do you + mean by talking at this time of night?’ + </p> + <p> + No answer was expected to this question, but under the bedclothes Cyril + murmured one. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mean?’ he said. ‘Don’t know what we mean. I don’t know what anything + means.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But we’ve got a magic carpet AND a Phoenix,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll get something else if father comes in and catches you,’ said + Cyril. ‘Shut up, I tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + Robert shut up. But he knew as well as you do that the adventures of that + carpet and that Phoenix were only just beginning. + </p> + <p> + Father and mother had not the least idea of what had happened in their + absence. This is often the case, even when there are no magic carpets or + Phoenixes in the house. + </p> + <p> + The next morning—but I am sure you would rather wait till the next + chapter before you hear about THAT. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2. THE TOPLESS TOWER + </h2> + <p> + The children had seen the Phoenix-egg hatched in the flames in their own + nursery grate, and had heard from it how the carpet on their own nursery + floor was really the wishing carpet, which would take them anywhere they + chose. The carpet had transported them to bed just at the right moment, + and the Phoenix had gone to roost on the cornice supporting the + window-curtains of the boys’ room. + </p> + <p> + ‘Excuse me,’ said a gentle voice, and a courteous beak opened, very kindly + and delicately, the right eye of Cyril. ‘I hear the slaves below preparing + food. Awaken! A word of explanation and arrangement... I do wish you + wouldn’t—’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix stopped speaking and fluttered away crossly to the + cornice-pole; for Cyril had hit out, as boys do when they are awakened + suddenly, and the Phoenix was not used to boys, and his feelings, if not + his wings, were hurt. + </p> + <p> + ‘Sorry,’ said Cyril, coming awake all in a minute. ‘Do come back! What was + it you were saying? Something about bacon and rations?’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix fluttered back to the brass rail at the foot of the bed. + </p> + <p> + ‘I say—you ARE real,’ said Cyril. ‘How ripping! And the carpet?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The carpet is as real as it ever was,’ said the Phoenix, rather + contemptuously; ‘but, of course, a carpet’s only a carpet, whereas a + Phoenix is superlatively a Phoenix.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Cyril, ‘I see it is. Oh, what luck! Wake up, Bobs! + There’s jolly well something to wake up for today. And it’s Saturday, + too.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve been reflecting,’ said the Phoenix, ‘during the silent watches of + the night, and I could not avoid the conclusion that you were quite + insufficiently astonished at my appearance yesterday. The ancients were + always VERY surprised. Did you, by chance, EXPECT my egg to hatch?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not us,’ Cyril said. + </p> + <p> + ‘And if we had,’ said Anthea, who had come in in her nightie when she + heard the silvery voice of the Phoenix, ‘we could never, never have + expected it to hatch anything so splendid as you.’ + </p> + <p> + The bird smiled. Perhaps you’ve never seen a bird smile? + </p> + <p> + ‘You see,’ said Anthea, wrapping herself in the boys’ counterpane, for the + morning was chill, ‘we’ve had things happen to us before;’ and she told + the story of the Psammead, or sand-fairy. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah yes,’ said the Phoenix; ‘Psammeads were rare, even in my time. I + remember I used to be called the Psammead of the Desert. I was always + having compliments paid me; I can’t think why.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Can YOU give wishes, then?’ asked Jane, who had now come in too. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, dear me, no,’ said the Phoenix, contemptuously, ‘at least—but I + hear footsteps approaching. I hasten to conceal myself.’ And it did. + </p> + <p> + I think I said that this day was Saturday. It was also cook’s birthday, + and mother had allowed her and Eliza to go to the Crystal Palace with a + party of friends, so Jane and Anthea of course had to help to make beds + and to wash up the breakfast cups, and little things like that. Robert and + Cyril intended to spend the morning in conversation with the Phoenix, but + the bird had its own ideas about this. + </p> + <p> + ‘I must have an hour or two’s quiet,’ it said, ‘I really must. My nerves + will give way unless I can get a little rest. You must remember it’s two + thousand years since I had any conversation—I’m out of practice, and + I must take care of myself. I’ve often been told that mine is a valuable + life.’ So it nestled down inside an old hatbox of father’s, which had been + brought down from the box-room some days before, when a helmet was + suddenly needed for a game of tournaments, with its golden head under its + golden wing, and went to sleep. So then Robert and Cyril moved the table + back and were going to sit on the carpet and wish themselves somewhere + else. But before they could decide on the place, Cyril said— + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s rather sneakish to begin without the girls.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They’ll be all the morning,’ said Robert, impatiently. And then a thing + inside him, which tiresome books sometimes call the ‘inward monitor’, + said, ‘Why don’t you help them, then?’ + </p> + <p> + Cyril’s ‘inward monitor’ happened to say the same thing at the same + moment, so the boys went and helped to wash up the tea-cups, and to dust + the drawing-room. Robert was so interested that he proposed to clean the + front doorsteps—a thing he had never been allowed to do. Nor was he + allowed to do it on this occasion. One reason was that it had already been + done by cook. + </p> + <p> + When all the housework was finished, the girls dressed the happy, + wriggling baby in his blue highwayman coat and three-cornered hat, and + kept him amused while mother changed her dress and got ready to take him + over to granny’s. Mother always went to granny’s every Saturday, and + generally some of the children went with her; but today they were to keep + house. And their hearts were full of joyous and delightful feelings every + time they remembered that the house they would have to keep had a Phoenix + in it, AND a wishing carpet. + </p> + <p> + You can always keep the Lamb good and happy for quite a long time if you + play the Noah’s Ark game with him. It is quite simple. He just sits on + your lap and tells you what animal he is, and then you say the little + poetry piece about whatever animal he chooses to be. + </p> + <p> + Of course, some of the animals, like the zebra and the tiger, haven’t got + any poetry, because they are so difficult to rhyme to. The Lamb knows + quite well which are the poetry animals. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m a baby bear!’ said the Lamb, snugging down; and Anthea began: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘I love my little baby bear, + I love his nose and toes and hair; + I like to hold him in my arm, + And keep him VERY safe and warm.’ +</pre> + <p> + And when she said ‘very’, of course there was a real bear’s hug. + </p> + <p> + Then came the eel, and the Lamb was tickled till he wriggled exactly like + a real one: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘I love my little baby eel, + He is so squidglety to feel; + He’ll be an eel when he is big— + But now he’s just—a—tiny SNIG!’ +</pre> + <p> + Perhaps you didn’t know that a snig was a baby eel? It is, though, and the + Lamb knew it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hedgehog now-!’ he said; and Anthea went on: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘My baby hedgehog, how I like ye, + Though your back’s so prickly-spiky; + Your front is very soft, I’ve found, + So I must love you front ways round!’ +</pre> + <p> + And then she loved him front ways round, while he squealed with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + It is a very baby game, and, of course, the rhymes are only meant for + very, very small people—not for people who are old enough to read + books, so I won’t tell you any more of them. + </p> + <p> + By the time the Lamb had been a baby lion and a baby weazel, and a baby + rabbit and a baby rat, mother was ready; and she and the Lamb, having been + kissed by everybody and hugged as thoroughly as it is possible to be when + you’re dressed for out-of-doors, were seen to the tram by the boys. When + the boys came back, every one looked at every one else and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Now!’ + </p> + <p> + They locked the front door and they locked the back door, and they + fastened all the windows. They moved the table and chairs off the carpet, + and Anthea swept it. + </p> + <p> + ‘We must show it a LITTLE attention,’ she said kindly. ‘We’ll give it + tea-leaves next time. Carpets like tea-leaves.’ + </p> + <p> + Then every one put on its out-door things, because as Cyril said, they + didn’t know where they might be going, and it makes people stare if you go + out of doors in November in pinafores and without hats. + </p> + <p> + Then Robert gently awoke the Phoenix, who yawned and stretched itself, and + allowed Robert to lift it on to the middle of the carpet, where it + instantly went to sleep again with its crested head tucked under its + golden wing as before. Then every one sat down on the carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where shall we go?’ was of course the question, and it was warmly + discussed. Anthea wanted to go to Japan. Robert and Cyril voted for + America, and Jane wished to go to the seaside. + </p> + <p> + ‘Because there are donkeys there,’ said she. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not in November, silly,’ said Cyril; and the discussion got warmer and + warmer, and still nothing was settled. + </p> + <p> + ‘I vote we let the Phoenix decide,’ said Robert, at last. So they stroked + it till it woke. ‘We want to go somewhere abroad,’ they said, ‘and we + can’t make up our minds where.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let the carpet make up ITS mind, if it has one,’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘Just say you wish to go abroad.’ + </p> + <p> + So they did; and the next moment the world seemed to spin upside down, and + when it was right way up again and they were ungiddy enough to look about + them, they were out of doors. + </p> + <p> + Out of doors—this is a feeble way to express where they were. They + were out of—out of the earth, or off it. In fact, they were floating + steadily, safely, splendidly, in the crisp clear air, with the pale bright + blue of the sky above them, and far down below the pale bright + sun-diamonded waves of the sea. The carpet had stiffened itself somehow, + so that it was square and firm like a raft, and it steered itself so + beautifully and kept on its way so flat and fearless that no one was at + all afraid of tumbling off. In front of them lay land. + </p> + <p> + ‘The coast of France,’ said the Phoenix, waking up and pointing with its + wing. ‘Where do you wish to go? I should always keep one wish, of course—for + emergencies—otherwise you may get into an emergency from which you + can’t emerge at all.’ + </p> + <p> + But the children were far too deeply interested to listen. + </p> + <p> + ‘I tell you what,’ said Cyril: ‘let’s let the thing go on and on, and when + we see a place we really want to stop at—why, we’ll just stop. Isn’t + this ripping?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s like trains,’ said Anthea, as they swept over the low-lying + coast-line and held a steady course above orderly fields and straight + roads bordered with poplar trees—‘like express trains, only in + trains you never can see anything because of grown-ups wanting the windows + shut; and then they breathe on them, and it’s like ground glass, and + nobody can see anything, and then they go to sleep.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s like tobogganing,’ said Robert, ‘so fast and smooth, only there’s no + door-mat to stop short on—it goes on and on.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You darling Phoenix,’ said Jane, ‘it’s all your doing. Oh, look at that + ducky little church and the women with flappy cappy things on their + heads.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t mention it,’ said the Phoenix, with sleepy politeness. + </p> + <p> + ‘OH!’ said Cyril, summing up all the rapture that was in every heart. + ‘Look at it all—look at it—and think of the Kentish Town + Road!’ + </p> + <p> + Every one looked and every one thought. And the glorious, gliding, smooth, + steady rush went on, and they looked down on strange and beautiful things, + and held their breath and let it go in deep sighs, and said ‘Oh!’ and + ‘Ah!’ till it was long past dinner-time. + </p> + <p> + It was Jane who suddenly said, ‘I wish we’d brought that jam tart and cold + mutton with us. It would have been jolly to have a picnic in the air.’ + </p> + <p> + The jam tart and cold mutton were, however, far away, sitting quietly in + the larder of the house in Camden Town which the children were supposed to + be keeping. A mouse was at that moment tasting the outside of the + raspberry jam part of the tart (she had nibbled a sort of gulf, or bay, + through the pastry edge) to see whether it was the sort of dinner she + could ask her little mouse-husband to sit down to. She had had a very good + dinner herself. It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ll stop as soon as we see a nice place,’ said Anthea. ‘I’ve got + threepence, and you boys have the fourpence each that your trams didn’t + cost the other day, so we can buy things to eat. I expect the Phoenix can + speak French.’ + </p> + <p> + The carpet was sailing along over rocks and rivers and trees and towns and + farms and fields. It reminded everybody of a certain time when all of them + had had wings, and had flown up to the top of a church tower, and had had + a feast there of chicken and tongue and new bread and soda-water. And this + again reminded them how hungry they were. And just as they were all being + reminded of this very strongly indeed, they saw ahead of them some ruined + walls on a hill, and strong and upright, and really, to look at, as good + as new—a great square tower. + </p> + <p> + ‘The top of that’s just the exactly same size as the carpet,’ said Jane. ‘<i>I</i> + think it would be good to go to the top of that, because then none of the + Abby-what’s-its-names—I mean natives—would be able to take the + carpet away even if they wanted to. And some of us could go out and get + things to eat—buy them honestly, I mean, not take them out of larder + windows.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think it would be better if we went—’ Anthea was beginning; but + Jane suddenly clenched her hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t see why I should never do anything I want, just because I’m the + youngest. I wish the carpet would fit itself in at the top of that tower—so + there!’ + </p> + <p> + The carpet made a disconcerting bound, and next moment it was hovering + above the square top of the tower. Then slowly and carefully it began to + sink under them. It was like a lift going down with you at the Army and + Navy Stores. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t think we ought to wish things without all agreeing to them + first,’ said Robert, huffishly. ‘Hullo! What on earth?’ + </p> + <p> + For unexpectedly and greyly something was coming up all round the four + sides of the carpet. It was as if a wall were being built by magic + quickness. It was a foot high—it was two feet high—three, + four, five. It was shutting out the light—more and more. + </p> + <p> + Anthea looked up at the sky and the walls that now rose six feet above + them. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’re dropping into the tower,’ she screamed. ‘THERE WASN’T ANY TOP TO + IT. So the carpet’s going to fit itself in at the bottom.’ + </p> + <p> + Robert sprang to his feet. + </p> + <p> + ‘We ought to have—Hullo! an owl’s nest.’ He put his knee on a + jutting smooth piece of grey stone, and reached his hand into a deep + window slit—broad to the inside of the tower, and narrowing like a + funnel to the outside. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look sharp!’ cried every one, but Robert did not look sharp enough. By + the time he had drawn his hand out of the owl’s nest—there were no + eggs there—the carpet had sunk eight feet below him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Jump, you silly cuckoo!’ cried Cyril, with brotherly anxiety. + </p> + <p> + But Robert couldn’t turn round all in a minute into a jumping position. He + wriggled and twisted and got on to the broad ledge, and by the time he was + ready to jump the walls of the tower had risen up thirty feet above the + others, who were still sinking with the carpet, and Robert found himself + in the embrasure of a window; alone, for even the owls were not at home + that day. The wall was smoothish; there was no climbing up, and as for + climbing down—Robert hid his face in his hands, and squirmed back + and back from the giddy verge, until the back part of him was wedged quite + tight in the narrowest part of the window slit. + </p> + <p> + He was safe now, of course, but the outside part of his window was like a + frame to a picture of part of the other side of the tower. It was very + pretty, with moss growing between the stones and little shiny gems; but + between him and it there was the width of the tower, and nothing in it but + empty air. The situation was terrible. Robert saw in a flash that the + carpet was likely to bring them into just the same sort of tight places + that they used to get into with the wishes the Psammead granted them. + </p> + <p> + And the others—imagine their feelings as the carpet sank slowly and + steadily to the very bottom of the tower, leaving Robert clinging to the + wall. Robert did not even try to imagine their feelings—he had quite + enough to do with his own; but you can. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the carpet came to a stop on the ground at the bottom of the + inside of the tower it suddenly lost that raft-like stiffness which had + been such a comfort during the journey from Camden Town to the topless + tower, and spread itself limply over the loose stones and little earthy + mounds at the bottom of the tower, just exactly like any ordinary carpet. + Also it shrank suddenly, so that it seemed to draw away from under their + feet, and they stepped quickly off the edges and stood on the firm ground, + while the carpet drew itself in till it was its proper size, and no longer + fitted exactly into the inside of the tower, but left quite a big space + all round it. + </p> + <p> + Then across the carpet they looked at each other, and then every chin was + tilted up and every eye sought vainly to see where poor Robert had got to. + Of course, they couldn’t see him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish we hadn’t come,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘You always do,’ said Cyril, briefly. ‘Look here, we can’t leave Robert up + there. I wish the carpet would fetch him down.’ + </p> + <p> + The carpet seemed to awake from a dream and pull itself together. It + stiffened itself briskly and floated up between the four walls of the + tower. The children below craned their heads back, and nearly broke their + necks in doing it. The carpet rose and rose. It hung poised darkly above + them for an anxious moment or two; then it dropped down again, threw + itself on the uneven floor of the tower, and as it did so it tumbled + Robert out on the uneven floor of the tower. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, glory!’ said Robert, ‘that was a squeak. You don’t know how I felt. I + say, I’ve had about enough for a bit. Let’s wish ourselves at home again + and have a go at that jam tart and mutton. We can go out again + afterwards.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Righto!’ said every one, for the adventure had shaken the nerves of all. + So they all got on to the carpet again, and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish we were at home.’ + </p> + <p> + And lo and behold, they were no more at home than before. The carpet never + moved. The Phoenix had taken the opportunity to go to sleep. Anthea woke + it up gently. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m looking,’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘We WISHED to be at home, and we’re still here,’ complained Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said the Phoenix, looking about it at the high dark walls of the + tower. ‘No; I quite see that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But we wished to be at home,’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘No doubt,’ said the bird, politely. + </p> + <p> + ‘And the carpet hasn’t moved an inch,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said the Phoenix, ‘I see it hasn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But I thought it was a wishing carpet?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So it is,’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then why—?’ asked the children, altogether. + </p> + <p> + ‘I did tell you, you know,’ said the Phoenix, ‘only you are so fond of + listening to the music of your own voices. It is, indeed, the most lovely + music to each of us, and therefore—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You did tell us WHAT?’ interrupted an Exasperated. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, that the carpet only gives you three wishes a day and YOU’VE HAD + THEM.’ + </p> + <p> + There was a heartfelt silence. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then how are we going to get home?’ said Cyril, at last. + </p> + <p> + ‘I haven’t any idea,’ replied the Phoenix, kindly. ‘Can I fly out and get + you any little thing?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How could you carry the money to pay for it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It isn’t necessary. Birds always take what they want. It is not regarded + as stealing, except in the case of magpies.’ + </p> + <p> + The children were glad to find they had been right in supposing this to be + the case, on the day when they had wings, and had enjoyed somebody else’s + ripe plums. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; let the Phoenix get us something to eat, anyway,’ Robert urged—’ + (‘If it will be so kind you mean,’ corrected Anthea, in a whisper); ‘if it + will be so kind, and we can be thinking while it’s gone.’ + </p> + <p> + So the Phoenix fluttered up through the grey space of the tower and + vanished at the top, and it was not till it had quite gone that Jane said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Suppose it never comes back.’ + </p> + <p> + It was not a pleasant thought, and though Anthea at once said, ‘Of course + it will come back; I’m certain it’s a bird of its word,’ a further gloom + was cast by the idea. For, curiously enough, there was no door to the + tower, and all the windows were far, far too high to be reached by the + most adventurous climber. It was cold, too, and Anthea shivered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Cyril, ‘it’s like being at the bottom of a well.’ + </p> + <p> + The children waited in a sad and hungry silence, and got little stiff + necks with holding their little heads back to look up the inside of the + tall grey tower, to see if the Phoenix were coming. + </p> + <p> + At last it came. It looked very big as it fluttered down between the + walls, and as it neared them the children saw that its bigness was caused + by a basket of boiled chestnuts which it carried in one claw. In the other + it held a piece of bread. And in its beak was a very large pear. The pear + was juicy, and as good as a very small drink. When the meal was over every + one felt better, and the question of how to get home was discussed without + any disagreeableness. But no one could think of any way out of the + difficulty, or even out of the tower; for the Phoenix, though its beak and + claws had fortunately been strong enough to carry food for them, was + plainly not equal to flying through the air with four well-nourished + children. + </p> + <p> + ‘We must stay here, I suppose,’ said Robert at last, ‘and shout out every + now and then, and some one will hear us and bring ropes and ladders, and + rescue us like out of mines; and they’ll get up a subscription to send us + home, like castaways.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; but we shan’t be home before mother is, and then father’ll take away + the carpet and say it’s dangerous or something,’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘I DO wish we hadn’t come,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + And every one else said ‘Shut up,’ except Anthea, who suddenly awoke the + Phoenix and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here, I believe YOU can help us. Oh, I do wish you would!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will help you as far as lies in my power,’ said the Phoenix, at once. + ‘What is it you want now?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, we want to get home,’ said every one. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said the Phoenix. ‘Ah, hum! Yes. Home, you said? Meaning?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Where we live—where we slept last night—where the altar is + that your egg was hatched on.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, there!’ said the Phoenix. ‘Well, I’ll do my best.’ It fluttered on to + the carpet and walked up and down for a few minutes in deep thought. Then + it drew itself up proudly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I CAN help you,’ it said. ‘I am almost sure I can help you. Unless I am + grossly deceived I can help you. You won’t mind my leaving you for an hour + or two?’ and without waiting for a reply it soared up through the dimness + of the tower into the brightness above. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Cyril, firmly, ‘it said an hour or two. But I’ve read about + captives and people shut up in dungeons and catacombs and things awaiting + release, and I know each moment is an eternity. Those people always do + something to pass the desperate moments. It’s no use our trying to tame + spiders, because we shan’t have time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I HOPE not,’ said Jane, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘But we ought to scratch our names on the stones or something.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I say, talking of stones,’ said Robert, ‘you see that heap of stones + against the wall over in that corner. Well, I’m certain there’s a hole in + the wall there—and I believe it’s a door. Yes, look here—the + stones are round like an arch in the wall; and here’s the hole—it’s + all black inside.’ + </p> + <p> + He had walked over to the heap as he spoke and climbed up to it—dislodged + the top stone of the heap and uncovered a little dark space. + </p> + <p> + Next moment every one was helping to pull down the heap of stones, and + very soon every one threw off its jacket, for it was warm work. + </p> + <p> + ‘It IS a door,’ said Cyril, wiping his face, ‘and not a bad thing either, + if—’ + </p> + <p> + He was going to add ‘if anything happens to the Phoenix,’ but he didn’t + for fear of frightening Jane. He was not an unkind boy when he had leisure + to think of such things. + </p> + <p> + The arched hole in the wall grew larger and larger. It was very, very + black, even compared with the sort of twilight at the bottom of the tower; + it grew larger because the children kept pulling off the stones and + throwing them down into another heap. The stones must have been there a + very long time, for they were covered with moss, and some of them were + stuck together by it. So it was fairly hard work, as Robert pointed out. + </p> + <p> + When the hole reached to about halfway between the top of the arch and the + tower, Robert and Cyril let themselves down cautiously on the inside, and + lit matches. How thankful they felt then that they had a sensible father, + who did not forbid them to carry matches, as some boys’ fathers do. The + father of Robert and Cyril only insisted on the matches being of the kind + that strike only on the box. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not a door, it’s a sort of tunnel,’ Robert cried to the girls, after + the first match had flared up, flickered, and gone out. ‘Stand off—we’ll + push some more stones down!’ + </p> + <p> + They did, amid deep excitement. And now the stone heap was almost gone—and + before them the girls saw the dark archway leading to unknown things. All + doubts and fears as to getting home were forgotten in this thrilling + moment. It was like Monte Cristo—it was like— + </p> + <p> + ‘I say,’ cried Anthea, suddenly, ‘come out! There’s always bad air in + places that have been shut up. It makes your torches go out, and then you + die. It’s called fire-damp, I believe. Come out, I tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + The urgency of her tone actually brought the boys out—and then every + one took up its jacket and fanned the dark arch with it, so as to make the + air fresh inside. When Anthea thought the air inside ‘must be freshened by + now,’ Cyril led the way into the arch. + </p> + <p> + The girls followed, and Robert came last, because Jane refused to tail the + procession lest ‘something’ should come in after her, and catch at her + from behind. Cyril advanced cautiously, lighting match after match, and + peering before him. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a vaulting roof,’ he said, ‘and it’s all stone—all right, + Panther, don’t keep pulling at my jacket! The air must be all right + because of the matches, silly, and there are—look out—there + are steps down.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, don’t let’s go any farther,’ said Jane, in an agony of reluctance (a + very painful thing, by the way, to be in). ‘I’m sure there are snakes, or + dens of lions, or something. Do let’s go back, and come some other time, + with candles, and bellows for the fire-damp.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me get in front of you, then,’ said the stern voice of Robert, from + behind. ‘This is exactly the place for buried treasure, and I’m going on, + anyway; you can stay behind if you like.’ + </p> + <p> + And then, of course, Jane consented to go on. + </p> + <p> + So, very slowly and carefully, the children went down the steps—there + were seventeen of them—and at the bottom of the steps were more + passages branching four ways, and a sort of low arch on the right-hand + side made Cyril wonder what it could be, for it was too low to be the + beginning of another passage. + </p> + <p> + So he knelt down and lit a match, and stooping very low he peeped in. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s SOMETHING,’ he said, and reached out his hand. It touched + something that felt more like a damp bag of marbles than anything else + that Cyril had ever touched. + </p> + <p> + ‘I believe it IS a buried treasure,’ he cried. + </p> + <p> + And it was; for even as Anthea cried, ‘Oh, hurry up, Squirrel—fetch + it out!’ Cyril pulled out a rotting canvas bag—about as big as the + paper ones the greengrocer gives you with Barcelona nuts in for sixpence. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s more of it, a lot more,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + As he pulled the rotten bag gave way, and the gold coins ran and span and + jumped and bumped and chinked and clinked on the floor of the dark + passage. + </p> + <p> + I wonder what you would say if you suddenly came upon a buried treasure? + What Cyril said was, ‘Oh, bother—I’ve burnt my fingers!’ and as he + spoke he dropped the match. ‘AND IT WAS THE LAST!’ he added. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment of desperate silence. Then Jane began to cry. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t,’ said Anthea, ‘don’t, Pussy—you’ll exhaust the air if you + cry. We can get out all right.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Jane, through her sobs, ‘and find the Phoenix has come back + and gone away again—because it thought we’d gone home some other + way, and—Oh, I WISH we hadn’t come.’ + </p> + <p> + Every one stood quite still—only Anthea cuddled Jane up to her and + tried to wipe her eyes in the dark. + </p> + <p> + ‘D-DON’T,’ said Jane; ‘that’s my EAR—I’m not crying with my ears.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, let’s get on out,’ said Robert; but that was not so easy, for no + one could remember exactly which way they had come. It is very difficult + to remember things in the dark, unless you have matches with you, and then + of course it is quite different, even if you don’t strike one. + </p> + <p> + Every one had come to agree with Jane’s constant wish—and despair + was making the darkness blacker than ever, when quite suddenly the floor + seemed to tip up—and a strong sensation of being in a whirling lift + came upon every one. All eyes were closed—one’s eyes always are in + the dark, don’t you think? When the whirling feeling stopped, Cyril said + ‘Earthquakes!’ and they all opened their eyes. + </p> + <p> + They were in their own dingy breakfast-room at home, and oh, how light and + bright and safe and pleasant and altogether delightful it seemed after + that dark underground tunnel! The carpet lay on the floor, looking as calm + as though it had never been for an excursion in its life. On the + mantelpiece stood the Phoenix, waiting with an air of modest yet sterling + worth for the thanks of the children. + </p> + <p> + ‘But how DID you do it?’ they asked, when every one had thanked the + Phoenix again and again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, I just went and got a wish from your friend the Psammead.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But how DID you know where to find it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I found that out from the carpet; these wishing creatures always know all + about each other—they’re so clannish; like the Scots, you know—all + related.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But, the carpet can’t talk, can it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then how—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How did I get the Psammead’s address? I tell you I got it from the + carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘DID it speak then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said the Phoenix, thoughtfully, ‘it didn’t speak, but I gathered my + information from something in its manner. I was always a singularly + observant bird.’ + </p> + <p> + It was not till after the cold mutton and the jam tart, as well as the tea + and bread-and-butter, that any one found time to regret the golden + treasure which had been left scattered on the floor of the underground + passage, and which, indeed, no one had thought of till now, since the + moment when Cyril burnt his fingers at the flame of the last match. + </p> + <p> + ‘What owls and goats we were!’ said Robert. ‘Look how we’ve always wanted + treasure—and now—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind,’ said Anthea, trying as usual to make the best of it. ‘We’ll + go back again and get it all, and then we’ll give everybody presents.’ + </p> + <p> + More than a quarter of an hour passed most agreeably in arranging what + presents should be given to whom, and, when the claims of generosity had + been satisfied, the talk ran for fifty minutes on what they would buy for + themselves. + </p> + <p> + It was Cyril who broke in on Robert’s almost too technical account of the + motor-car on which he meant to go to and from school— + </p> + <p> + ‘There!’ he said. ‘Dry up. It’s no good. We can’t ever go back. We don’t + know where it is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t YOU know?’ Jane asked the Phoenix, wistfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not in the least,’ the Phoenix replied, in a tone of amiable regret. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then we’ve lost the treasure,’ said Cyril. And they had. + </p> + <p> + ‘But we’ve got the carpet and the Phoenix,’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Excuse me,’ said the bird, with an air of wounded dignity, ‘I do SO HATE + to seem to interfere, but surely you MUST mean the Phoenix and the + carpet?’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3. THE QUEEN COOK + </h2> + <p> + It was on a Saturday that the children made their first glorious journey + on the wishing carpet. Unless you are too young to read at all, you will + know that the next day must have been Sunday. + </p> + <p> + Sunday at 18, Camden Terrace, Camden Town, was always a very pretty day. + Father always brought home flowers on Saturday, so that the + breakfast-table was extra beautiful. In November, of course, the flowers + were chrysanthemums, yellow and coppery coloured. Then there were always + sausages on toast for breakfast, and these are rapture, after six days of + Kentish Town Road eggs at fourteen a shilling. + </p> + <p> + On this particular Sunday there were fowls for dinner, a kind of food that + is generally kept for birthdays and grand occasions, and there was an + angel pudding, when rice and milk and oranges and white icing do their + best to make you happy. + </p> + <p> + After dinner father was very sleepy indeed, because he had been working + hard all the week; but he did not yield to the voice that said, ‘Go and + have an hour’s rest.’ He nursed the Lamb, who had a horrid cough that cook + said was whooping-cough as sure as eggs, and he said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Come along, kiddies; I’ve got a ripping book from the library, called The + Golden Age, and I’ll read it to you.’ + </p> + <p> + Mother settled herself on the drawing-room sofa, and said she could listen + quite nicely with her eyes shut. The Lamb snugged into the ‘armchair + corner’ of daddy’s arm, and the others got into a happy heap on the + hearth-rug. At first, of course, there were too many feet and knees and + shoulders and elbows, but real comfort was actually settling down on them, + and the Phoenix and the carpet were put away on the back top shelf of + their minds (beautiful things that could be taken out and played with + later), when a surly solid knock came at the drawing-room door. It opened + an angry inch, and the cook’s voice said, ‘Please, m’, may I speak to you + a moment?’ + </p> + <p> + Mother looked at father with a desperate expression. Then she put her + pretty sparkly Sunday shoes down from the sofa, and stood up in them and + sighed. + </p> + <p> + ‘As good fish in the sea,’ said father, cheerfully, and it was not till + much later that the children understood what he meant. + </p> + <p> + Mother went out into the passage, which is called ‘the hall’, where the + umbrella-stand is, and the picture of the ‘Monarch of the Glen’ in a + yellow shining frame, with brown spots on the Monarch from the damp in the + house before last, and there was cook, very red and damp in the face, and + with a clean apron tied on all crooked over the dirty one that she had + dished up those dear delightful chickens in. She stood there and she + seemed to get redder and damper, and she twisted the corner of her apron + round her fingers, and she said very shortly and fiercely— + </p> + <p> + ‘If you please ma’am, I should wish to leave at my day month.’ Mother + leaned against the hatstand. The children could see her looking pale + through the crack of the door, because she had been very kind to the cook, + and had given her a holiday only the day before, and it seemed so very + unkind of the cook to want to go like this, and on a Sunday too. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, what’s the matter?’ mother said. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s them children,’ the cook replied, and somehow the children all felt + that they had known it from the first. They did not remember having done + anything extra wrong, but it is so frightfully easy to displease a cook. + ‘It’s them children: there’s that there new carpet in their room, covered + thick with mud, both sides, beastly yellow mud, and sakes alive knows + where they got it. And all that muck to clean up on a Sunday! It’s not my + place, and it’s not my intentions, so I don’t deceive you, ma’am, and but + for them limbs, which they is if ever there was, it’s not a bad place, + though I says it, and I wouldn’t wish to leave, but—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m very sorry,’ said mother, gently. ‘I will speak to the children. And + you had better think it over, and if you REALLY wish to go, tell me + to-morrow.’ + </p> + <p> + Next day mother had a quiet talk with cook, and cook said she didn’t mind + if she stayed on a bit, just to see. + </p> + <p> + But meantime the question of the muddy carpet had been gone into + thoroughly by father and mother. Jane’s candid explanation that the mud + had come from the bottom of a foreign tower where there was buried + treasure was received with such chilling disbelief that the others limited + their defence to an expression of sorrow, and of a determination ‘not to + do it again’. But father said (and mother agreed with him, because mothers + have to agree with fathers, and not because it was her own idea) that + children who coated a carpet on both sides with thick mud, and when they + were asked for an explanation could only talk silly nonsense—that + meant Jane’s truthful statement—were not fit to have a carpet at + all, and, indeed, SHOULDN’T have one for a week! + </p> + <p> + So the carpet was brushed (with tea-leaves, too) which was the only + comfort Anthea could think of, and folded up and put away in the cupboard + at the top of the stairs, and daddy put the key in his trousers pocket. + ‘Till Saturday,’ said he. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind,’ said Anthea, ‘we’ve got the Phoenix.’ + </p> + <p> + But, as it happened, they hadn’t. The Phoenix was nowhere to be found, and + everything had suddenly settled down from the rosy wild beauty of magic + happenings to the common damp brownness of ordinary November life in + Camden Town—and there was the nursery floor all bare boards in the + middle and brown oilcloth round the outside, and the bareness and + yellowness of the middle floor showed up the blackbeetles with terrible + distinctness, when the poor things came out in the evening, as usual, to + try to make friends with the children. But the children never would. + </p> + <p> + The Sunday ended in gloom, which even junket for supper in the blue + Dresden bowl could hardly lighten at all. Next day the Lamb’s cough was + worse. It certainly seemed very whoopy, and the doctor came in his + brougham carriage. + </p> + <p> + Every one tried to bear up under the weight of the sorrow which it was to + know that the wishing carpet was locked up and the Phoenix mislaid. A good + deal of time was spent in looking for the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a bird of its word,’ said Anthea. ‘I’m sure it’s not deserted us. + But you know it had a most awfully long fly from wherever it was to near + Rochester and back, and I expect the poor thing’s feeling tired out and + wants rest. I am sure we may trust it.’ + </p> + <p> + The others tried to feel sure of this, too, but it was hard. + </p> + <p> + No one could be expected to feel very kindly towards the cook, since it + was entirely through her making such a fuss about a little foreign mud + that the carpet had been taken away. + </p> + <p> + ‘She might have told us,’ said Jane, ‘and Panther and I would have cleaned + it with tea-leaves.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She’s a cantankerous cat,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shan’t say what I think about her,’ said Anthea, primly, ‘because it + would be evil speaking, lying, and slandering.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not lying to say she’s a disagreeable pig, and a beastly blue-nosed + Bozwoz,’ said Cyril, who had read The Eyes of Light, and intended to talk + like Tony as soon as he could teach Robert to talk like Paul. + </p> + <p> + And all the children, even Anthea, agreed that even if she wasn’t a + blue-nosed Bozwoz, they wished cook had never been born. + </p> + <p> + But I ask you to believe that they didn’t do all the things on purpose + which so annoyed the cook during the following week, though I daresay the + things would not have happened if the cook had been a favourite. This is a + mystery. Explain it if you can. The things that had happened were as + follows: + </p> + <p> + Sunday.—Discovery of foreign mud on both sides of the carpet. + </p> + <p> + Monday.—Liquorice put on to boil with aniseed balls in a saucepan. + Anthea did this, because she thought it would be good for the Lamb’s + cough. The whole thing forgotten, and bottom of saucepan burned out. It + was the little saucepan lined with white that was kept for the baby’s + milk. + </p> + <p> + Tuesday.—A dead mouse found in pantry. Fish-slice taken to dig grave + with. By regrettable accident fish-slice broken. Defence: ‘The cook + oughtn’t to keep dead mice in pantries.’ + </p> + <p> + Wednesday.—Chopped suet left on kitchen table. Robert added chopped + soap, but he says he thought the suet was soap too. + </p> + <p> + Thursday.—Broke the kitchen window by falling against it during a + perfectly fair game of bandits in the area. + </p> + <p> + Friday.—Stopped up grating of kitchen sink with putty and filled + sink with water to make a lake to sail paper boats in. Went away and left + the tap running. Kitchen hearthrug and cook’s shoes ruined. + </p> + <p> + On Saturday the carpet was restored. There had been plenty of time during + the week to decide where it should be asked to go when they did get it + back. + </p> + <p> + Mother had gone over to granny’s, and had not taken the Lamb because he + had a bad cough, which, cook repeatedly said, was whooping-cough as sure + as eggs is eggs. + </p> + <p> + ‘But we’ll take him out, a ducky darling,’ said Anthea. ‘We’ll take him + somewhere where you can’t have whooping-cough. Don’t be so silly, Robert. + If he DOES talk about it no one’ll take any notice. He’s always talking + about things he’s never seen.’ + </p> + <p> + So they dressed the Lamb and themselves in out-of-doors clothes, and the + Lamb chuckled and coughed, and laughed and coughed again, poor dear, and + all the chairs and tables were moved off the carpet by the boys, while + Jane nursed the Lamb, and Anthea rushed through the house in one last wild + hunt for the missing Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s no use waiting for it,’ she said, reappearing breathless in the + breakfast-room. ‘But I know it hasn’t deserted us. It’s a bird of its + word.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Quite so,’ said the gentle voice of the Phoenix from beneath the table. + </p> + <p> + Every one fell on its knees and looked up, and there was the Phoenix + perched on a crossbar of wood that ran across under the table, and had + once supported a drawer, in the happy days before the drawer had been used + as a boat, and its bottom unfortunately trodden out by Raggett’s Really + Reliable School Boots on the feet of Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve been here all the time,’ said the Phoenix, yawning politely behind + its claw. ‘If you wanted me you should have recited the ode of invocation; + it’s seven thousand lines long, and written in very pure and beautiful + Greek.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Couldn’t you tell it us in English?’ asked Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s rather long, isn’t it?’ said Jane, jumping the Lamb on her knee. + </p> + <p> + ‘Couldn’t you make a short English version, like Tate and Brady?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, come along, do,’ said Robert, holding out his hand. ‘Come along, good + old Phoenix.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good old BEAUTIFUL Phoenix,’ it corrected shyly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good old BEAUTIFUL Phoenix, then. Come along, come along,’ said Robert, + impatiently, with his hand still held out. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix fluttered at once on to his wrist. + </p> + <p> + ‘This amiable youth,’ it said to the others, ‘has miraculously been able + to put the whole meaning of the seven thousand lines of Greek invocation + into one English hexameter—a little misplaced some of the words—but— + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, come along, come along, good old beautiful Phoenix!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not perfect, I admit—but not bad for a boy of his age.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, now then,’ said Robert, stepping back on to the carpet with the + golden Phoenix on his wrist. + </p> + <p> + ‘You look like the king’s falconer,’ said Jane, sitting down on the carpet + with the baby on her lap. + </p> + <p> + Robert tried to go on looking like it. Cyril and Anthea stood on the + carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘We shall have to get back before dinner,’ said Cyril, ‘or cook will blow + the gaff.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She hasn’t sneaked since Sunday,’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘She—’ Robert was beginning, when the door burst open and the cook, + fierce and furious, came in like a whirlwind and stood on the corner of + the carpet, with a broken basin in one hand and a threat in the other, + which was clenched. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look ‘ere!’ she cried, ‘my only basin; and what the powers am I to make + the beefsteak and kidney pudding in that your ma ordered for your dinners? + You don’t deserve no dinners, so yer don’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m awfully sorry, cook,’ said Anthea gently; ‘it was my fault, and I + forgot to tell you about it. It got broken when we were telling our + fortunes with melted lead, you know, and I meant to tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Meant to tell me,’ replied the cook; she was red with anger, and really I + don’t wonder—‘meant to tell! Well, <i>I</i> mean to tell, too. I’ve + held my tongue this week through, because the missus she said to me quiet + like, “We mustn’t expect old heads on young shoulders,” but now I shan’t + hold it no longer. There was the soap you put in our pudding, and me and + Eliza never so much as breathed it to your ma—though well we might—and + the saucepan, and the fish-slice, and—My gracious cats alive! what + ‘ave you got that blessed child dressed up in his outdoors for?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We aren’t going to take him out,’ said Anthea; ‘at least—’ She + stopped short, for though they weren’t going to take him out in the + Kentish Town Road, they certainly intended to take him elsewhere. But not + at all where cook meant when she said ‘out’. This confused the truthful + Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Out!’ said the cook, ‘that I’ll take care you don’t;’ and she snatched + the Lamb from the lap of Jane, while Anthea and Robert caught her by the + skirts and apron. ‘Look here,’ said Cyril, in stern desperation, ‘will you + go away, and make your pudding in a pie-dish, or a flower-pot, or a + hot-water can, or something?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not me,’ said the cook, briefly; ‘and leave this precious poppet for you + to give his deathercold to.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I warn you,’ said Cyril, solemnly. ‘Beware, ere yet it be too late.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Late yourself the little popsey-wopsey,’ said the cook, with angry + tenderness. ‘They shan’t take it out, no more they shan’t. And—Where + did you get that there yellow fowl?’ She pointed to the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + Even Anthea saw that unless the cook lost her situation the loss would be + theirs. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish,’ she said suddenly, ‘we were on a sunny southern shore, where + there can’t be any whooping-cough.’ + </p> + <p> + She said it through the frightened howls of the Lamb, and the sturdy + scoldings of the cook, and instantly the giddy-go-round-and-falling-lift + feeling swept over the whole party, and the cook sat down flat on the + carpet, holding the screaming Lamb tight to her stout print-covered self, + and calling on St Bridget to help her. She was an Irishwoman. + </p> + <p> + The moment the tipsy-topsy-turvy feeling stopped, the cook opened her + eyes, gave one sounding screech and shut them again, and Anthea took the + opportunity to get the desperately howling Lamb into her own arms. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s all right,’ she said; ‘own Panther’s got you. Look at the trees, and + the sand, and the shells, and the great big tortoises. Oh DEAR, how hot it + is!’ + </p> + <p> + It certainly was; for the trusty carpet had laid itself out on a southern + shore that was sunny and no mistake, as Robert remarked. The greenest of + green slopes led up to glorious groves where palm-trees and all the + tropical flowers and fruits that you read of in Westward Ho! and Fair Play + were growing in rich profusion. Between the green, green slope and the + blue, blue sea lay a stretch of sand that looked like a carpet of jewelled + cloth of gold, for it was not greyish as our northern sand is, but yellow + and changing—opal-coloured like sunshine and rainbows. And at the + very moment when the wild, whirling, blinding, deafening, tumbling + upside-downness of the carpet-moving stopped, the children had the + happiness of seeing three large live turtles waddle down to the edge of + the sea and disappear in the water. And it was hotter than you can + possibly imagine, unless you think of ovens on a baking-day. + </p> + <p> + Every one without an instant’s hesitation tore off its London-in-November + outdoor clothes, and Anthea took off the Lamb’s highwayman blue coat and + his three-cornered hat, and then his jersey, and then the Lamb himself + suddenly slipped out of his little blue tight breeches and stood up happy + and hot in his little white shirt. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m sure it’s much warmer than the seaside in the summer,’ said Anthea. + ‘Mother always lets us go barefoot then.’ + </p> + <p> + So the Lamb’s shoes and socks and gaiters came off, and he stood digging + his happy naked pink toes into the golden smooth sand. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m a little white duck-dickie,’ said he—‘a little white + duck-dickie what swims,’ and splashed quacking into a sandy pool. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let him,’ said Anthea; ‘it can’t hurt him. Oh, how hot it is!’ + </p> + <p> + The cook suddenly opened her eyes and screamed, shut them, screamed again, + opened her eyes once more and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, drat my cats alive, what’s all this? It’s a dream, I expect. + </p> + <p> + Well, it’s the best I ever dreamed. I’ll look it up in the dream-book + to-morrow. Seaside and trees and a carpet to sit on. I never did!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘it isn’t a dream; it’s real.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ho yes!’ said the cook; ‘they always says that in dreams.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s REAL, I tell you,’ Robert said, stamping his foot. ‘I’m not going to + tell you how it’s done, because that’s our secret.’ He winked heavily at + each of the others in turn. ‘But you wouldn’t go away and make that + pudding, so we HAD to bring you, and I hope you like it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I do that, and no mistake,’ said the cook unexpectedly; ‘and it being a + dream it don’t matter what I say; and I WILL say, if it’s my last word, + that of all the aggravating little varmints—’ ‘Calm yourself, my + good woman,’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good woman, indeed,’ said the cook; ‘good woman yourself’ Then she saw + who it was that had spoken. ‘Well, if I ever,’ said she; ‘this is + something like a dream! Yellow fowls a-talking and all! I’ve heard of + such, but never did I think to see the day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, then,’ said Cyril, impatiently, ‘sit here and see the day now. It’s + a jolly fine day. Here, you others—a council!’ They walked along the + shore till they were out of earshot of the cook, who still sat gazing + about her with a happy, dreamy, vacant smile. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘we must roll the carpet up and hide it, so that + we can get at it at any moment. The Lamb can be getting rid of his + whooping-cough all the morning, and we can look about; and if the savages + on this island are cannibals, we’ll hook it, and take her back. And if + not, we’ll LEAVE HER HERE.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is that being kind to servants and animals, like the clergyman said?’ + asked Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nor she isn’t kind,’ retorted Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well—anyway,’ said Anthea, ‘the safest thing is to leave the carpet + there with her sitting on it. Perhaps it’ll be a lesson to her, and + anyway, if she thinks it’s a dream it won’t matter what she says when she + gets home.’ + </p> + <p> + So the extra coats and hats and mufflers were piled on the carpet. Cyril + shouldered the well and happy Lamb, the Phoenix perched on Robert’s wrist, + and ‘the party of explorers prepared to enter the interior’. + </p> + <p> + The grassy slope was smooth, but under the trees there were tangled + creepers with bright, strange-shaped flowers, and it was not easy to walk. + </p> + <p> + ‘We ought to have an explorer’s axe,’ said Robert. ‘I shall ask father to + give me one for Christmas.’ + </p> + <p> + There were curtains of creepers with scented blossoms hanging from the + trees, and brilliant birds darted about quite close to their faces. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, tell me honestly,’ said the Phoenix, ‘are there any birds here + handsomer than I am? Don’t be afraid of hurting my feelings—I’m a + modest bird, I hope.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not one of them,’ said Robert, with conviction, ‘is a patch upon you!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I was never a vain bird,’ said the Phoenix, ‘but I own that you confirm + my own impression. I will take a flight.’ It circled in the air for a + moment, and, returning to Robert’s wrist, went on, ‘There is a path to the + left.’ + </p> + <p> + And there was. So now the children went on through the wood more quickly + and comfortably, the girls picking flowers and the Lamb inviting the + ‘pretty dickies’ to observe that he himself was a ‘little white + real-water-wet duck!’ + </p> + <p> + And all this time he hadn’t whooping-coughed once. + </p> + <p> + The path turned and twisted, and, always threading their way amid a tangle + of flowers, the children suddenly passed a corner and found themselves in + a forest clearing, where there were a lot of pointed huts—the huts, + as they knew at once, of SAVAGES. + </p> + <p> + The boldest heart beat more quickly. Suppose they WERE cannibals. It was a + long way back to the carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hadn’t we better go back?’ said Jane. ‘Go NOW,’ she said, and her voice + trembled a little. ‘Suppose they eat us.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense, Pussy,’ said Cyril, firmly. ‘Look, there’s a goat tied up. That + shows they don’t eat PEOPLE.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s go on and say we’re missionaries,’ Robert suggested. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shouldn’t advise THAT,’ said the Phoenix, very earnestly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why not?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, for one thing, it isn’t true,’ replied the golden bird. + </p> + <p> + It was while they stood hesitating on the edge of the clearing that a tall + man suddenly came out of one of the huts. He had hardly any clothes, and + his body all over was a dark and beautiful coppery colour—just like + the chrysanthemums father had brought home on Saturday. In his hand he + held a spear. The whites of his eyes and the white of his teeth were the + only light things about him, except that where the sun shone on his shiny + brown body it looked white, too. If you will look carefully at the next + shiny savage you meet with next to nothing on, you will see at once—if + the sun happens to be shining at the time—that I am right about + this. + </p> + <p> + The savage looked at the children. Concealment was impossible. He uttered + a shout that was more like ‘Oo goggery bag-wag’ than anything else the + children had ever heard, and at once brown coppery people leapt out of + every hut, and swarmed like ants about the clearing. There was no time for + discussion, and no one wanted to discuss anything, anyhow. Whether these + coppery people were cannibals or not now seemed to matter very little. + </p> + <p> + Without an instant’s hesitation the four children turned and ran back + along the forest path; the only pause was Anthea’s. She stood back to let + Cyril pass, because he was carrying the Lamb, who screamed with delight. + (He had not whooping-coughed a single once since the carpet landed him on + the island.) + </p> + <p> + ‘Gee-up, Squirrel; gee-gee,’ he shouted, and Cyril did gee-up. The path + was a shorter cut to the beach than the creeper-covered way by which they + had come, and almost directly they saw through the trees the shining + blue-and-gold-and-opal of sand and sea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stick to it,’ cried Cyril, breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + They did stick to it; they tore down the sands—they could hear + behind them as they ran the patter of feet which they knew, too well, were + copper-coloured. + </p> + <p> + The sands were golden and opal-coloured—and BARE. There were wreaths + of tropic seaweed, there were rich tropic shells of the kind you would not + buy in the Kentish Town Road under at least fifteen pence a pair. There + were turtles basking lumpily on the water’s edge—but no cook, no + clothes, and no carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘On, on! Into the sea!’ gasped Cyril. ‘They MUST hate water. I’ve—heard—savages + always—dirty.’ + </p> + <p> + Their feet were splashing in the warm shallows before his breathless words + were ended. The calm baby-waves were easy to go through. It is warm work + running for your life in the tropics, and the coolness of the water was + delicious. They were up to their arm-pits now, and Jane was up to her + chin. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look!’ said the Phoenix. ‘What are they pointing at?’ + </p> + <p> + The children turned; and there, a little to the west was a head—a + head they knew, with a crooked cap upon it. It was the head of the cook. + </p> + <p> + For some reason or other the savages had stopped at the water’s edge and + were all talking at the top of their voices, and all were pointing + copper-coloured fingers, stiff with interest and excitement, at the head + of the cook. + </p> + <p> + The children hurried towards her as quickly as the water would let them. + </p> + <p> + ‘What on earth did you come out here for?’ Robert shouted; ‘and where on + earth’s the carpet?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not on earth, bless you,’ replied the cook, happily; ‘it’s UNDER ME—in + the water. I got a bit warm setting there in the sun, and I just says, “I + wish I was in a cold bath”—just like that—and next minute here + I was! It’s all part of the dream.’ + </p> + <p> + Every one at once saw how extremely fortunate it was that the carpet had + had the sense to take the cook to the nearest and largest bath—the + sea, and how terrible it would have been if the carpet had taken itself + and her to the stuffy little bath-room of the house in Camden Town! + </p> + <p> + ‘Excuse me,’ said the Phoenix’s soft voice, breaking in on the general + sigh of relief, ‘but I think these brown people want your cook.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To—to eat?’ whispered Jane, as well as she could through the water + which the plunging Lamb was dashing in her face with happy fat hands and + feet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hardly,’ rejoined the bird. ‘Who wants cooks to EAT? Cooks are ENGAGED, + not eaten. They wish to engage her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How can you understand what they say?’ asked Cyril, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s as easy as kissing your claw,’ replied the bird. ‘I speak and + understand ALL languages, even that of your cook, which is difficult and + unpleasing. It’s quite easy, when you know how it’s done. It just comes to + you. I should advise you to beach the carpet and land the cargo—the + cook, I mean. You can take my word for it, the copper-coloured ones will + not harm you now.’ + </p> + <p> + It is impossible not to take the word of a Phoenix when it tells you to. + So the children at once got hold of the corners of the carpet, and, + pulling it from under the cook, towed it slowly in through the shallowing + water, and at last spread it on the sand. The cook, who had followed, + instantly sat down on it, and at once the copper-coloured natives, now + strangely humble, formed a ring round the carpet, and fell on their faces + on the rainbow-and-gold sand. The tallest savage spoke in this position, + which must have been very awkward for him; and Jane noticed that it took + him quite a long time to get the sand out of his mouth afterwards. + </p> + <p> + ‘He says,’ the Phoenix remarked after some time, ‘that they wish to engage + your cook permanently.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Without a character?’ asked Anthea, who had heard her mother speak of + such things. + </p> + <p> + ‘They do not wish to engage her as cook, but as queen; and queens need not + have characters.’ + </p> + <p> + There was a breathless pause. + </p> + <p> + ‘WELL,’ said Cyril, ‘of all the choices! But there’s no accounting for + tastes.’ + </p> + <p> + Every one laughed at the idea of the cook’s being engaged as queen; they + could not help it. + </p> + <p> + ‘I do not advise laughter,’ warned the Phoenix, ruffling out his golden + feathers, which were extremely wet. ‘And it’s not their own choice. It + seems that there is an ancient prophecy of this copper-coloured tribe that + a great queen should some day arise out of the sea with a white crown on + her head, and—and—well, you see! There’s the crown!’ + </p> + <p> + It pointed its claw at cook’s cap; and a very dirty cap it was, because it + was the end of the week. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s the white crown,’ it said; ‘at least, it’s nearly white—very + white indeed compared to the colour THEY are—and anyway, it’s quite + white enough.’ + </p> + <p> + Cyril addressed the cook. ‘Look here!’ said he, ‘these brown people want + you to be their queen. They’re only savages, and they don’t know any + better. Now would you really like to stay? or, if you’ll promise not to be + so jolly aggravating at home, and not to tell any one a word about to-day, + we’ll take you back to Camden Town.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, you don’t,’ said the cook, in firm, undoubting tones. ‘I’ve always + wanted to be the Queen, God bless her! and I always thought what a good + one I should make; and now I’m going to. IF it’s only in a dream, it’s + well worth while. And I don’t go back to that nasty underground kitchen, + and me blamed for everything; that I don’t, not till the dream’s finished + and I wake up with that nasty bell a rang-tanging in my ears—so I + tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you SURE,’ Anthea anxiously asked the Phoenix, ‘that she will be + quite safe here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She will find the nest of a queen a very precious and soft thing,’ said + the bird, solemnly. + </p> + <p> + ‘There—you hear,’ said Cyril. ‘You’re in for a precious soft thing, + so mind you’re a good queen, cook. It’s more than you’d any right to + expect, but long may you reign.’ + </p> + <p> + Some of the cook’s copper-coloured subjects now advanced from the forest + with long garlands of beautiful flowers, white and sweet-scented, and hung + them respectfully round the neck of their new sovereign. + </p> + <p> + ‘What! all them lovely bokays for me!’ exclaimed the enraptured cook. + ‘Well, this here is something LIKE a dream, I must say.’ + </p> + <p> + She sat up very straight on the carpet, and the copper-coloured ones, + themselves wreathed in garlands of the gayest flowers, madly stuck parrot + feathers in their hair and began to dance. It was a dance such as you have + never seen; it made the children feel almost sure that the cook was right, + and that they were all in a dream. Small, strange-shaped drums were + beaten, odd-sounding songs were sung, and the dance got faster and faster + and odder and odder, till at last all the dancers fell on the sand tired + out. + </p> + <p> + The new queen, with her white crown-cap all on one side, clapped wildly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Brayvo!’ she cried, ‘brayvo! It’s better than the Albert Edward + Music-hall in the Kentish Town Road. Go it again!’ + </p> + <p> + But the Phoenix would not translate this request into the copper-coloured + language; and when the savages had recovered their breath, they implored + their queen to leave her white escort and come with them to their huts. + </p> + <p> + ‘The finest shall be yours, O queen,’ said they. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well—so long!’ said the cook, getting heavily on to her feet, when + the Phoenix had translated this request. ‘No more kitchens and attics for + me, thank you. I’m off to my royal palace, I am; and I only wish this here + dream would keep on for ever and ever.’ + </p> + <p> + She picked up the ends of the garlands that trailed round her feet, and + the children had one last glimpse of her striped stockings and worn + elastic-side boots before she disappeared into the shadow of the forest, + surrounded by her dusky retainers, singing songs of rejoicing as they + went. + </p> + <p> + ‘WELL!’ said Cyril, ‘I suppose she’s all right, but they don’t seem to + count us for much, one way or the other.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said the Phoenix, ‘they think you’re merely dreams. The prophecy + said that the queen would arise from the waves with a white crown and + surrounded by white dream-children. That’s about what they think YOU are!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And what about dinner?’ said Robert, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + ‘There won’t be any dinner, with no cook and no pudding-basin,’ Anthea + reminded him; ‘but there’s always bread-and-butter.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s get home,’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + The Lamb was furiously unwishful to be dressed in his warm clothes again, + but Anthea and Jane managed it, by force disguised as coaxing, and he + never once whooping-coughed. + </p> + <p> + Then every one put on its own warm things and took its place on the + carpet. + </p> + <p> + A sound of uncouth singing still came from beyond the trees where the + copper-coloured natives were crooning songs of admiration and respect to + their white-crowned queen. Then Anthea said ‘Home,’ just as duchesses and + other people do to their coachmen, and the intelligent carpet in one + whirling moment laid itself down in its proper place on the nursery floor. + And at that very moment Eliza opened the door and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Cook’s gone! I can’t find her anywhere, and there’s no dinner ready. She + hasn’t taken her box nor yet her outdoor things. She just ran out to see + the time, I shouldn’t wonder—the kitchen clock never did give her + satisfaction—and she’s got run over or fell down in a fit as likely + as not. You’ll have to put up with the cold bacon for your dinners; and + what on earth you’ve got your outdoor things on for I don’t know. And then + I’ll slip out and see if they know anything about her at the + police-station.’ + </p> + <p> + But nobody ever knew anything about the cook any more, except the + children, and, later, one other person. + </p> + <p> + Mother was so upset at losing the cook, and so anxious about her, that + Anthea felt most miserable, as though she had done something very wrong + indeed. She woke several times in the night, and at last decided that she + would ask the Phoenix to let her tell her mother all about it. But there + was no opportunity to do this next day, because the Phoenix, as usual, had + gone to sleep in some out-of-the-way spot, after asking, as a special + favour, not to be disturbed for twenty-four hours. + </p> + <p> + The Lamb never whooping-coughed once all that Sunday, and mother and + father said what good medicine it was that the doctor had given him. But + the children knew that it was the southern shore where you can’t have + whooping-cough that had cured him. The Lamb babbled of coloured sand and + water, but no one took any notice of that. He often talked of things that + hadn’t happened. + </p> + <p> + It was on Monday morning, very early indeed, that Anthea woke and suddenly + made up her mind. She crept downstairs in her night-gown (it was very + chilly), sat down on the carpet, and with a beating heart wished herself + on the sunny shore where you can’t have whooping-cough, and next moment + there she was. + </p> + <p> + The sand was splendidly warm. She could feel it at once, even through the + carpet. She folded the carpet, and put it over her shoulders like a shawl, + for she was determined not to be parted from it for a single instant, no + matter how hot it might be to wear. + </p> + <p> + Then trembling a little, and trying to keep up her courage by saying over + and over, ‘It is my DUTY, it IS my duty,’ she went up the forest path. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, here you are again,’ said the cook, directly she saw Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘This dream does keep on!’ + </p> + <p> + The cook was dressed in a white robe; she had no shoes and stockings and + no cap and she was sitting under a screen of palm-leaves, for it was + afternoon in the island, and blazing hot. She wore a flower wreath on her + hair, and copper-coloured boys were fanning her with peacock’s feathers. + </p> + <p> + ‘They’ve got the cap put away,’ she said. ‘They seem to think a lot of it. + Never saw one before, I expect.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you happy?’ asked Anthea, panting; the sight of the cook as queen + quite took her breath away. + </p> + <p> + ‘I believe you, my dear,’ said the cook, heartily. ‘Nothing to do unless + you want to. But I’m getting rested now. Tomorrow I’m going to start + cleaning out my hut, if the dream keeps on, and I shall teach them + cooking; they burns everything to a cinder now unless they eats it raw.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But can you talk to them?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lor’ love a duck, yes!’ the happy cook-queen replied; ‘it’s quite easy to + pick up. I always thought I should be quick at foreign languages. I’ve + taught them to understand “dinner,” and “I want a drink,” and “You leave + me be,” already.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then you don’t want anything?’ Anthea asked earnestly and anxiously. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not me, miss; except if you’d only go away. I’m afraid of me waking up + with that bell a-going if you keep on stopping here a-talking to me. Long + as this here dream keeps up I’m as happy as a queen.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Goodbye, then,’ said Anthea, gaily, for her conscience was clear now. + </p> + <p> + She hurried into the wood, threw herself on the ground, and said ‘Home’—and + there she was, rolled in the carpet on the nursery floor. + </p> + <p> + ‘SHE’S all right, anyhow,’ said Anthea, and went back to bed. ‘I’m glad + somebody’s pleased. But mother will never believe me when I tell her.’ + </p> + <p> + The story is indeed a little difficult to believe. Still, you might try. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4. TWO BAZAARS + </h2> + <p> + Mother was really a great dear. She was pretty and she was loving, and + most frightfully good when you were ill, and always kind, and almost + always just. That is, she was just when she understood things. But of + course she did not always understand things. No one understands + everything, and mothers are not angels, though a good many of them come + pretty near it. The children knew that mother always WANTED to do what was + best for them, even if she was not clever enough to know exactly what was + the best. That was why all of them, but much more particularly Anthea, + felt rather uncomfortable at keeping the great secret from her of the + wishing carpet and the Phoenix. And Anthea, whose inside mind was made so + that she was able to be much more uncomfortable than the others, had + decided that she MUST tell her mother the truth, however little likely it + was that her mother would believe it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then I shall have done what’s right,’ said she to the Phoenix; ‘and if + she doesn’t believe me it won’t be my fault—will it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not in the least,’ said the golden bird. ‘And she won’t, so you’re quite + safe.’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea chose a time when she was doing her home-lessons—they were + Algebra and Latin, German, English, and Euclid—and she asked her + mother whether she might come and do them in the drawing-room—‘so as + to be quiet,’ she said to her mother; and to herself she said, ‘And that’s + not the real reason. I hope I shan’t grow up a LIAR.’ + </p> + <p> + Mother said, ‘Of course, dearie,’ and Anthea started swimming through a + sea of x’s and y’s and z’s. Mother was sitting at the mahogany bureau + writing letters. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mother dear,’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, love-a-duck,’ said mother. + </p> + <p> + ‘About cook,’ said Anthea. ‘<i>I</i> know where she is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you, dear?’ said mother. ‘Well, I wouldn’t take her back after the way + she has behaved.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not her fault,’ said Anthea. ‘May I tell you about it from the + beginning?’ + </p> + <p> + Mother laid down her pen, and her nice face had a resigned expression. As + you know, a resigned expression always makes you want not to tell anybody + anything. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s like this,’ said Anthea, in a hurry: ‘that egg, you know, that came + in the carpet; we put it in the fire and it hatched into the Phoenix, and + the carpet was a wishing carpet—and—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A very nice game, darling,’ said mother, taking up her pen. ‘Now do be + quiet. I’ve got a lot of letters to write. I’m going to Bournemouth + to-morrow with the Lamb—and there’s that bazaar.’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea went back to x y z, and mother’s pen scratched busily. + </p> + <p> + ‘But, mother,’ said Anthea, when mother put down the pen to lick an + envelope, ‘the carpet takes us wherever we like—and—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish it would take you where you could get a few nice Eastern things + for my bazaar,’ said mother. ‘I promised them, and I’ve no time to go to + Liberty’s now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It shall,’ said Anthea, ‘but, mother—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, dear,’ said mother, a little impatiently, for she had taken up her + pen again. + </p> + <p> + ‘The carpet took us to a place where you couldn’t have whooping-cough, and + the Lamb hasn’t whooped since, and we took cook because she was so + tiresome, and then she would stay and be queen of the savages. They + thought her cap was a crown, and—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Darling one,’ said mother, ‘you know I love to hear the things you make + up—but I am most awfully busy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But it’s true,’ said Anthea, desperately. + </p> + <p> + ‘You shouldn’t say that, my sweet,’ said mother, gently. And then Anthea + knew it was hopeless. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you going away for long?’ asked Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve got a cold,’ said mother, ‘and daddy’s anxious about it, and the + Lamb’s cough.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He hasn’t coughed since Saturday,’ the Lamb’s eldest sister interrupted. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish I could think so,’ mother replied. ‘And daddy’s got to go to + Scotland. I do hope you’ll be good children.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We will, we will,’ said Anthea, fervently. ‘When’s the bazaar?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘On Saturday,’ said mother, ‘at the schools. Oh, don’t talk any more, + there’s a treasure! My head’s going round, and I’ve forgotten how to spell + whooping-cough.’ + </p> + <p> + Mother and the Lamb went away, and father went away, and there was a new + cook who looked so like a frightened rabbit that no one had the heart to + do anything to frighten her any more than seemed natural to her. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix begged to be excused. It said it wanted a week’s rest, and + asked that it might not be disturbed. And it hid its golden gleaming self, + and nobody could find it. + </p> + <p> + So that when Wednesday afternoon brought an unexpected holiday, and every + one decided to go somewhere on the carpet, the journey had to be + undertaken without the Phoenix. They were debarred from any carpet + excursions in the evening by a sudden promise to mother, exacted in the + agitation of parting, that they would not be out after six at night, + except on Saturday, when they were to go to the bazaar, and were pledged + to put on their best clothes, to wash themselves to the uttermost, and to + clean their nails—not with scissors, which are scratchy and bad, but + with flat-sharpened ends of wooden matches, which do no harm to any one’s + nails. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s go and see the Lamb,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + But every one was agreed that if they appeared suddenly in Bournemouth it + would frighten mother out of her wits, if not into a fit. So they sat on + the carpet, and thought and thought and thought till they almost began to + squint. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘I know. Please carpet, take us somewhere where + we can see the Lamb and mother and no one can see us.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Except the Lamb,’ said Jane, quickly. + </p> + <p> + And the next moment they found themselves recovering from the upside-down + movement—and there they were sitting on the carpet, and the carpet + was laid out over another thick soft carpet of brown pine-needles. There + were green pine-trees overhead, and a swift clear little stream was + running as fast as ever it could between steep banks—and there, + sitting on the pine-needle carpet, was mother, without her hat; and the + sun was shining brightly, although it was November—and there was the + Lamb, as jolly as jolly and not whooping at all. + </p> + <p> + ‘The carpet’s deceived us,’ said Robert, gloomily; ‘mother will see us + directly she turns her head.’ + </p> + <p> + But the faithful carpet had not deceived them. + </p> + <p> + Mother turned her dear head and looked straight at them, and DID NOT SEE + THEM! + </p> + <p> + ‘We’re invisible,’ Cyril whispered: ‘what awful larks!’ + </p> + <p> + But to the girls it was not larks at all. It was horrible to have mother + looking straight at them, and her face keeping the same, just as though + they weren’t there. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t like it,’ said Jane. ‘Mother never looked at us like that before. + Just as if she didn’t love us—as if we were somebody else’s + children, and not very nice ones either—as if she didn’t care + whether she saw us or not.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is horrid,’ said Anthea, almost in tears. + </p> + <p> + But at this moment the Lamb saw them, and plunged towards the carpet, + shrieking, ‘Panty, own Panty—an’ Pussy, an’ Squiggle—an’ Bobs, + oh, oh!’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea caught him and kissed him, so did Jane; they could not help it—he + looked such a darling, with his blue three-cornered hat all on one side, + and his precious face all dirty—quite in the old familiar way. + </p> + <p> + ‘I love you, Panty; I love you—and you, and you, and you,’ cried the + Lamb. + </p> + <p> + It was a delicious moment. Even the boys thumped their baby brother + joyously on the back. + </p> + <p> + Then Anthea glanced at mother—and mother’s face was a pale sea-green + colour, and she was staring at the Lamb as if she thought he had gone mad. + And, indeed, that was exactly what she did think. + </p> + <p> + ‘My Lamb, my precious! Come to mother,’ she cried, and jumped up and ran + to the baby. + </p> + <p> + She was so quick that the invisible children had to leap back, or she + would have felt them; and to feel what you can’t see is the worst sort of + ghost-feeling. Mother picked up the Lamb and hurried away from the + pinewood. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s go home,’ said Jane, after a miserable silence. ‘It feels just + exactly as if mother didn’t love us.’ + </p> + <p> + But they couldn’t bear to go home till they had seen mother meet another + lady, and knew that she was safe. You cannot leave your mother to go green + in the face in a distant pinewood, far from all human aid, and then go + home on your wishing carpet as though nothing had happened. + </p> + <p> + When mother seemed safe the children returned to the carpet, and said + ‘Home’—and home they went. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t care about being invisible myself,’ said Cyril, ‘at least, not + with my own family. It would be different if you were a prince, or a + bandit, or a burglar.’ + </p> + <p> + And now the thoughts of all four dwelt fondly on the dear greenish face of + mother. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish she hadn’t gone away,’ said Jane; ‘the house is simply beastly + without her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think we ought to do what she said,’ Anthea put in. ‘I saw something in + a book the other day about the wishes of the departed being sacred.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That means when they’ve departed farther off,’ said Cyril. ‘India’s coral + or Greenland’s icy, don’t you know; not Bournemouth. Besides, we don’t + know what her wishes are.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She SAID’—Anthea was very much inclined to cry—‘she said, + “Get Indian things for my bazaar;” but I know she thought we couldn’t, and + it was only play.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s get them all the same,’ said Robert. ‘We’ll go the first thing on + Saturday morning.’ + </p> + <p> + And on Saturday morning, the first thing, they went. + </p> + <p> + There was no finding the Phoenix, so they sat on the beautiful wishing + carpet, and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘We want Indian things for mother’s bazaar. Will you please take us where + people will give us heaps of Indian things?’ + </p> + <p> + The docile carpet swirled their senses away, and restored them on the + outskirts of a gleaming white Indian town. They knew it was Indian at + once, by the shape of the domes and roofs; and besides, a man went by on + an elephant, and two English soldiers went along the road, talking like in + Mr Kipling’s books—so after that no one could have any doubt as to + where they were. They rolled up the carpet and Robert carried it, and they + walked bodily into the town. + </p> + <p> + It was very warm, and once more they had to take off their + London-in-November coats, and carry them on their arms. + </p> + <p> + The streets were narrow and strange, and the clothes of the people in the + streets were stranger and the talk of the people was strangest of all. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t understand a word,’ said Cyril. ‘How on earth are we to ask for + things for our bazaar?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And they’re poor people, too,’ said Jane; ‘I’m sure they are. What we + want is a rajah or something.’ + </p> + <p> + Robert was beginning to unroll the carpet, but the others stopped him, + imploring him not to waste a wish. + </p> + <p> + ‘We asked the carpet to take us where we could get Indian things for + bazaars,’ said Anthea, ‘and it will.’ + </p> + <p> + Her faith was justified. + </p> + <p> + Just as she finished speaking a very brown gentleman in a turban came up + to them and bowed deeply. He spoke, and they thrilled to the sound of + English words. + </p> + <p> + ‘My ranee, she think you very nice childs. She asks do you lose + yourselves, and do you desire to sell carpet? She see you from her palkee. + You come see her—yes?’ + </p> + <p> + They followed the stranger, who seemed to have a great many more teeth in + his smile than are usual, and he led them through crooked streets to the + ranee’s palace. I am not going to describe the ranee’s palace, because I + really have never seen the palace of a ranee, and Mr Kipling has. So you + can read about it in his books. But I know exactly what happened there. + </p> + <p> + The old ranee sat on a low-cushioned seat, and there were a lot of other + ladies with her—all in trousers and veils, and sparkling with tinsel + and gold and jewels. And the brown, turbaned gentleman stood behind a sort + of carved screen, and interpreted what the children said and what the + queen said. And when the queen asked to buy the carpet, the children said + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why?’ asked the ranee. + </p> + <p> + And Jane briefly said why, and the interpreter interpreted. The queen + spoke, and then the interpreter said— + </p> + <p> + ‘My mistress says it is a good story, and you tell it all through without + thought of time.’ + </p> + <p> + And they had to. It made a long story, especially as it had all to be told + twice—once by Cyril and once by the interpreter. Cyril rather + enjoyed himself. He warmed to his work, and told the tale of the Phoenix + and the Carpet, and the Lone Tower, and the Queen-Cook, in language that + grew insensibly more and more Arabian Nightsy, and the ranee and her + ladies listened to the interpreter, and rolled about on their fat cushions + with laughter. + </p> + <p> + When the story was ended she spoke, and the interpreter explained that she + had said, ‘Little one, thou art a heaven-born teller of tales,’ and she + threw him a string of turquoises from round her neck. + </p> + <p> + ‘OH, how lovely!’ cried Jane and Anthea. + </p> + <p> + Cyril bowed several times, and then cleared his throat and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank her very, very much; but I would much rather she gave me some of + the cheap things in the bazaar. Tell her I want them to sell again, and + give the money to buy clothes for poor people who haven’t any.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell him he has my leave to sell my gift and clothe the naked with its + price,’ said the queen, when this was translated. + </p> + <p> + But Cyril said very firmly, ‘No, thank you. The things have got to be sold + to-day at our bazaar, and no one would buy a turquoise necklace at an + English bazaar. They’d think it was sham, or else they’d want to know + where we got it.’ + </p> + <p> + So then the queen sent out for little pretty things, and her servants + piled the carpet with them. + </p> + <p> + ‘I must needs lend you an elephant to carry them away,’ she said, + laughing. + </p> + <p> + But Anthea said, ‘If the queen will lend us a comb and let us wash our + hands and faces, she shall see a magic thing. We and the carpet and all + these brass trays and pots and carved things and stuffs and things will + just vanish away like smoke.’ + </p> + <p> + The queen clapped her hands at this idea, and lent the children a + sandal-wood comb inlaid with ivory lotus-flowers. And they washed their + faces and hands in silver basins. Then Cyril made a very polite farewell + speech, and quite suddenly he ended with the words— + </p> + <p> + ‘And I wish we were at the bazaar at our schools.’ + </p> + <p> + And of course they were. And the queen and her ladies were left with their + mouths open, gazing at the bare space on the inlaid marble floor where the + carpet and the children had been. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is magic, if ever magic was!’ said the queen, delighted with the + incident; which, indeed, has given the ladies of that court something to + talk about on wet days ever since. + </p> + <p> + Cyril’s stories had taken some time, so had the meal of strange sweet + foods that they had had while the little pretty things were being bought, + and the gas in the schoolroom was already lighted. Outside, the winter + dusk was stealing down among the Camden Town houses. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m glad we got washed in India,’ said Cyril. ‘We should have been + awfully late if we’d had to go home and scrub.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Besides,’ Robert said, ‘it’s much warmer washing in India. I shouldn’t + mind it so much if we lived there.’ + </p> + <p> + The thoughtful carpet had dumped the children down in a dusky space behind + the point where the corners of two stalls met. The floor was littered with + string and brown paper, and baskets and boxes were heaped along the wall. + </p> + <p> + The children crept out under a stall covered with all sorts of + table-covers and mats and things, embroidered beautifully by idle ladies + with no real work to do. They got out at the end, displacing a + sideboard-cloth adorned with a tasteful pattern of blue geraniums. The + girls got out unobserved, so did Cyril; but Robert, as he cautiously + emerged, was actually walked on by Mrs Biddle, who kept the stall. Her + large, solid foot stood firmly on the small, solid hand of Robert and who + can blame Robert if he DID yell a little? + </p> + <p> + A crowd instantly collected. Yells are very unusual at bazaars, and every + one was intensely interested. It was several seconds before the three free + children could make Mrs Biddle understand that what she was walking on was + not a schoolroom floor, or even, as she presently supposed, a dropped + pin-cushion, but the living hand of a suffering child. When she became + aware that she really had hurt him, she grew very angry indeed. When + people have hurt other people by accident, the one who does the hurting is + always much the angriest. I wonder why. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m very sorry, I’m sure,’ said Mrs Biddle; but she spoke more in anger + than in sorrow. ‘Come out! whatever do you mean by creeping about under + the stalls, like earwigs?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We were looking at the things in the corner.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Such nasty, prying ways,’ said Mrs Biddle, ‘will never make you + successful in life. There’s nothing there but packing and dust.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, isn’t there!’ said Jane. ‘That’s all you know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Little girl, don’t be rude,’ said Mrs Biddle, flushing violet. + </p> + <p> + ‘She doesn’t mean to be; but there ARE some nice things there, all the + same,’ said Cyril; who suddenly felt how impossible it was to inform the + listening crowd that all the treasures piled on the carpet were mother’s + contributions to the bazaar. No one would believe it; and if they did, and + wrote to thank mother, she would think—well, goodness only knew what + she would think. The other three children felt the same. + </p> + <p> + ‘I should like to see them,’ said a very nice lady, whose friends had + disappointed her, and who hoped that these might be belated contributions + to her poorly furnished stall. + </p> + <p> + She looked inquiringly at Robert, who said, ‘With pleasure, don’t mention + it,’ and dived back under Mrs Biddle’s stall. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wonder you encourage such behaviour,’ said Mrs Biddle. ‘I always speak + my mind, as you know, Miss Peasmarsh; and, I must say, I am surprised.’ + She turned to the crowd. ‘There is no entertainment here,’ she said + sternly. ‘A very naughty little boy has accidentally hurt himself, but + only slightly. Will you please disperse? It will only encourage him in + naughtiness if he finds himself the centre of attraction.’ + </p> + <p> + The crowd slowly dispersed. Anthea, speechless with fury, heard a nice + curate say, ‘Poor little beggar!’ and loved the curate at once and for + ever. + </p> + <p> + Then Robert wriggled out from under the stall with some Benares brass and + some inlaid sandalwood boxes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Liberty!’ cried Miss Peasmarsh. ‘Then Charles has not forgotten, after + all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Excuse me,’ said Mrs Biddle, with fierce politeness, ‘these objects are + deposited behind MY stall. Some unknown donor who does good by stealth, + and would blush if he could hear you claim the things. Of course they are + for me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My stall touches yours at the corner,’ said poor Miss Peasmarsh, timidly, + ‘and my cousin did promise—’ + </p> + <p> + The children sidled away from the unequal contest and mingled with the + crowd. Their feelings were too deep for words—till at last Robert + said— + </p> + <p> + ‘That stiff-starched PIG!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And after all our trouble! I’m hoarse with gassing to that trousered lady + in India.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The pig-lady’s very, very nasty,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + It was Anthea who said, in a hurried undertone, ‘She isn’t very nice, and + Miss Peasmarsh is pretty and nice too. Who’s got a pencil?’ + </p> + <p> + It was a long crawl, under three stalls, but Anthea did it. A large piece + of pale blue paper lay among the rubbish in the corner. + </p> + <p> + She folded it to a square and wrote upon it, licking the pencil at every + word to make it mark quite blackly: ‘All these Indian things are for + pretty, nice Miss Peasmarsh’s stall.’ She thought of adding, ‘There is + nothing for Mrs Biddle;’ but she saw that this might lead to suspicion, so + she wrote hastily: ‘From an unknown donna,’ and crept back among the + boards and trestles to join the others. + </p> + <p> + So that when Mrs Biddle appealed to the bazaar committee, and the corner + of the stall was lifted and shifted, so that stout clergymen and heavy + ladies could get to the corner without creeping under stalls, the blue + paper was discovered, and all the splendid, shining Indian things were + given over to Miss Peasmarsh, and she sold them all, and got thirty-five + pounds for them. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t understand about that blue paper,’ said Mrs Biddle. ‘It looks to + me like the work of a lunatic. And saying you were nice and pretty! It’s + not the work of a sane person.’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea and Jane begged Miss Peasmarsh to let them help her to sell the + things, because it was their brother who had announced the good news that + the things had come. Miss Peasmarsh was very willing, for now her stall, + that had been SO neglected, was surrounded by people who wanted to buy, + and she was glad to be helped. The children noted that Mrs Biddle had not + more to do in the way of selling than she could manage quite well. I hope + they were not glad—for you should forgive your enemies, even if they + walk on your hands and then say it is all your naughty fault. But I am + afraid they were not so sorry as they ought to have been. + </p> + <p> + It took some time to arrange the things on the stall. The carpet was + spread over it, and the dark colours showed up the brass and silver and + ivory things. It was a happy and busy afternoon, and when Miss Peasmarsh + and the girls had sold every single one of the little pretty things from + the Indian bazaar, far, far away, Anthea and Jane went off with the boys + to fish in the fishpond, and dive into the bran-pie, and hear the + cardboard band, and the phonograph, and the chorus of singing birds that + was done behind a screen with glass tubes and glasses of water. + </p> + <p> + They had a beautiful tea, suddenly presented to them by the nice curate, + and Miss Peasmarsh joined them before they had had more than three cakes + each. It was a merry party, and the curate was extremely pleasant to every + one, ‘even to Miss Peasmarsh,’ as Jane said afterwards. + </p> + <p> + ‘We ought to get back to the stall,’ said Anthea, when no one could + possibly eat any more, and the curate was talking in a low voice to Miss + Peas marsh about ‘after Easter’. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s nothing to go back for,’ said Miss Peasmarsh gaily; ‘thanks to + you dear children we’ve sold everything.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There—there’s the carpet,’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said Miss Peasmarsh, radiantly, ‘don’t bother about the carpet. I’ve + sold even that. Mrs Biddle gave me ten shillings for it. She said it would + do for her servant’s bedroom.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why,’ said Jane, ‘her servants don’t HAVE carpets. We had cook from her, + and she told us so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No scandal about Queen Elizabeth, if YOU please,’ said the curate, + cheerfully; and Miss Peasmarsh laughed, and looked at him as though she + had never dreamed that any one COULD be so amusing. But the others were + struck dumb. How could they say, ‘The carpet is ours!’ For who brings + carpets to bazaars? + </p> + <p> + The children were now thoroughly wretched. But I am glad to say that their + wretchedness did not make them forget their manners, as it does sometimes, + even with grown-up people, who ought to know ever so much better. + </p> + <p> + They said, ‘Thank you very much for the jolly tea,’ and ‘Thanks for being + so jolly,’ and ‘Thanks awfully for giving us such a jolly time;’ for the + curate had stood fish-ponds, and bran-pies, and phonographs, and the + chorus of singing birds, and had stood them like a man. The girls hugged + Miss Peasmarsh, and as they went away they heard the curate say— + </p> + <p> + ‘Jolly little kids, yes, but what about—you will let it be directly + after Easter. Ah, do say you will—’ + </p> + <p> + And Jane ran back and said, before Anthea could drag her away, ‘What are + you going to do after Easter?’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Peasmarsh smiled and looked very pretty indeed. And the curate said— + </p> + <p> + ‘I hope I am going to take a trip to the Fortunate Islands.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish we could take you on the wishing carpet,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you,’ said the curate, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t wait for that. I + must go to the Fortunate Islands before they make me a bishop. I should + have no time afterwards.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve always thought I should marry a bishop,’ said Jane: ‘his aprons + would come in so useful. Wouldn’t YOU like to marry a bishop, Miss + Peasmarsh?’ + </p> + <p> + It was then that they dragged her away. + </p> + <p> + As it was Robert’s hand that Mrs Biddle had walked on, it was decided that + he had better not recall the incident to her mind, and so make her angry + again. Anthea and Jane had helped to sell things at the rival stall, so + they were not likely to be popular. + </p> + <p> + A hasty council of four decided that Mrs Biddle would hate Cyril less than + she would hate the others, so the others mingled with the crowd, and it + was he who said to her— + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs Biddle, WE meant to have that carpet. Would you sell it to us? We + would give you—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly not,’ said Mrs Biddle. ‘Go away, little boy.’ + </p> + <p> + There was that in her tone which showed Cyril, all too plainly, the + hopelessness of persuasion. He found the others and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s no use; she’s like a lioness robbed of its puppies. We must watch + where it goes—and—Anthea, I don’t care what you say. It’s our + own carpet. It wouldn’t be burglary. It would be a sort of forlorn hope + rescue party—heroic and daring and dashing, and not wrong at all.’ + </p> + <p> + The children still wandered among the gay crowd—but there was no + pleasure there for them any more. The chorus of singing birds sounded just + like glass tubes being blown through water, and the phonograph simply made + a horrid noise, so that you could hardly hear yourself speak. And the + people were buying things they couldn’t possibly want, and it all seemed + very stupid. And Mrs Biddle had bought the wishing carpet for ten + shillings. And the whole of life was sad and grey and dusty, and smelt of + slight gas escapes, and hot people, and cake and crumbs, and all the + children were very tired indeed. + </p> + <p> + They found a corner within sight of the carpet, and there they waited + miserably, till it was far beyond their proper bedtime. And when it was + ten the people who had bought things went away, but the people who had + been selling stayed to count up their money. + </p> + <p> + ‘And to jaw about it,’ said Robert. ‘I’ll never go to another bazaar as + long as ever I live. My hand is swollen as big as a pudding. I expect the + nails in her horrible boots were poisoned.’ + </p> + <p> + Just then some one who seemed to have a right to interfere said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Everything is over now; you had better go home.’ + </p> + <p> + So they went. And then they waited on the pavement under the gas lamp, + where ragged children had been standing all the evening to listen to the + band, and their feet slipped about in the greasy mud till Mrs Biddle came + out and was driven away in a cab with the many things she hadn’t sold, and + the few things she had bought—among others the carpet. The other + stall-holders left their things at the school till Monday morning, but Mrs + Biddle was afraid some one would steal some of them, so she took them in a + cab. + </p> + <p> + The children, now too desperate to care for mud or appearances, hung on + behind the cab till it reached Mrs Biddle’s house. When she and the carpet + had gone in and the door was shut Anthea said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t let’s burgle—I mean do daring and dashing rescue acts—till + we’ve given her a chance. Let’s ring and ask to see her.’ + </p> + <p> + The others hated to do this, but at last they agreed, on condition that + Anthea would not make any silly fuss about the burglary afterwards, if it + really had to come to that. + </p> + <p> + So they knocked and rang, and a scared-looking parlourmaid opened the + front door. While they were asking for Mrs Biddle they saw her. She was in + the dining-room, and she had already pushed back the table and spread out + the carpet to see how it looked on the floor. + </p> + <p> + ‘I knew she didn’t want it for her servants’ bedroom,’ Jane muttered. + </p> + <p> + Anthea walked straight past the uncomfortable parlourmaid, and the others + followed her. Mrs Biddle had her back to them, and was smoothing down the + carpet with the same boot that had trampled on the hand of Robert. So that + they were all in the room, and Cyril, with great presence of mind, had + shut the room door before she saw them. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is it, Jane?’ she asked in a sour voice; and then turning suddenly, + she saw who it was. Once more her face grew violet—a deep, dark + violet. ‘You wicked daring little things!’ she cried, ‘how dare you come + here? At this time of night, too. Be off, or I’ll send for the police.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t be angry,’ said Anthea, soothingly, ‘we only wanted to ask you to + let us have the carpet. We have quite twelve shillings between us, and—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How DARE you?’ cried Mrs Biddle, and her voice shook with angriness. + </p> + <p> + ‘You do look horrid,’ said Jane suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs Biddle actually stamped that booted foot of hers. ‘You rude, barefaced + child!’ she said. + </p> + <p> + Anthea almost shook Jane; but Jane pushed forward in spite of her. + </p> + <p> + ‘It really IS our nursery carpet,’ she said, ‘you ask ANY ONE if it + isn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s wish ourselves home,’ said Cyril in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + ‘No go,’ Robert whispered back, ‘she’d be there too, and raving mad as + likely as not. Horrid thing, I hate her!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish Mrs Biddle was in an angelic good temper,’ cried Anthea, suddenly. + ‘It’s worth trying,’ she said to herself. + </p> + <p> + Mrs Biddle’s face grew from purple to violet, and from violet to mauve, + and from mauve to pink. Then she smiled quite a jolly smile. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, so I am!’ she said, ‘what a funny idea! Why shouldn’t I be in a good + temper, my dears.’ + </p> + <p> + Once more the carpet had done its work, and not on Mrs Biddle alone. The + children felt suddenly good and happy. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re a jolly good sort,’ said Cyril. ‘I see that now. I’m sorry we + vexed you at the bazaar to-day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not another word,’ said the changed Mrs Biddle. ‘Of course you shall have + the carpet, my dears, if you’ve taken such a fancy to it. No, no; I won’t + have more than the ten shillings I paid.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It does seem hard to ask you for it after you bought it at the bazaar,’ + said Anthea; ‘but it really IS our nursery carpet. It got to the bazaar by + mistake, with some other things.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did it really, now? How vexing!’ said Mrs Biddle, kindly. ‘Well, my + dears, I can very well give the extra ten shillings; so you take your + carpet and we’ll say no more about it. Have a piece of cake before you go! + I’m so sorry I stepped on your hand, my boy. Is it all right now?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Robert. ‘I say, you ARE good.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not at all,’ said Mrs Biddle, heartily. ‘I’m delighted to be able to give + any little pleasure to you dear children.’ + </p> + <p> + And she helped them to roll up the carpet, and the boys carried it away + between them. + </p> + <p> + ‘You ARE a dear,’ said Anthea, and she and Mrs Biddle kissed each other + heartily. + </p> + <p> + ‘WELL!’ said Cyril as they went along the street. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Robert, ‘and the odd part is that you feel just as if it was + REAL—her being so jolly, I mean—and not only the carpet making + her nice.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps it IS real,’ said Anthea, ‘only it was covered up with crossness + and tiredness and things, and the carpet took them away.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I hope it’ll keep them away,’ said Jane; ‘she isn’t ugly at all when she + laughs.’ + </p> + <p> + The carpet has done many wonders in its day; but the case of Mrs Biddle + is, I think, the most wonderful. For from that day she was never anything + like so disagreeable as she was before, and she sent a lovely silver + tea-pot and a kind letter to Miss Peasmarsh when the pretty lady married + the nice curate; just after Easter it was, and they went to Italy for + their honeymoon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5. THE TEMPLE + </h2> + <p> + ‘I wish we could find the Phoenix,’ said Jane. ‘It’s much better company + than the carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Beastly ungrateful, little kids are,’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I’m not; only the carpet never says anything, and it’s so helpless. + It doesn’t seem able to take care of itself. It gets sold, and taken into + the sea, and things like that. You wouldn’t catch the Phoenix getting + sold.’ + </p> + <p> + It was two days after the bazaar. Every one was a little cross—some + days are like that, usually Mondays, by the way. And this was a Monday. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shouldn’t wonder if your precious Phoenix had gone off for good,’ said + Cyril; ‘and I don’t know that I blame it. Look at the weather!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not worth looking at,’ said Robert. And indeed it wasn’t. + </p> + <p> + ‘The Phoenix hasn’t gone—I’m sure it hasn’t,’ said Anthea. ‘I’ll + have another look for it.’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea looked under tables and chairs, and in boxes and baskets, in + mother’s work-bag and father’s portmanteau, but still the Phoenix showed + not so much as the tip of one shining feather. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly Robert remembered how the whole of the Greek invocation song + of seven thousand lines had been condensed by him into one English + hexameter, so he stood on the carpet and chanted— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Oh, come along, come along, you good old beautiful Phoenix,’ +</pre> + <p> + and almost at once there was a rustle of wings down the kitchen stairs, + and the Phoenix sailed in on wide gold wings. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where on earth HAVE you been?’ asked Anthea. ‘I’ve looked everywhere for + you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not EVERYWHERE,’ replied the bird, ‘because you did not look in the place + where I was. Confess that that hallowed spot was overlooked by you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘WHAT hallowed spot?’ asked Cyril, a little impatiently, for time was + hastening on, and the wishing carpet still idle. + </p> + <p> + ‘The spot,’ said the Phoenix, ‘which I hallowed by my golden presence was + the Lutron.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The WHAT?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The bath—the place of washing.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m sure you weren’t,’ said Jane. ‘I looked there three times and moved + all the towels.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I was concealed,’ said the Phoenix, ‘on the summit of a metal column—enchanted, + I should judge, for it felt warm to my golden toes, as though the glorious + sun of the desert shone ever upon it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you mean the cylinder,’ said Cyril: ‘it HAS rather a comforting feel, + this weather. And now where shall we go?’ + </p> + <p> + And then, of course, the usual discussion broke out as to where they + should go and what they should do. And naturally, every one wanted to do + something that the others did not care about. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am the eldest,’ Cyril remarked, ‘let’s go to the North Pole.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This weather! Likely!’ Robert rejoined. ‘Let’s go to the Equator.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think the diamond mines of Golconda would be nice,’ said Anthea; ‘don’t + you agree, Jane?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I don’t,’ retorted Jane, ‘I don’t agree with you. I don’t agree with + anybody.’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix raised a warning claw. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you cannot agree among yourselves, I fear I shall have to leave you,’ + it said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, where shall we go? You decide!’ said all. + </p> + <p> + ‘If I were you,’ said the bird, thoughtfully, ‘I should give the carpet a + rest. Besides, you’ll lose the use of your legs if you go everywhere by + carpet. Can’t you take me out and explain your ugly city to me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We will if it clears up,’ said Robert, without enthusiasm. ‘Just look at + the rain. And why should we give the carpet a rest?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you greedy and grasping, and heartless and selfish?’ asked the bird, + sharply. + </p> + <p> + ‘NO!’ said Robert, with indignation. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well then!’ said the Phoenix. ‘And as to the rain—well, I am not + fond of rain myself. If the sun knew <i>I</i> was here—he’s very + fond of shining on me because I look so bright and golden. He always says + I repay a little attention. Haven’t you some form of words suitable for + use in wet weather?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s “Rain, rain, go away,”’ said Anthea; ‘but it never DOES go.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps you don’t say the invocation properly,’ said the bird. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Rain, rain, go away, + Come again another day, + Little baby wants to play,’ +</pre> + <p> + said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s quite wrong; and if you say it in that sort of dull way, I can + quite understand the rain not taking any notice. You should open the + window and shout as loud as you can— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Rain, rain, go away, + Come again another day; + Now we want the sun, and so, + Pretty rain, be kind and go! +</pre> + <p> + ‘You should always speak politely to people when you want them to do + things, and especially when it’s going away that you want them to do. And + to-day you might add— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Shine, great sun, the lovely Phoe- + Nix is here, and wants to be + Shone on, splendid sun, by thee!’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘That’s poetry!’ said Cyril, decidedly. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s like it,’ said the more cautious Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was obliged to put in “lovely”,’ said the Phoenix, modestly, ‘to make + the line long enough.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There are plenty of nasty words just that length,’ said Jane; but every + one else said ‘Hush!’ And then they opened the window and shouted the + seven lines as loud as they could, and the Phoenix said all the words with + them, except ‘lovely’, and when they came to that it looked down and + coughed bashfully. + </p> + <p> + The rain hesitated a moment and then went away. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s true politeness,’ said the Phoenix, and the next moment it was + perched on the window-ledge, opening and shutting its radiant wings and + flapping out its golden feathers in such a flood of glorious sunshine as + you sometimes have at sunset in autumn time. People said afterwards that + there had not been such sunshine in December for years and years and + years. + </p> + <p> + ‘And now,’ said the bird, ‘we will go out into the city, and you shall + take me to see one of my temples.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your temples?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I gather from the carpet that I have many temples in this land.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t see how you CAN find anything out from it,’ said Jane: ‘it never + speaks.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All the same, you can pick up things from a carpet,’ said the bird; ‘I’ve + seen YOU do it. And I have picked up several pieces of information in this + way. That papyrus on which you showed me my picture—I understand + that it bears on it the name of the street of your city in which my finest + temple stands, with my image graved in stone and in metal over against its + portal.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You mean the fire insurance office,’ said Robert. ‘It’s not really a + temple, and they don’t—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Excuse me,’ said the Phoenix, coldly, ‘you are wholly misinformed. It IS + a temple, and they do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t let’s waste the sunshine,’ said Anthea; ‘we might argue as we go + along, to save time.’ + </p> + <p> + So the Phoenix consented to make itself a nest in the breast of Robert’s + Norfolk jacket, and they all went out into the splendid sunshine. The best + way to the temple of the Phoenix seemed to be to take the tram, and on the + top of it the children talked, while the Phoenix now and then put out a + wary beak, cocked a cautious eye, and contradicted what the children were + saying. + </p> + <p> + It was a delicious ride, and the children felt how lucky they were to have + had the money to pay for it. They went with the tram as far as it went, + and when it did not go any farther they stopped too, and got off. The tram + stops at the end of the Gray’s Inn Road, and it was Cyril who thought that + one might well find a short cut to the Phoenix Office through the little + streets and courts that lie tightly packed between Fetter Lane and Ludgate + Circus. Of course, he was quite mistaken, as Robert told him at the time, + and afterwards Robert did not forbear to remind his brother how he had + said so. The streets there were small and stuffy and ugly, and crowded + with printers’ boys and binders’ girls coming out from work; and these + stared so hard at the pretty red coats and caps of the sisters that they + wished they had gone some other way. And the printers and binders made + very personal remarks, advising Jane to get her hair cut, and inquiring + where Anthea had bought that hat. Jane and Anthea scorned to reply, and + Cyril and Robert found that they were hardly a match for the rough crowd. + They could think of nothing nasty enough to say. They turned a corner + sharply, and then Anthea pulled Jane into an archway, and then inside a + door; Cyril and Robert quickly followed, and the jeering crowd passed by + without seein them. + </p> + <p> + Anthea drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + ‘How awful!’ she said. ‘I didn’t know there were such people, except in + books.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It was a bit thick; but it’s partly you girls’ fault, coming out in those + flashy coats.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We thought we ought to, when we were going out with the Phoenix,’ said + Jane; and the bird said, ‘Quite right, too’—and incautiously put out + his head to give her a wink of encouragement. + </p> + <p> + And at the same instant a dirty hand reached through the grim balustrade + of the staircase beside them and clutched the Phoenix, and a hoarse voice + said— + </p> + <p> + ‘I say, Urb, blowed if this ain’t our Poll parrot what we lost. Thank you + very much, lidy, for bringin’ ‘im home to roost.’ + </p> + <p> + The four turned swiftly. Two large and ragged boys were crouched amid the + dark shadows of the stairs. They were much larger than Robert and Cyril, + and one of them had snatched the Phoenix away and was holding it high + above their heads. + </p> + <p> + ‘Give me that bird,’ said Cyril, sternly: ‘it’s ours.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good arternoon, and thankin’ you,’ the boy went on, with maddening + mockery. ‘Sorry I can’t give yer tuppence for yer trouble—but I’ve + ‘ad to spend my fortune advertising for my vallyable bird in all the + newspapers. You can call for the reward next year.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Look out, Ike,’ said his friend, a little anxiously; ‘it ‘ave a beak on + it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s other parties as’ll have the Beak on to ‘em presently,’ said Ike, + darkly, ‘if they come a-trying to lay claims on my Poll parrot. You just + shut up, Urb. Now then, you four little gells, get out er this.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Little girls!’ cried Robert. ‘I’ll little girl you!’ + </p> + <p> + He sprang up three stairs and hit out. + </p> + <p> + There was a squawk—the most bird-like noise any one had ever heard + from the Phoenix—and a fluttering, and a laugh in the darkness, and + Ike said— + </p> + <p> + ‘There now, you’ve been and gone and strook my Poll parrot right in the + fevvers—strook ‘im something crool, you ‘ave.’ + </p> + <p> + Robert stamped with fury. Cyril felt himself growing pale with rage, and + with the effort of screwing up his brain to make it clever enough to think + of some way of being even with those boys. Anthea and Jane were as angry + as the boys, but it made them want to cry. Yet it was Anthea who said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Do, PLEASE, let us have the bird.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dew, PLEASE, get along and leave us an’ our bird alone.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If you don’t,’ said Anthea, ‘I shall fetch the police.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You better!’ said he who was named Urb. ‘Say, Ike, you twist the bloomin’ + pigeon’s neck; he ain’t worth tuppence.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, no,’ cried Jane, ‘don’t hurt it. Oh, don’t; it is such a pet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I won’t hurt it,’ said Ike; ‘I’m ‘shamed of you, Urb, for to think of + such a thing. Arf a shiner, miss, and the bird is yours for life.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Half a WHAT?’ asked Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Arf a shiner, quid, thick ‘un—half a sov, then.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I haven’t got it—and, besides, it’s OUR bird,’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, don’t talk to him,’ said Cyril and then Jane said suddenly— + </p> + <p> + ‘Phoenix—dear Phoenix, we can’t do anything. YOU must manage it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘With pleasure,’ said the Phoenix—and Ike nearly dropped it in his + amazement. + </p> + <p> + ‘I say, it do talk, suthin’ like,’ said he. + </p> + <p> + ‘Youths,’ said the Phoenix, ‘sons of misfortune, hear my words.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My eyes!’ said Ike. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look out, Ike,’ said Urb, ‘you’ll throttle the joker—and I see at + wunst ‘e was wuth ‘is weight in flimsies.‘00 + </p> + <p> + ‘Hearken, O Eikonoclastes, despiser of sacred images—and thou, + Urbanus, dweller in the sordid city. Forbear this adventure lest a worse + thing befall.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Luv’ us!’ said Ike, ‘ain’t it been taught its schoolin’ just!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Restore me to my young acolytes and escape unscathed. Retain me—and—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They must ha’ got all this up, case the Polly got pinched,’ said Ike. + ‘Lor’ lumme, the artfulness of them young uns!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I say, slosh ‘em in the geseech and get clear off with the swag’s wot I + say,’ urged Herbert. + </p> + <p> + ‘Right O,’ said Isaac. + </p> + <p> + ‘Forbear,’ repeated the Phoenix, sternly. ‘Who pinched the click off of + the old bloke in Aldermanbury?’ it added, in a changed tone. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who sneaked the nose-rag out of the young gell’s ‘and in Bell Court? Who—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Stow it,’ said Ike. ‘You! ugh! yah!—leave go of me. Bash him off, + Urb; ‘e’ll have my bloomin’ eyes outer my ed.’ + </p> + <p> + There were howls, a scuffle, a flutter; Ike and Urb fled up the stairs, + and the Phoenix swept out through the doorway. The children followed and + the Phoenix settled on Robert, ‘like a butterfly on a rose,’ as Anthea + said afterwards, and wriggled into the breast of his Norfolk jacket, ‘like + an eel into mud,’ as Cyril later said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why ever didn’t you burn him? You could have, couldn’t you?’ asked + Robert, when the hurried flight through the narrow courts had ended in the + safe wideness of Farringdon Street. + </p> + <p> + ‘I could have, of course,’ said the bird, ‘but I didn’t think it would be + dignified to allow myself to get warm about a little thing like that. The + Fates, after all, have not been illiberal to me. I have a good many + friends among the London sparrows, and I have a beak and claws.’ + </p> + <p> + These happenings had somewhat shaken the adventurous temper of the + children, and the Phoenix had to exert its golden self to hearten them up. + </p> + <p> + Presently the children came to a great house in Lombard Street, and there, + on each side of the door, was the image of the Phoenix carved in stone, + and set forth on shining brass were the words— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PHOENIX FIRE OFFICE +</pre> + <p> + ‘One moment,’ said the bird. ‘Fire? For altars, I suppose?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>I</i> don’t know,’ said Robert; he was beginning to feel shy, and that + always made him rather cross. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, yes, you do,’ Cyril contradicted. ‘When people’s houses are burnt + down the Phoenix gives them new houses. Father told me; I asked him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The house, then, like the Phoenix, rises from its ashes? Well have my + priests dealt with the sons of men!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The sons of men pay, you know,’ said Anthea; ‘but it’s only a little + every year.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is to maintain my priests,’ said the bird, ‘who, in the hour of + affliction, heal sorrows and rebuild houses. Lead on; inquire for the High + Priest. I will not break upon them too suddenly in all my glory. Noble and + honour-deserving are they who make as nought the evil deeds of the + lame-footed and unpleasing Hephaestus.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I wish you wouldn’t muddle us + with new names. Fire just happens. Nobody does it—not as a deed, you + know,’ Cyril explained. ‘If they did the Phoenix wouldn’t help them, + because its a crime to set fire to things. Arsenic, or something they call + it, because it’s as bad as poisoning people. The Phoenix wouldn’t help + THEM—father told me it wouldn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My priests do well,’ said the Phoenix. ‘Lead on.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Cyril; and the Others said the same. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ask for the High Priest,’ said the Phoenix. ‘Say that you have a secret + to unfold that concerns my worship, and he will lead you to the innermost + sanctuary.’ + </p> + <p> + So the children went in, all four of them, though they didn’t like it, and + stood in a large and beautiful hall adorned with Doulton tiles, like a + large and beautiful bath with no water in it, and stately pillars + supporting the roof. An unpleasing representation of the Phoenix in brown + pottery disfigured one wall. There were counters and desks of mahogany and + brass, and clerks bent over the desks and walked behind the counters. + There was a great clock over an inner doorway. + </p> + <p> + ‘Inquire for the High Priest,’ whispered the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + An attentive clerk in decent black, who controlled his mouth but not his + eyebrows, now came towards them. He leaned forward on the counter, and the + children thought he was going to say, ‘What can I have the pleasure of + showing you?’ like in a draper’s; instead of which the young man said— + </p> + <p> + ‘And what do YOU want?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We want to see the High Priest.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Get along with you,’ said the young man. + </p> + <p> + An elder man, also decent in black coat, advanced. + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps it’s Mr Blank’ (not for worlds would I give the name). ‘He’s a + Masonic High Priest, you know.’ + </p> + <p> + A porter was sent away to look for Mr Asterisk (I cannot give his name), + and the children were left there to look on and be looked on by all the + gentlemen at the mahogany desks. Anthea and Jane thought that they looked + kind. The boys thought they stared, and that it was like their cheek. + </p> + <p> + The porter returned with the news that Mr Dot Dash Dot (I dare not reveal + his name) was out, but that Mr— + </p> + <p> + Here a really delightful gentleman appeared. He had a beard and a kind and + merry eye, and each one of the four knew at once that this was a man who + had kiddies of his own and could understand what you were talking about. + Yet it was a difficult thing to explain. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Mr’—he named the name which I will never + reveal—‘is out. Can I do anything?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Inner sanctuary,’ murmured the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon,’ said the nice gentleman, who thought it was Robert + who had spoken. + </p> + <p> + ‘We have something to tell you,’ said Cyril, ‘but’—he glanced at the + porter, who was lingering much nearer than he need have done—‘this + is a very public place.’ + </p> + <p> + The nice gentleman laughed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come upstairs then,’ he said, and led the way up a wide and beautiful + staircase. Anthea says the stairs were of white marble, but I am not sure. + On the corner-post of the stairs, at the top, was a beautiful image of the + Phoenix in dark metal, and on the wall at each side was a flat sort of + image of it. + </p> + <p> + The nice gentleman led them into a room where the chairs, and even the + tables, were covered with reddish leather. He looked at the children + inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t be frightened,’ he said; ‘tell me exactly what you want.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘May I shut the door?’ asked Cyril. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman looked surprised, but he shut the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Cyril, firmly, ‘I know you’ll be awfully surprised, and you’ll + think it’s not true and we are lunatics; but we aren’t, and it is. + Robert’s got something inside his Norfolk—that’s Robert, he’s my + young brother. Now don’t be upset and have a fit or anything sir. Of + course, I know when you called your shop the “Phoenix” you never thought + there was one; but there is—and Robert’s got it buttoned up against + his chest!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If it’s an old curio in the form of a Phoenix, I dare say the Board—’ + said the nice gentleman, as Robert began to fumble with his buttons. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s old enough,’ said Anthea, ‘going by what it says, but—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My goodness gracious!’ said the gentleman, as the Phoenix, with one last + wriggle that melted into a flutter, got out of its nest in the breast of + Robert and stood up on the leather-covered table. + </p> + <p> + ‘What an extraordinarily fine bird!’ he went on. ‘I don’t think I ever saw + one just like it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should think not,’ said the Phoenix, with pardonable pride. And the + gentleman jumped. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, it’s been taught to speak! Some sort of parrot, perhaps?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am,’ said the bird, simply, ‘the Head of your House, and I have come to + my temple to receive your homage. I am no parrot’—its beak curved + scornfully—‘I am the one and only Phoenix, and I demand the homage + of my High Priest.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In the absence of our manager,’ the gentleman began, exactly as though he + were addressing a valued customer—‘in the absence of our manager, I + might perhaps be able—What am I saying?’ He turned pale, and passed + his hand across his brow. ‘My dears,’ he said, ‘the weather is unusually + warm for the time of year, and I don’t feel quite myself. Do you know, for + a moment I really thought that that remarkable bird of yours had spoken + and said it was the Phoenix, and, what’s more, that I’d believed it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So it did, sir,’ said Cyril, ‘and so did you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It really—Allow me.’ + </p> + <p> + A bell was rung. The porter appeared. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mackenzie,’ said the gentleman, ‘you see that golden bird?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + The other breathed a sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + ‘It IS real, then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sir, of course, sir. You take it in your hand, sir,’ said the + porter, sympathetically, and reached out his hand to the Phoenix, who + shrank back on toes curved with agitated indignation. + </p> + <p> + ‘Forbear!’ it cried; ‘how dare you seek to lay hands on me?’ + </p> + <p> + The porter saluted. + </p> + <p> + ‘Beg pardon, sir,’ he said, ‘I thought you was a bird.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I AM a bird—THE bird—the Phoenix.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course you are, sir,’ said the porter. ‘I see that the first minute, + directly I got my breath, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That will do,’ said the gentleman. ‘Ask Mr Wilson and Mr Sterry to step + up here for a moment, please.’ + </p> + <p> + Mr Sterry and Mr Wilson were in their turn overcome by amazement—quickly + followed by conviction. To the surprise of the children every one in the + office took the Phoenix at its word, and after the first shock of surprise + it seemed to be perfectly natural to every one that the Phoenix should be + alive, and that, passing through London, it should call at its temple. + </p> + <p> + ‘We ought to have some sort of ceremony,’ said the nicest gentleman, + anxiously. ‘There isn’t time to summon the directors and shareholders—we + might do that tomorrow, perhaps. Yes, the board-room would be best. I + shouldn’t like it to feel we hadn’t done everything in our power to show + our appreciation of its condescension in looking in on us in this friendly + way.’ + </p> + <p> + The children could hardly believe their ears, for they had never thought + that any one but themselves would believe in the Phoenix. And yet every + one did; all the men in the office were brought in by twos and threes, and + the moment the Phoenix opened its beak it convinced the cleverest of them, + as well as those who were not so clever. Cyril wondered how the story + would look in the papers next day. He seemed to see the posters in the + streets: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PHOENIX FIRE OFFICE + THE PHOENIX AT ITS TEMPLE + MEETING TO WELCOME IT + DELIGHT OF THE MANAGER AND EVERYBODY. +</pre> + <p> + ‘Excuse our leaving you a moment,’ said the nice gentleman, and he went + away with the others; and through the half-closed door the children could + hear the sound of many boots on stairs, the hum of excited voices + explaining, suggesting, arguing, the thumpy drag of heavy furniture being + moved about. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix strutted up and down the leather-covered table, looking over + its shoulder at its pretty back. + </p> + <p> + ‘You see what a convincing manner I have,’ it said proudly. + </p> + <p> + And now a new gentleman came in and said, bowing low— + </p> + <p> + ‘Everything is prepared—we have done our best at so short a notice; + the meeting—the ceremony—will be in the board-room. Will the + Honourable Phoenix walk—it is only a few steps—or would it + like to be—would it like some sort of conveyance?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My Robert will bear me to the board-room, if that be the unlovely name of + my temple’s inmost court,’ replied the bird. + </p> + <p> + So they all followed the gentleman. There was a big table in the + board-room, but it had been pushed right up under the long windows at one + side, and chairs were arranged in rows across the room—like those + you have at schools when there is a magic lantern on ‘Our Eastern Empire’, + or on ‘The Way We Do in the Navy’. The doors were of carved wood, very + beautiful, with a carved Phoenix above. Anthea noticed that the chairs in + the front rows were of the kind that her mother so loved to ask the price + of in old furniture shops, and never could buy, because the price was + always nearly twenty pounds each. On the mantelpiece were some heavy + bronze candlesticks and a clock, and on the top of the clock was another + image of the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘Remove that effigy,’ said the Phoenix to the gentlemen who were there, + and it was hastily taken down. Then the Phoenix fluttered to the middle of + the mantelpiece and stood there, looking more golden than ever. Then every + one in the house and the office came in—from the cashier to the + women who cooked the clerks’ dinners in the beautiful kitchen at the top + of the house. And every one bowed to the Phoenix and then sat down in a + chair. + </p> + <p> + ‘Gentlemen,’ said the nicest gentleman, ‘we have met here today—’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix was turning its golden beak from side to side. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t notice any incense,’ it said, with an injured sniff. A hurried + consultation ended in plates being fetched from the kitchen. Brown sugar, + sealing-wax, and tobacco were placed on these, and something from a square + bottle was poured over it all. Then a match was applied. It was the only + incense that was handy in the Phoenix office, and it certainly burned very + briskly and smoked a great deal. + </p> + <p> + ‘We have met here today,’ said the gentleman again, ‘on an occasion + unparalleled in the annals of this office. Our respected Phoenix—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Head of the House,’ said the Phoenix, in a hollow voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was coming to that. Our respected Phoenix, the Head of this ancient + House, has at length done us the honour to come among us. I think I may + say, gentlemen, that we are not insensible to this honour, and that we + welcome with no uncertain voice one whom we have so long desired to see in + our midst.’ + </p> + <p> + Several of the younger clerks thought of saying ‘Hear, hear,’ but they + feared it might seem disrespectful to the bird. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will not take up your time,’ the speaker went on, ‘by recapitulating + the advantages to be derived from a proper use of our system of fire + insurance. I know, and you know, gentlemen, that our aim has ever been to + be worthy of that eminent bird whose name we bear, and who now adorns our + mantelpiece with his presence. Three cheers, gentlemen, for the winged + Head of the House!’ + </p> + <p> + The cheers rose, deafening. When they had died away the Phoenix was asked + to say a few words. + </p> + <p> + It expressed in graceful phrases the pleasure it felt in finding itself at + last in its own temple. + </p> + <p> + ‘And,’ it went on, ‘You must not think me wanting in appreciation of your + very hearty and cordial reception when I ask that an ode may be recited or + a choric song sung. It is what I have always been accustomed to.’ + </p> + <p> + The four children, dumb witnesses of this wonderful scene, glanced a + little nervously across the foam of white faces above the sea of black + coats. It seemed to them that the Phoenix was really asking a little too + much. + </p> + <p> + ‘Time presses,’ said the Phoenix, ‘and the original ode of invocation is + long, as well as being Greek; and, besides, it’s no use invoking me when + here I am; but is there not a song in your own tongue for a great day such + as this?’ + </p> + <p> + Absently the manager began to sing, and one by one the rest joined— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Absolute security! + No liability! + All kinds of property + insured against fire. + Terms most favourable, + Expenses reasonable, + Moderate rates for annual + Insurance.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘That one is NOT my favourite,’ interrupted the Phoenix, ‘and I think + you’ve forgotten part of it.’ + </p> + <p> + The manager hastily began another— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘O Golden Phoenix, fairest bird, + The whole great world has often heard + Of all the splendid things we do, + Great Phoenix, just to honour you.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘That’s better,’ said the bird. And every one sang— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Class one, for private dwelling-house, + For household goods and shops allows; + Provided these are built of brick + Or stone, and tiled and slated thick.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘Try another verse,’ said the Phoenix, ‘further on.’ + </p> + <p> + And again arose the voices of all the clerks and employees and managers + and secretaries and cooks— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘In Scotland our insurance yields + The price of burnt-up stacks in fields.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘Skip that verse,’ said the Phoenix. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Thatched dwellings and their whole contents + We deal with—also with their rents; + Oh, glorious Phoenix, look and see + That these are dealt with in class three. + + ‘The glories of your temple throng + Too thick to go in any song; + And we attend, O good and wise, + To “days of grace” and merchandise. + + ‘When people’s homes are burned away + They never have a cent to pay + If they have done as all should do, + O Phoenix, and have honoured you. + + ‘So let us raise our voice and sing + The praises of the Phoenix King. + In classes one and two and three, + Oh, trust to him, for kind is he!’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘I’m sure YOU’RE very kind,’ said the Phoenix; ‘and now we must be going. + An thank you very much for a very pleasant time. May you all prosper as + you deserve to do, for I am sure a nicer, pleasanter-spoken lot of temple + attendants I have never met, and never wish to meet. I wish you all + good-day!’ + </p> + <p> + It fluttered to the wrist of Robert and drew the four children from the + room. The whole of the office staff followed down the wide stairs and + filed into their accustomed places, and the two most important officials + stood on the steps bowing till Robert had buttoned the golden bird in his + Norfolk bosom, and it and he and the three other children were lost in the + crowd. + </p> + <p> + The two most important gentlemen looked at each other earnestly and + strangely for a moment, and then retreated to those sacred inner rooms, + where they toil without ceasing for the good of the House. + </p> + <p> + And the moment they were all in their places—managers, secretaries, + clerks, and porters—they all started, and each looked cautiously + round to see if any one was looking at him. For each thought that he had + fallen asleep for a few minutes, and had dreamed a very odd dream about + the Phoenix and the board-room. And, of course, no one mentioned it to any + one else, because going to sleep at your office is a thing you simply MUST + NOT do. + </p> + <p> + The extraordinary confusion of the board-room, with the remains of the + incense in the plates, would have shown them at once that the visit of the + Phoenix had been no dream, but a radiant reality, but no one went into the + board-room again that day; and next day, before the office was opened, it + was all cleaned and put nice and tidy by a lady whose business asking + questions was not part of. That is why Cyril read the papers in vain on + the next day and the day after that; because no sensible person thinks his + dreams worth putting in the paper, and no one will ever own that he has + been asleep in the daytime. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix was very pleased, but it decided to write an ode for itself. + It thought the ones it had heard at its temple had been too hastily + composed. Its own ode began— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘For beauty and for modest worth + The Phoenix has not its equal on earth.’ +</pre> + <p> + And when the children went to bed that night it was still trying to cut + down the last line to the proper length without taking out any of what it + wanted to say. + </p> + <p> + That is what makes poetry so difficult. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6. DOING GOOD + </h2> + <p> + ‘We shan’t be able to go anywhere on the carpet for a whole week, though,’ + said Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘And I’m glad of it,’ said Jane, unexpectedly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Glad?’ said Cyril; ‘GLAD?’ + </p> + <p> + It was breakfast-time, and mother’s letter, telling them how they were all + going for Christmas to their aunt’s at Lyndhurst, and how father and + mother would meet them there, having been read by every one, lay on the + table, drinking hot bacon-fat with one corner and eating marmalade with + the other. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, glad,’ said Jane. ‘I don’t want any more things to happen just now. + I feel like you do when you’ve been to three parties in a week—like + we did at granny’s once—and extras in between, toys and chocs and + things like that. I want everything to be just real, and no fancy things + happening at all.’ ‘I don’t like being obliged to keep things from + mother,’ said Anthea. ‘I don’t know why, but it makes me feel selfish and + mean.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If we could only get the mater to believe it, we might take her to the + jolliest places,’ said Cyril, thoughtfully. ‘As it is, we’ve just got to + be selfish and mean—if it is that—but I don’t feel it is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I KNOW it isn’t, but I FEEL it is,’ said Anthea, ‘and that’s just as + bad.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s worse,’ said Robert; ‘if you knew it and didn’t feel it, it wouldn’t + matter so much.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s being a hardened criminal, father says,’ put in Cyril, and he + picked up mother’s letter and wiped its corners with his handkerchief, to + whose colour a trifle of bacon-fat and marmalade made but little + difference. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’re going to-morrow, anyhow,’ said Robert. ‘Don’t,’ he added, with a + good-boy expression on his face—‘don’t let’s be ungrateful for our + blessings; don’t let’s waste the day in saying how horrid it is to keep + secrets from mother, when we all know Anthea tried all she knew to give + her the secret, and she wouldn’t take it. Let’s get on the carpet and have + a jolly good wish. You’ll have time enough to repent of things all next + week.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Cyril, ‘let’s. It’s not really wrong.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, look here,’ said Anthea. ‘You know there’s something about + Christmas that makes you want to be good—however little you wish it + at other times. Couldn’t we wish the carpet to take us somewhere where we + should have the chance to do some good and kind action? It would be an + adventure just the same,’ she pleaded. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t mind,’ said Cyril. ‘We shan’t know where we’re going, and that’ll + be exciting. No one knows what’ll happen. We’d best put on our outers in + case—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We might rescue a traveller buried in the snow, like St Bernard dogs, + with barrels round our necks,’ said Jane, beginning to be interested. + </p> + <p> + ‘Or we might arrive just in time to witness a will being signed—more + tea, please,’ said Robert, ‘and we should see the old man hide it away in + the secret cupboard; and then, after long years, when the rightful heir + was in despair, we should lead him to the hidden panel and—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ interrupted Anthea; ‘or we might be taken to some freezing garret + in a German town, where a poor little pale, sick child—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We haven’t any German money,’ interrupted Cyril, ‘so THAT’S no go. What I + should like would be getting into the middle of a war and getting hold of + secret intelligence and taking it to the general, and he would make me a + lieutenant or a scout, or a hussar.’ + </p> + <p> + When breakfast was cleared away, Anthea swept the carpet, and the children + sat down on it, together with the Phoenix, who had been especially + invited, as a Christmas treat, to come with them and witness the good and + kind action they were about to do. + </p> + <p> + Four children and one bird were ready, and the wish was wished. + </p> + <p> + Every one closed its eyes, so as to feel the topsy-turvy swirl of the + carpet’s movement as little as possible. + </p> + <p> + When the eyes were opened again the children found themselves on the + carpet, and the carpet was in its proper place on the floor of their own + nursery at Camden Town. + </p> + <p> + ‘I say,’ said Cyril, ‘here’s a go!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you think it’s worn out? The wishing part of it, I mean?’ Robert + anxiously asked the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not that,’ said the Phoenix; ‘but—well—what did you wish—?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh! I see what it means,’ said Robert, with deep disgust; ‘it’s like the + end of a fairy story in a Sunday magazine. How perfectly beastly!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You mean it means we can do kind and good actions where we are? I see. I + suppose it wants us to carry coals for the cook or make clothes for the + bare heathens. Well, I simply won’t. And the last day and everything. Look + here!’ Cyril spoke loudly and firmly. ‘We want to go somewhere really + interesting, where we have a chance of doing something good and kind; we + don’t want to do it here, but somewhere else. See? Now, then.’ + </p> + <p> + The obedient carpet started instantly, and the four children and one bird + fell in a heap together, and as they fell were plunged in perfect + darkness. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you all there?’ said Anthea, breathlessly, through the black dark. + Every one owned that it was there. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where are we? Oh! how shivery and wet it is! Ugh!—oh!—I’ve + put my hand in a puddle!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Has any one got any matches?’ said Anthea, hopelessly. She felt sure that + no one would have any. + </p> + <p> + It was then that Robert, with a radiant smile of triumph that was quite + wasted in the darkness, where, of course, no one could see anything, drew + out of his pocket a box of matches, struck a match and lighted a candle—two + candles. And every one, with its mouth open, blinked at the sudden light. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well done Bobs,’ said his sisters, and even Cyril’s natural brotherly + feelings could not check his admiration of Robert’s foresight. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve always carried them about ever since the lone tower day,’ said + Robert, with modest pride. ‘I knew we should want them some day. I kept + the secret well, didn’t I?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, yes,’ said Cyril, with fine scorn. ‘I found them the Sunday after, + when I was feeling in your Norfolks for the knife you borrowed off me. But + I thought you’d only sneaked them for Chinese lanterns, or reading in bed + by.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Bobs,’ said Anthea, suddenly, ‘do you know where we are? This is the + underground passage, and look there—there’s the money and the + money-bags, and everything.’ + </p> + <p> + By this time the ten eyes had got used to the light of the candles, and no + one could help seeing that Anthea spoke the truth. + </p> + <p> + ‘It seems an odd place to do good and kind acts in, though,’ said Jane. + ‘There’s no one to do them to.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t you be too sure,’ said Cyril; ‘just round the next turning we might + find a prisoner who has languished here for years and years, and we could + take him out on our carpet and restore him to his sorrowing friends.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course we could,’ said Robert, standing up and holding the candle + above his head to see further off; ‘or we might find the bones of a poor + prisoner and take them to his friends to be buried properly—that’s + always a kind action in books, though I never could see what bones + matter.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know exactly where we shall find the bones, too,’ Robert went on. ‘You + see that dark arch just along the passage? Well, just inside there—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If you don’t stop going on like that,’ said Jane, firmly, ‘I shall + scream, and then I’ll faint—so now then!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And <i>I</i> will, too,’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + Robert was not pleased at being checked in his flight of fancy. + </p> + <p> + ‘You girls will never be great writers,’ he said bitterly. ‘They just love + to think of things in dungeons, and chains, and knobbly bare human bones, + and—’ + </p> + <p> + Jane had opened her mouth to scream, but before she could decide how you + began when you wanted to faint, the golden voice of the Phoenix spoke + through the gloom. + </p> + <p> + ‘Peace!’ it said; ‘there are no bones here except the small but useful + sets that you have inside you. And you did not invite me to come out with + you to hear you talk about bones, but to see you do some good and kind + action.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We can’t do it here,’ said Robert, sulkily. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ rejoined the bird. ‘The only thing we can do here, it seems, is to + try to frighten our little sisters.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He didn’t, really, and I’m not so VERY little,’ said Jane, rather + ungratefully. + </p> + <p> + Robert was silent. It was Cyril who suggested that perhaps they had better + take the money and go. + </p> + <p> + ‘That wouldn’t be a kind act, except to ourselves; and it wouldn’t be + good, whatever way you look at it,’ said Anthea, ‘to take money that’s not + ours.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We might take it and spend it all on benefits to the poor and aged,’ said + Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘That wouldn’t make it right to steal,’ said Anthea, stoutly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know,’ said Cyril. They were all standing up now. ‘Stealing is + taking things that belong to some one else, and there’s no one else.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It can’t be stealing if—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s right,’ said Robert, with ironical approval; ‘stand here all day + arguing while the candles burn out. You’ll like it awfully when it’s all + dark again—and bony.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s get out, then,’ said Anthea. ‘We can argue as we go.’ So they + rolled up the carpet and went. But when they had crept along to the place + where the passage led into the topless tower they found the way blocked by + a great stone, which they could not move. + </p> + <p> + ‘There!’ said Robert. ‘I hope you’re satisfied!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Everything has two ends,’ said the Phoenix, softly; ‘even a quarrel or a + secret passage.’ + </p> + <p> + So they turned round and went back, and Robert was made to go first with + one of the candles, because he was the one who had begun to talk about + bones. And Cyril carried the carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish you hadn’t put bones into our heads,’ said Jane, as they went + along. + </p> + <p> + ‘I didn’t; you always had them. More bones than brains,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + The passage was long, and there were arches and steps and turnings and + dark alcoves that the girls did not much like passing. The passage ended + in a flight of steps. Robert went up them. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he staggered heavily back on to the following feet of Jane, and + everybody screamed, ‘Oh! what is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve only bashed my head in,’ said Robert, when he had groaned for some + time; ‘that’s all. Don’t mention it; I like it. The stairs just go right + slap into the ceiling, and it’s a stone ceiling. You can’t do good and + kind actions underneath a paving-stone.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Stairs aren’t made to lead just to paving-stones as a general rule,’ said + the Phoenix. ‘Put your shoulder to the wheel.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There isn’t any wheel,’ said the injured Robert, still rubbing his head. + </p> + <p> + But Cyril had pushed past him to the top stair, and was already shoving + his hardest against the stone above. Of course, it did not give in the + least. + </p> + <p> + ‘If it’s a trap-door—’ said Cyril. And he stopped shoving and began + to feel about with his hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, there is a bolt. I can’t move it.’ + </p> + <p> + By a happy chance Cyril had in his pocket the oil-can of his father’s + bicycle; he put the carpet down at the foot of the stairs, and he lay on + his back, with his head on the top step and his feet straggling down among + his young relations, and he oiled the bolt till the drops of rust and oil + fell down on his face. One even went into his mouth—open, as he + panted with the exertion of keeping up this unnatural position. Then he + tried again, but still the bolt would not move. So now he tied his + handkerchief—the one with the bacon-fat and marmalade on it—to + the bolt, and Robert’s handkerchief to that, in a reef knot, which cannot + come undone however much you pull, and, indeed, gets tighter and tighter + the more you pull it. This must not be confused with a granny knot, which + comes undone if you look at it. And then he and Robert pulled, and the + girls put their arms round their brothers and pulled too, and suddenly the + bolt gave way with a rusty scrunch, and they all rolled together to the + bottom of the stairs—all but the Phoenix, which had taken to its + wings when the pulling began. + </p> + <p> + Nobody was hurt much, because the rolled-up carpet broke their fall; and + now, indeed, the shoulders of the boys were used to some purpose, for the + stone allowed them to heave it up. They felt it give; dust fell freely on + them. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, then,’ cried Robert, forgetting his head and his temper, ‘push all + together. One, two, three!’ + </p> + <p> + The stone was heaved up. It swung up on a creaking, unwilling hinge, and + showed a growing oblong of dazzling daylight; and it fell back with a bang + against something that kept it upright. Every one climbed out, but there + was not room for every one to stand comfortably in the little paved house + where they found themselves, so when the Phoenix had fluttered up from the + darkness they let the stone down, and it closed like a trap-door, as + indeed it was. + </p> + <p> + You can have no idea how dusty and dirty the children were. Fortunately + there was no one to see them but each other. The place they were in was a + little shrine, built on the side of a road that went winding up through + yellow-green fields to the topless tower. Below them were fields and + orchards, all bare boughs and brown furrows, and little houses and + gardens. The shrine was a kind of tiny chapel with no front wall—just + a place for people to stop and rest in and wish to be good. So the Phoenix + told them. There was an image that had once been brightly coloured, but + the rain and snow had beaten in through the open front of the shrine, and + the poor image was dull and weather-stained. Under it was written: ‘St + Jean de Luz. Priez pour nous.’ It was a sad little place, very neglected + and lonely, and yet it was nice, Anthea thought, that poor travellers + should come to this little rest-house in the hurry and worry of their + journeyings and be quiet for a few minutes, and think about being good. + The thought of St Jean de Luz—who had, no doubt, in his time, been + very good and kind—made Anthea want more than ever to do something + kind and good. + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell us,’ she said to the Phoenix, ‘what is the good and kind action the + carpet brought us here to do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think it would be kind to find the owners of the treasure and tell them + about it,’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘And give it them ALL?’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. But whose is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should go to the first house and ask the name of the owner of the + castle,’ said the golden bird, and really the idea seemed a good one. + </p> + <p> + They dusted each other as well as they could and went down the road. A + little way on they found a tiny spring, bubbling out of the hillside and + falling into a rough stone basin surrounded by draggled hart’s-tongue + ferns, now hardly green at all. Here the children washed their hands and + faces and dried them on their pocket-handkerchiefs, which always, on these + occasions, seem unnaturally small. Cyril’s and Robert’s handkerchiefs, + indeed, rather undid the effects of the wash. But in spite of this the + party certainly looked cleaner than before. + </p> + <p> + The first house they came to was a little white house with green shutters + and a slate roof. It stood in a prim little garden, and down each side of + the neat path were large stone vases for flowers to grow in; but all the + flowers were dead now. + </p> + <p> + Along one side of the house was a sort of wide veranda, built of poles and + trellis-work, and a vine crawled all over it. It was wider than our + English verandas, and Anthea thought it must look lovely when the green + leaves and the grapes were there; but now there were only dry, + reddish-brown stalks and stems, with a few withered leaves caught in them. + </p> + <p> + The children walked up to the front door. It was green and narrow. A chain + with a handle hung beside it, and joined itself quite openly to a rusty + bell that hung under the porch. Cyril had pulled the bell and its noisy + clang was dying away before the terrible thought came to all. Cyril spoke + it. + </p> + <p> + ‘My hat!’ he breathed. ‘We don’t know any French!’ + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door opened. A very tall, lean lady, with pale ringlets + like whitey-brown paper or oak shavings, stood before them. She had an + ugly grey dress and a black silk apron. Her eyes were small and grey and + not pretty, and the rims were red, as though she had been crying. + </p> + <p> + She addressed the party in something that sounded like a foreign language, + and ended with something which they were sure was a question. Of course, + no one could answer it. + </p> + <p> + ‘What does she say?’ Robert asked, looking down into the hollow of his + jacket, where the Phoenix was nestling. But before the Phoenix could + answer, the whitey-brown lady’s face was lighted up by a most charming + smile. + </p> + <p> + ‘You—you ar-r-re fr-r-rom the England!’ she cried. ‘I love so much + the England. Mais entrez—entrez donc tous! Enter, then—enter + all. One essuyes his feet on the carpet.’ She pointed to the mat. + </p> + <p> + ‘We only wanted to ask—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall say you all that what you wish,’ said the lady. ‘Enter only!’ + </p> + <p> + So they all went in, wiping their feet on a very clean mat, and putting + the carpet in a safe corner of the veranda. + </p> + <p> + ‘The most beautiful days of my life,’ said the lady, as she shut the door, + ‘did pass themselves in England. And since long time I have not heard an + English voice to repeal me the past.’ + </p> + <p> + This warm welcome embarrassed every one, but most the boys, for the floor + of the hall was of such very clean red and white tiles, and the floor of + the sitting-room so very shiny—like a black looking-glass—that + each felt as though he had on far more boots than usual, and far noisier. + </p> + <p> + There was a wood fire, very small and very bright, on the hearth—neat + little logs laid on brass fire-dogs. Some portraits of powdered ladies and + gentlemen hung in oval frames on the pale walls. There were silver + candlesticks on the mantelpiece, and there were chairs and a table, very + slim and polite, with slender legs. The room was extremely bare, but with + a bright foreign bareness that was very cheerful, in an odd way of its + own. At the end of the polished table a very un-English little boy sat on + a footstool in a high-backed, uncomfortable-looking chair. He wore black + velvet, and the kind of collar—all frills and lacey—that + Robert would rather have died than wear; but then the little French boy + was much younger than Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, how pretty!’ said every one. But no one meant the little French boy, + with the velvety short knickerbockers and the velvety short hair. + </p> + <p> + What every one admired was a little, little Christmas-tree, very green, + and standing in a very red little flower-pot, and hung round with very + bright little things made of tinsel and coloured paper. There were tiny + candles on the tree, but they were not lighted yet. + </p> + <p> + ‘But yes—is it not that it is genteel?’ said the lady. ‘Sit down you + then, and let us see.’ + </p> + <p> + The children sat down in a row on the stiff chairs against the wall, and + the lady lighted a long, slim red taper at the wood flame, and then she + drew the curtains and lit the little candles, and when they were all + lighted the little French boy suddenly shouted, ‘Bravo, ma tante! Oh, que + c’est gentil,’ and the English children shouted ‘Hooray!’ + </p> + <p> + Then there was a struggle in the breast of Robert, and out fluttered the + Phoenix—spread his gold wings, flew to the top of the + Christmas-tree, and perched there. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah! catch it, then,’ cried the lady; ‘it will itself burn—your + genteel parrakeet!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It won’t,’ said Robert, ‘thank you.’ + </p> + <p> + And the little French boy clapped his clean and tidy hands; but the lady + was so anxious that the Phoenix fluttered down and walked up and down on + the shiny walnut-wood table. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is it that it talks?’ asked the lady. + </p> + <p> + And the Phoenix replied in excellent French. It said, ‘Parfaitement, + madame!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, the pretty parrakeet,’ said the lady. ‘Can it say still of other + things?’ + </p> + <p> + And the Phoenix replied, this time in English, ‘Why are you sad so near + Christmas-time?’ + </p> + <p> + The children looked at it with one gasp of horror and surprise, for the + youngest of them knew that it is far from manners to notice that strangers + have been crying, and much worse to ask them the reason of their tears. + And, of course, the lady began to cry again, very much indeed, after + calling the Phoenix a bird without a heart; and she could not find her + handkerchief, so Anthea offered hers, which was still very damp and no use + at all. She also hugged the lady, and this seemed to be of more use than + the handkerchief, so that presently the lady stopped crying, and found her + own handkerchief and dried her eyes, and called Anthea a cherished angel. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am sorry we came just when you were so sad,’ said Anthea, ‘but we + really only wanted to ask you whose that castle is on the hill.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, my little angel,’ said the poor lady, sniffing, ‘to-day and for + hundreds of years the castle is to us, to our family. To-morrow it must + that I sell it to some strangers—and my little Henri, who ignores + all, he will not have never the lands paternal. But what will you? His + father, my brother—Mr the Marquis—has spent much of money, and + it the must, despite the sentiments of familial respect, that I admit that + my sainted father he also—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How would you feel if you found a lot of money—hundreds and + thousands of gold pieces?’ asked Cyril. + </p> + <p> + The lady smiled sadly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah! one has already recounted to you the legend?’ she said. ‘It is true + that one says that it is long time; oh! but long time, one of our + ancestors has hid a treasure—of gold, and of gold, and of gold—enough + to enrich my little Henri for the life. But all that, my children, it is + but the accounts of fays—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She means fairy stories,’ whispered the Phoenix to Robert. ‘Tell her what + you have found.’ + </p> + <p> + So Robert told, while Anthea and Jane hugged the lady for fear she should + faint for joy, like people in books, and they hugged her with the earnest, + joyous hugs of unselfish delight. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s no use explaining how we got in,’ said Robert, when he had told of + the finding of the treasure, ‘because you would find it a little difficult + to understand, and much more difficult to believe. But we can show you + where the gold is and help you to fetch it away.’ + </p> + <p> + The lady looked doubtfully at Robert as she absently returned the hugs of + the girls. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, he’s not making it up,’ said Anthea; ‘it’s true, TRUE, TRUE!—and + we are so glad.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You would not be capable to torment an old woman?’ she said; ‘and it is + not possible that it be a dream.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It really IS true,’ said Cyril; ‘and I congratulate you very much.’ + </p> + <p> + His tone of studied politeness seemed to convince more than the raptures + of the others. + </p> + <p> + ‘If I do not dream,’ she said, ‘Henri come to Manon—and you—you + shall come all with me to Mr the Curate. Is it not?’ + </p> + <p> + Manon was a wrinkled old woman with a red and yellow handkerchief twisted + round her head. She took Henri, who was already sleepy with the excitement + of his Christmas-tree and his visitors, and when the lady had put on a + stiff black cape and a wonderful black silk bonnet and a pair of black + wooden clogs over her black cashmere house-boots, the whole party went + down the road to a little white house—very like the one they had + left—where an old priest, with a good face, welcomed them with a + politeness so great that it hid his astonishment. + </p> + <p> + The lady, with her French waving hands and her shrugging French shoulders + and her trembling French speech, told the story. And now the priest, who + knew no English, shrugged HIS shoulders and waved HIS hands and spoke also + in French. + </p> + <p> + ‘He thinks,’ whispered the Phoenix, ‘that her troubles have turned her + brain. What a pity you know no French!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I do know a lot of French,’ whispered Robert, indignantly; ‘but it’s all + about the pencil of the gardener’s son and the penknife of the baker’s + niece—nothing that anyone ever wants to say.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If <i>I</i> speak,’ the bird whispered, ‘he’ll think HE’S mad, too.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell me what to say.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Say “C’est vrai, monsieur. Venez donc voir,”’ said the Phoenix; and then + Robert earned the undying respect of everybody by suddenly saying, very + loudly and distinctly— + </p> + <p> + ‘Say vray, mossoo; venny dong vwaw.’ + </p> + <p> + The priest was disappointed when he found that Robert’s French began and + ended with these useful words; but, at any rate, he saw that if the lady + was mad she was not the only one, and he put on a big beavery hat, and got + a candle and matches and a spade, and they all went up the hill to the + wayside shrine of St John of Luz. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Robert, ‘I will go first and show you where it is.’ + </p> + <p> + So they prised the stone up with a corner of the spade, and Robert did go + first, and they all followed and found the golden treasure exactly as they + had left it. And every one was flushed with the joy of performing such a + wonderfully kind action. + </p> + <p> + Then the lady and the priest clasped hands and wept for joy, as French + people do, and knelt down and touched the money, and talked very fast and + both together, and the lady embraced all the children three times each, + and called them ‘little garden angels,’ and then she and the priest shook + each other by both hands again, and talked, and talked, and talked, faster + and more Frenchy than you would have believed possible. And the children + were struck dumb with joy and pleasure. + </p> + <p> + ‘Get away NOW,’ said the Phoenix softly, breaking in on the radiant dream. + </p> + <p> + So the children crept away, and out through the little shrine, and the + lady and the priest were so tearfully, talkatively happy that they never + noticed that the guardian angels had gone. + </p> + <p> + The ‘garden angels’ ran down the hill to the lady’s little house, where + they had left the carpet on the veranda, and they spread it out and said + ‘Home,’ and no one saw them disappear, except little Henri, who had + flattened his nose into a white button against the window-glass, and when + he tried to tell his aunt she thought he had been dreaming. So that was + all right. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is much the best thing we’ve done,’ said Anthea, when they talked it + over at tea-time. ‘In the future we’ll only do kind actions with the + carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ahem!’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, nothing,’ said the bird. ‘I was only thinking!’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7. MEWS FROM PERSIA + </h2> + <p> + When you hear that the four children found themselves at Waterloo Station + quite un-taken-care-of, and with no one to meet them, it may make you + think that their parents were neither kind nor careful. But if you think + this you will be wrong. The fact is, mother arranged with Aunt Emma that + she was to meet the children at Waterloo, when they went back from their + Christmas holiday at Lyndhurst. The train was fixed, but not the day. Then + mother wrote to Aunt Emma, giving her careful instructions about the day + and the hour, and about luggage and cabs and things, and gave the letter + to Robert to post. But the hounds happened to meet near Rufus Stone that + morning, and what is more, on the way to the meet they met Robert, and + Robert met them, and instantly forgot all about posting Aunt Emma’s + letter, and never thought of it again until he and the others had wandered + three times up and down the platform at Waterloo—which makes six in + all—and had bumped against old gentlemen, and stared in the faces of + ladies, and been shoved by people in a hurry, and ‘by-your-leaved’ by + porters with trucks, and were quite, quite sure that Aunt Emma was not + there. Then suddenly the true truth of what he had forgotten to do came + home to Robert, and he said, ‘Oh, crikey!’ and stood still with his mouth + open, and let a porter with a Gladstone bag in each hand and a bundle of + umbrellas under one arm blunder heavily into him, and never so much as + said, ‘Where are you shoving to now?’ or, ‘Look out where you’re going, + can’t you?’ The heavier bag smote him at the knee, and he staggered, but + he said nothing. + </p> + <p> + When the others understood what was the matter I think they told Robert + what they thought of him. + </p> + <p> + ‘We must take the train to Croydon,’ said Anthea, ‘and find Aunt Emma.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Cyril, ‘and precious pleased those Jevonses would be to see us + and our traps.’ + </p> + <p> + Aunt Emma, indeed, was staying with some Jevonses—very prim people. + They were middle-aged and wore very smart blouses, and they were fond of + matinees and shopping, and they did not care about children. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know MOTHER would be pleased to see us if we went back,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, she would, but she’d think it was not right to show she was pleased, + because it’s Bob’s fault we’re not met. Don’t I know the sort of thing?’ + said Cyril. ‘Besides, we’ve no tin. No; we’ve got enough for a growler + among us, but not enough for tickets to the New Forest. We must just go + home. They won’t be so savage when they find we’ve really got home all + right. You know auntie was only going to take us home in a cab.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I believe we ought to go to Croydon,’ Anthea insisted. + </p> + <p> + ‘Aunt Emma would be out to a dead cert,’ said Robert. ‘Those Jevonses go + to the theatre every afternoon, I believe. Besides, there’s the Phoenix at + home, AND the carpet. I votes we call a four-wheeled cabman.’ + </p> + <p> + A four-wheeled cabman was called—his cab was one of the + old-fashioned kind with straw in the bottom—and he was asked by + Anthea to drive them very carefully to their address. This he did, and the + price he asked for doing so was exactly the value of the gold coin + grandpapa had given Cyril for Christmas. This cast a gloom; but Cyril + would never have stooped to argue about a cab-fare, for fear the cabman + should think he was not accustomed to take cabs whenever he wanted them. + For a reason that was something like this he told the cabman to put the + luggage on the steps, and waited till the wheels of the growler had + grittily retired before he rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + ‘You see,’ he said, with his hand on the handle, ‘we don’t want cook and + Eliza asking us before HIM how it is we’ve come home alone, as if we were + babies.’ + </p> + <p> + Here he rang the bell; and the moment its answering clang was heard, every + one felt that it would be some time before that bell was answered. The + sound of a bell is quite different, somehow, when there is anyone inside + the house who hears it. I can’t tell you why that is—but so it is. + </p> + <p> + ‘I expect they’re changing their dresses,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘Too late,’ said Anthea, ‘it must be past five. I expect Eliza’s gone to + post a letter, and cook’s gone to see the time.’ + </p> + <p> + Cyril rang again. And the bell did its best to inform the listening + children that there was really no one human in the house. They rang again + and listened intently. The hearts of all sank low. It is a terrible thing + to be locked out of your own house, on a dark, muggy January evening. + </p> + <p> + ‘There is no gas on anywhere,’ said Jane, in a broken voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘I expect they’ve left the gas on once too often, and the draught blew it + out, and they’re suffocated in their beds. Father always said they would + some day,’ said Robert cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s go and fetch a policeman,’ said Anthea, trembling. + </p> + <p> + ‘And be taken up for trying to be burglars—no, thank you,’ said + Cyril. ‘I heard father read out of the paper about a young man who got + into his own mother’s house, and they got him made a burglar only the + other day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I only hope the gas hasn’t hurt the Phoenix,’ said Anthea. ‘It said it + wanted to stay in the bathroom cupboard, and I thought it would be all + right, because the servants never clean that out. But if it’s gone and got + out and been choked by gas—And besides, directly we open the door we + shall be choked, too. I KNEW we ought to have gone to Aunt Emma, at + Croydon. Oh, Squirrel, I wish we had. Let’s go NOW.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Shut up,’ said her brother, briefly. ‘There’s some one rattling the latch + inside.’ Every one listened with all its ears, and every one stood back as + far from the door as the steps would allow. + </p> + <p> + The latch rattled, and clicked. Then the flap of the letter-box lifted + itself—every one saw it by the flickering light of the gas-lamp that + shone through the leafless lime-tree by the gate—a golden eye seemed + to wink at them through the letter-slit, and a cautious beak whispered— + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you alone?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s the Phoenix,’ said every one, in a voice so joyous, and so full of + relief, as to be a sort of whispered shout. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hush!’ said the voice from the letter-box slit. ‘Your slaves have gone + a-merry-making. The latch of this portal is too stiff for my beak. But at + the side—the little window above the shelf whereon your bread lies—it + is not fastened.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Righto!’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + And Anthea added, ‘I wish you’d meet us there, dear Phoenix.’ + </p> + <p> + The children crept round to the pantry window. It is at the side of the + house, and there is a green gate labelled ‘Tradesmen’s Entrance’, which is + always kept bolted. But if you get one foot on the fence between you and + next door, and one on the handle of the gate, you are over before you know + where you are. This, at least, was the experience of Cyril and Robert, and + even, if the truth must be told, of Anthea and Jane. So in almost no time + all four were in the narrow gravelled passage that runs between that house + and the next. + </p> + <p> + Then Robert made a back, and Cyril hoisted himself up and got his + knicker-bockered knee on the concrete window-sill. He dived into the + pantry head first, as one dives into water, and his legs waved in the air + as he went, just as your legs do when you are first beginning to learn to + dive. The soles of his boots—squarish muddy patches—disappeared. + </p> + <p> + ‘Give me a leg up,’ said Robert to his sisters. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, you don’t,’ said Jane firmly. ‘I’m not going to be left outside here + with just Anthea, and have something creep up behind us out of the dark. + Squirrel can go and open the back door.’ + </p> + <p> + A light had sprung awake in the pantry. Cyril always said the Phoenix + turned the gas on with its beak, and lighted it with a waft of its wing; + but he was excited at the time, and perhaps he really did it himself with + matches, and then forgot all about it. He let the others in by the back + door. And when it had been bolted again the children went all over the + house and lighted every single gas-jet they could find. For they couldn’t + help feeling that this was just the dark dreary winter’s evening when an + armed burglar might easily be expected to appear at any moment. There is + nothing like light when you are afraid of burglars—or of anything + else, for that matter. + </p> + <p> + And when all the gas-jets were lighted it was quite clear that the Phoenix + had made no mistake, and that Eliza and cook were really out, and that + there was no one in the house except the four children, and the Phoenix, + and the carpet, and the blackbeetles who lived in the cupboards on each + side of the nursery fire-place. These last were very pleased that the + children had come home again, especially when Anthea had lighted the + nursery fire. But, as usual, the children treated the loving little + blackbeetles with coldness and disdain. + </p> + <p> + I wonder whether you know how to light a fire? I don’t mean how to strike + a match and set fire to the corners of the paper in a fire someone has + laid ready, but how to lay and light a fire all by yourself. I will tell + you how Anthea did it, and if ever you have to light one yourself you may + remember how it is done. First, she raked out the ashes of the fire that + had burned there a week ago—for Eliza had actually never done this, + though she had had plenty of time. In doing this Anthea knocked her + knuckle and made it bleed. Then she laid the largest and handsomest + cinders in the bottom of the grate. Then she took a sheet of old newspaper + (you ought never to light a fire with to-day’s newspaper—it will not + burn well, and there are other reasons against it), and tore it into four + quarters, and screwed each of these into a loose ball, and put them on the + cinders; then she got a bundle of wood and broke the string, and stuck the + sticks in so that their front ends rested on the bars, and the back ends + on the back of the paper balls. In doing this she cut her finger slightly + with the string, and when she broke it, two of the sticks jumped up and + hit her on the cheek. Then she put more cinders and some bits of coal—no + dust. She put most of that on her hands, but there seemed to be enough + left for her face. Then she lighted the edges of the paper balls, and + waited till she heard the fizz-crack-crack-fizz of the wood as it began to + burn. Then she went and washed her hands and face under the tap in the + back kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Of course, you need not bark your knuckles, or cut your finger, or bruise + your cheek with wood, or black yourself all over; but otherwise, this is a + very good way to light a fire in London. In the real country fires are + lighted in a different and prettier way. + </p> + <p> + But it is always good to wash your hands and face afterwards, wherever you + are. + </p> + <p> + While Anthea was delighting the poor little blackbeetles with the cheerful + blaze, Jane had set the table for—I was going to say tea, but the + meal of which I am speaking was not exactly tea. Let us call it a tea-ish + meal. There was tea, certainly, for Anthea’s fire blazed and crackled so + kindly that it really seemed to be affectionately inviting the kettle to + come and sit upon its lap. So the kettle was brought and tea made. But no + milk could be found—so every one had six lumps of sugar to each cup + instead. The things to eat, on the other hand, were nicer than usual. The + boys looked about very carefully, and found in the pantry some cold + tongue, bread, butter, cheese, and part of a cold pudding—very much + nicer than cook ever made when they were at home. And in the kitchen + cupboard was half a Christmassy cake, a pot of strawberry jam, and about a + pound of mixed candied fruit, with soft crumbly slabs of delicious sugar + in each cup of lemon, orange, or citron. + </p> + <p> + It was indeed, as Jane said, ‘a banquet fit for an Arabian Knight.’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix perched on Robert’s chair, and listened kindly and politely to + all they had to tell it about their visit to Lyndhurst, and underneath the + table, by just stretching a toe down rather far, the faithful carpet could + be felt by all—even by Jane, whose legs were very short. + </p> + <p> + ‘Your slaves will not return to-night,’ said the Phoenix. ‘They sleep + under the roof of the cook’s stepmother’s aunt, who is, I gather, hostess + to a large party to-night in honour of her husband’s cousin’s + sister-in-law’s mother’s ninetieth birthday.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t think they ought to have gone without leave,’ said Anthea, + ‘however many relations they have, or however old they are; but I suppose + we ought to wash up.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not our business about the leave,’ said Cyril, firmly, ‘but I simply + won’t wash up for them. We got it, and we’ll clear it away; and then we’ll + go somewhere on the carpet. It’s not often we get a chance of being out + all night. We can go right away to the other side of the equator, to the + tropical climes, and see the sun rise over the great Pacific Ocean.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Right you are,’ said Robert. ‘I always did want to see the Southern Cross + and the stars as big as gas-lamps.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘DON’T go,’ said Anthea, very earnestly, ‘because I COULDN’T. I’m SURE + mother wouldn’t like us to leave the house and I should hate to be left + here alone.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’d stay with you,’ said Jane loyally. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know you would,’ said Anthea gratefully, ‘but even with you I’d much + rather not.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Cyril, trying to be kind and amiable, ‘I don’t want you to do + anything you think’s wrong, BUT—’ + </p> + <p> + He was silent; this silence said many things. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t see,’ Robert was beginning, when Anthea interrupted— + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m quite sure. Sometimes you just think a thing’s wrong, and sometimes + you KNOW. And this is a KNOW time.’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix turned kind golden eyes on her and opened a friendly beak to + say— + </p> + <p> + ‘When it is, as you say, a “know time”, there is no more to be said. And + your noble brothers would never leave you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course not,’ said Cyril rather quickly. And Robert said so too. + </p> + <p> + ‘I myself,’ the Phoenix went on, ‘am willing to help in any way possible. + I will go personally—either by carpet or on the wing—and fetch + you anything you can think of to amuse you during the evening. In order to + waste no time I could go while you wash up.—Why,’ it went on in a + musing voice, ‘does one wash up teacups and wash down the stairs?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You couldn’t wash stairs up, you know,’ said Anthea, ‘unless you began at + the bottom and went up feet first as you washed. I wish cook would try + that way for a change.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t,’ said Cyril, briefly. ‘I should hate the look of her + elastic-side boots sticking up.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This is mere trifling,’ said the Phoenix. ‘Come, decide what I shall + fetch for you. I can get you anything you like.’ + </p> + <p> + But of course they couldn’t decide. Many things were suggested—a + rocking-horse, jewelled chessmen, an elephant, a bicycle, a motor-car, + books with pictures, musical instruments, and many other things. But a + musical instrument is agreeable only to the player, unless he has learned + to play it really well; books are not sociable, bicycles cannot be ridden + without going out of doors, and the same is true of motor-cars and + elephants. Only two people can play chess at once with one set of chessmen + (and anyway it’s very much too much like lessons for a game), and only one + can ride on a rocking-horse. Suddenly, in the midst of the discussion, the + Phoenix spread its wings and fluttered to the floor, and from there it + spoke. + </p> + <p> + ‘I gather,’ it said, ‘from the carpet, that it wants you to let it go to + its old home, where it was born and brought up, and it will return within + the hour laden with a number of the most beautiful and delightful products + of its native land.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What IS its native land?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I didn’t gather. But since you can’t agree, and time is passing, and the + tea-things are not washed down—I mean washed up—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I votes we do,’ said Robert. ‘It’ll stop all this jaw, anyway. And it’s + not bad to have surprises. Perhaps it’s a Turkey carpet, and it might + bring us Turkish delight.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Or a Turkish patrol,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘Or a Turkish bath,’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Or a Turkish towel,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense,’ Robert urged, ‘it said beautiful and delightful, and towels + and baths aren’t THAT, however good they may be for you. Let it go. I + suppose it won’t give us the slip,’ he added, pushing back his chair and + standing up. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hush!’ said the Phoenix; ‘how can you? Don’t trample on its feelings just + because it’s only a carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But how can it do it—unless one of us is on it to do the wishing?’ + asked Robert. He spoke with a rising hope that it MIGHT be necessary for + one to go and why not Robert? But the Phoenix quickly threw cold water on + his new-born dream. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, you just write your wish on a paper, and pin it on the carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + So a leaf was torn from Anthea’s arithmetic book, and on it Cyril wrote in + large round-hand the following: + </p> + <p> + We wish you to go to your dear native home, and bring back the most + beautiful and delightful productions of it you can—and not to be + gone long, please. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (Signed) CYRIL. + ROBERT. + ANTHEA. + JANE. +</pre> + <p> + Then the paper was laid on the carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Writing down, please,’ said the Phoenix; ‘the carpet can’t read a paper + whose back is turned to it, any more than you can.’ + </p> + <p> + It was pinned fast, and the table and chairs having been moved, the carpet + simply and suddenly vanished, rather like a patch of water on a hearth + under a fierce fire. The edges got smaller and smaller, and then it + disappeared from sight. + </p> + <p> + ‘It may take it some time to collect the beautiful and delightful things,’ + said the Phoenix. ‘I should wash up—I mean wash down.’ + </p> + <p> + So they did. There was plenty of hot water left in the kettle, and every + one helped—even the Phoenix, who took up cups by their handles with + its clever claws and dipped them in the hot water, and then stood them on + the table ready for Anthea to dry them. But the bird was rather slow, + because, as it said, though it was not above any sort of honest work, + messing about with dish-water was not exactly what it had been brought up + to. Everything was nicely washed up, and dried, and put in its proper + place, and the dish-cloth washed and hung on the edge of the copper to + dry, and the tea-cloth was hung on the line that goes across the scullery. + (If you are a duchess’s child, or a king’s, or a person of high social + position’s child, you will perhaps not know the difference between a + dish-cloth and a tea-cloth; but in that case your nurse has been better + instructed than you, and she will tell you all about it.) And just as + eight hands and one pair of claws were being dried on the roller-towel + behind the scullery door there came a strange sound from the other side of + the kitchen wall—the side where the nursery was. It was a very + strange sound, indeed—most odd, and unlike any other sounds the + children had ever heard. At least, they had heard sounds as much like it + as a toy engine’s whistle is like a steam siren’s. + </p> + <p> + ‘The carpet’s come back,’ said Robert; and the others felt that he was + right. + </p> + <p> + ‘But what has it brought with it?’ asked Jane. ‘It sounds like Leviathan, + that great beast.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It couldn’t have been made in India, and have brought elephants? Even + baby ones would be rather awful in that room,’ said Cyril. ‘I vote we take + it in turns to squint through the keyhole.’ + </p> + <p> + They did—in the order of their ages. The Phoenix, being the eldest + by some thousands of years, was entitled to the first peep. But— + </p> + <p> + ‘Excuse me,’ it said, ruffling its golden feathers and sneezing softly; + ‘looking through keyholes always gives me a cold in my golden eyes.’ + </p> + <p> + So Cyril looked. + </p> + <p> + ‘I see something grey moving,’ said he. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a zoological garden of some sort, I bet,’ said Robert, when he had + taken his turn. And the soft rustling, bustling, ruffling, scuffling, + shuffling, fluffling noise went on inside. + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>I</i> can’t see anything,’ said Anthea, ‘my eye tickles so.’ + </p> + <p> + Then Jane’s turn came, and she put her eye to the keyhole. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a giant kitty-cat,’ she said; ‘and it’s asleep all over the floor.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Giant cats are tigers—father said so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, he didn’t. He said tigers were giant cats. It’s not at all the same + thing.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s no use sending the carpet to fetch precious things for you if you’re + afraid to look at them when they come,’ said the Phoenix, sensibly. And + Cyril, being the eldest, said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Come on,’ and turned the handle. + </p> + <p> + The gas had been left full on after tea, and everything in the room could + be plainly seen by the ten eyes at the door. At least, not everything, for + though the carpet was there it was invisible, because it was completely + covered by the hundred and ninety-nine beautiful objects which it had + brought from its birthplace. + </p> + <p> + ‘My hat!’ Cyril remarked. ‘I never thought about its being a PERSIAN + carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + Yet it was now plain that it was so, for the beautiful objects which it + had brought back were cats—Persian cats, grey Persian cats, and + there were, as I have said, 199 of them, and they were sitting on the + carpet as close as they could get to each other. But the moment the + children entered the room the cats rose and stretched, and spread and + overflowed from the carpet to the floor, and in an instant the floor was a + sea of moving, mewing pussishness, and the children with one accord + climbed to the table, and gathered up their legs, and the people next door + knocked on the wall—and, indeed, no wonder, for the mews were + Persian and piercing. + </p> + <p> + ‘This is pretty poor sport,’ said Cyril. ‘What’s the matter with the + bounders?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I imagine that they are hungry,’ said the Phoenix. ‘If you were to feed + them—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We haven’t anything to feed them with,’ said Anthea in despair, and she + stroked the nearest Persian back. ‘Oh, pussies, do be quiet—we can’t + hear ourselves think.’ + </p> + <p> + She had to shout this entreaty, for the mews were growing deafening, ‘and + it would take pounds’ and pounds’ worth of cat’s-meat.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s ask the carpet to take them away,’ said Robert. But the girls said + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They are so soft and pussy,’ said Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘And valuable,’ said Anthea, hastily. ‘We can sell them for lots and lots + of money.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why not send the carpet to get food for them?’ suggested the Phoenix, and + its golden voice came harsh and cracked with the effort it had to be make + to be heard above the increasing fierceness of the Persian mews. + </p> + <p> + So it was written that the carpet should bring food for 199 Persian cats, + and the paper was pinned to the carpet as before. + </p> + <p> + The carpet seemed to gather itself together, and the cats dropped off it, + as raindrops do from your mackintosh when you shake it. And the carpet + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Unless you have had one-hundred and ninety-nine well-grown Persian cats in + one small room, all hungry, and all saying so in unmistakable mews, you + can form but a poor idea of the noise that now deafened the children and + the Phoenix. The cats did not seem to have been at all properly brought + up. They seemed to have no idea of its being a mistake in manners to ask + for meals in a strange house—let alone to howl for them—and + they mewed, and they mewed, and they mewed, and they mewed, till the + children poked their fingers into their ears and waited in silent agony, + wondering why the whole of Camden Town did not come knocking at the door + to ask what was the matter, and only hoping that the food for the cats + would come before the neighbours did—and before all the secret of + the carpet and the Phoenix had to be given away beyond recall to an + indignant neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + The cats mewed and mewed and twisted their Persian forms in and out and + unfolded their Persian tails, and the children and the Phoenix huddled + together on the table. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix, Robert noticed suddenly, was trembling. + </p> + <p> + ‘So many cats,’ it said, ‘and they might not know I was the Phoenix. These + accidents happen so quickly. It quite un-mans me.’ + </p> + <p> + This was a danger of which the children had not thought. + </p> + <p> + ‘Creep in,’ cried Robert, opening his jacket. + </p> + <p> + And the Phoenix crept in—only just in time, for green eyes had + glared, pink noses had sniffed, white whiskers had twitched, and as Robert + buttoned his coat he disappeared to the waist in a wave of eager grey + Persian fur. And on the instant the good carpet slapped itself down on the + floor. And it was covered with rats—three hundred and ninety-eight + of them, I believe, two for each cat. + </p> + <p> + ‘How horrible!’ cried Anthea. ‘Oh, take them away!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Take yourself away,’ said the Phoenix, ‘and me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish we’d never had a carpet,’ said Anthea, in tears. + </p> + <p> + They hustled and crowded out of the door, and shut it, and locked it. + Cyril, with great presence of mind, lit a candle and turned off the gas at + the main. + </p> + <p> + ‘The rats’ll have a better chance in the dark,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + The mewing had ceased. Every one listened in breathless silence. We all + know that cats eat rats—it is one of the first things we read in our + little brown reading books; but all those cats eating all those rats—it + wouldn’t bear thinking of. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Robert sniffed, in the silence of the dark kitchen, where the + only candle was burning all on one side, because of the draught. + </p> + <p> + ‘What a funny scent!’ he said. + </p> + <p> + And as he spoke, a lantern flashed its light through the window of the + kitchen, a face peered in, and a voice said— + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s all this row about? You let me in.’ + </p> + <p> + It was the voice of the police! + </p> + <p> + Robert tip-toed to the window, and spoke through the pane that had been a + little cracked since Cyril accidentally knocked it with a walking-stick + when he was playing at balancing it on his nose. (It was after they had + been to a circus.) + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘There’s no row. You listen; everything’s as + quiet as quiet.’ And indeed it was. + </p> + <p> + The strange sweet scent grew stronger, and the Phoenix put out its beak. + </p> + <p> + The policeman hesitated. + </p> + <p> + ‘They’re MUSK-rats,’ said the Phoenix. ‘I suppose some cats eat them—but + never Persian ones. What a mistake for a well-informed carpet to make! Oh, + what a night we’re having!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do go away,’ said Robert, nervously. ‘We’re just going to bed—that’s + our bedroom candle; there isn’t any row. Everything’s as quiet as a + mouse.’ + </p> + <p> + A wild chorus of mews drowned his words, and with the mews were mingled + the shrieks of the musk-rats. What had happened? Had the cats tasted them + before deciding that they disliked the flavour? + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m a-coming in,’ said the policeman. ‘You’ve got a cat shut up there.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A cat,’ said Cyril. ‘Oh, my only aunt! A cat!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come in, then,’ said Robert. ‘It’s your own look out. I advise you not. + Wait a shake, and I’ll undo the side gate.’ + </p> + <p> + He undid the side gate, and the policeman, very cautiously, came in. And + there in the kitchen, by the light of one candle, with the mewing and the + screaming going like a dozen steam sirens, twenty waiting on motor-cars, + and half a hundred squeaking pumps, four agitated voices shouted to the + policeman four mixed and wholly different explanations of the very mixed + events of the evening. + </p> + <p> + Did you ever try to explain the simplest thing to a policeman? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 8. THE CATS, THE COW, AND THE BURGLAR + </h2> + <p> + The nursery was full of Persian cats and musk-rats that had been brought + there by the wishing carpet. The cats were mewing and the musk-rats were + squeaking so that you could hardly hear yourself speak. In the kitchen + were the four children, one candle, a concealed Phoenix, and a very + visible policeman. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now then, look here,’ said the Policeman, very loudly, and he pointed his + lantern at each child in turn, ‘what’s the meaning of this here yelling + and caterwauling. I tell you you’ve got a cat here, and some one’s a + ill-treating of it. What do you mean by it, eh?’ + </p> + <p> + It was five to one, counting the Phoenix; but the policeman, who was one, + was of unusually fine size, and the five, including the Phoenix, were + small. The mews and the squeaks grew softer, and in the comparative + silence, Cyril said— + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s true. There are a few cats here. But we’ve not hurt them. It’s quite + the opposite. We’ve just fed them.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It don’t sound like it,’ said the policeman grimly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I daresay they’re not REAL cats,’ said Jane madly, perhaps they’re only + dream-cats.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll dream-cat you, my lady,’ was the brief response of the force. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you understood anything except people who do murders and stealings and + naughty things like that, I’d tell you all about it,’ said Robert; ‘but + I’m certain you don’t. You’re not meant to shove your oar into people’s + private cat-keepings. You’re only supposed to interfere when people shout + “murder” and “stop thief” in the street. So there!’ + </p> + <p> + The policeman assured them that he should see about that; and at this + point the Phoenix, who had been making itself small on the pot-shelf under + the dresser, among the saucepan lids and the fish-kettle, walked on + tip-toed claws in a noiseless and modest manner, and left the room + unnoticed by any one. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, don’t be so horrid,’ Anthea was saying, gently and earnestly. ‘We + LOVE cats—dear pussy-soft things. We wouldn’t hurt them for worlds. + Would we, Pussy?’ + </p> + <p> + And Jane answered that of course they wouldn’t. And still the policeman + seemed unmoved by their eloquence. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, look here,’ he said, ‘I’m a-going to see what’s in that room beyond + there, and—’ + </p> + <p> + His voice was drowned in a wild burst of mewing and squeaking. And as soon + as it died down all four children began to explain at once; and though the + squeaking and mewing were not at their very loudest, yet there was quite + enough of both to make it very hard for the policeman to understand a + single word of any of the four wholly different explanations now poured + out to him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stow it,’ he said at last. ‘I’m a-goin’ into the next room in the + execution of my duty. I’m a-goin’ to use my eyes—my ears have gone + off their chumps, what with you and them cats.’ + </p> + <p> + And he pushed Robert aside, and strode through the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s tigers REALLY,’ said Jane. ‘Father said so. I wouldn’t go in, if I + were you.’ + </p> + <p> + But the policeman was quite stony; nothing any one said seemed to make any + difference to him. Some policemen are like this, I believe. He strode down + the passage, and in another moment he would have been in the room with all + the cats and all the rats (musk), but at that very instant a thin, sharp + voice screamed from the street outside— + </p> + <p> + ‘Murder—murder! Stop thief!’ + </p> + <p> + The policeman stopped, with one regulation boot heavily poised in the air. + </p> + <p> + ‘Eh?’ he said. + </p> + <p> + And again the shrieks sounded shrilly and piercingly from the dark street + outside. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come on,’ said Robert. ‘Come and look after cats while somebody’s being + killed outside.’ For Robert had an inside feeling that told him quite + plainly WHO it was that was screaming. + </p> + <p> + ‘You young rip,’ said the policeman, ‘I’ll settle up with you bimeby.’ + </p> + <p> + And he rushed out, and the children heard his boots going weightily along + the pavement, and the screams also going along, rather ahead of the + policeman; and both the murder-screams and the policeman’s boots faded + away in the remote distance. + </p> + <p> + Then Robert smacked his knickerbocker loudly with his palm, and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Good old Phoenix! I should know its golden voice anywhere.’ + </p> + <p> + And then every one understood how cleverly the Phoenix had caught at what + Robert had said about the real work of a policeman being to look after + murderers and thieves, and not after cats, and all hearts were filled with + admiring affection. + </p> + <p> + ‘But he’ll come back,’ said Anthea, mournfully, ‘as soon as it finds the + murderer is only a bright vision of a dream, and there isn’t one at all + really.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No he won’t,’ said the soft voice of the clever Phoenix, as it flew in. + ‘HE DOES NOT KNOW WHERE YOUR HOUSE IS. I heard him own as much to a fellow + mercenary. Oh! what a night we are having! Lock the door, and let us rid + ourselves of this intolerable smell of the perfume peculiar to the + musk-rat and to the house of the trimmers of beards. If you’ll excuse me, + I will go to bed. I am worn out.’ + </p> + <p> + It was Cyril who wrote the paper that told the carpet to take away the + rats and bring milk, because there seemed to be no doubt in any breast + that, however Persian cats may be, they must like milk. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s hope it won’t be musk-milk,’ said Anthea, in gloom, as she pinned + the paper face-downwards on the carpet. ‘Is there such a thing as a + musk-cow?’ she added anxiously, as the carpet shrivelled and vanished. ‘I + do hope not. Perhaps really it WOULD have been wiser to let the carpet + take the cats away. It’s getting quite late, and we can’t keep them all + night.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, can’t we?’ was the bitter rejoinder of Robert, who had been fastening + the side door. ‘You might have consulted me,’ he went on. ‘I’m not such an + idiot as some people.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, whatever—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t you see? We’ve jolly well GOT to keep the cats all night—oh, + get down, you furry beasts!—because we’ve had three wishes out of + the old carpet now, and we can’t get any more till to-morrow.’ + </p> + <p> + The liveliness of Persian mews alone prevented the occurrence of a dismal + silence. + </p> + <p> + Anthea spoke first. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Do you know, I really do think they’re quieting + down a bit. Perhaps they heard us say milk.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They can’t understand English,’ said Jane. ‘You forget they’re Persian + cats, Panther.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Anthea, rather sharply, for she was tired and anxious, ‘who + told you “milk” wasn’t Persian for milk. Lots of English words are just + the same in French—at least I know “miaw” is, and “croquet”, and + “fiance”. Oh, pussies, do be quiet! Let’s stroke them as hard as we can + with both hands, and perhaps they’ll stop.’ + </p> + <p> + So every one stroked grey fur till their hands were tired, and as soon as + a cat had been stroked enough to make it stop mewing it was pushed gently + away, and another mewing mouser was approached by the hands of the + strokers. And the noise was really more than half purr when the carpet + suddenly appeared in its proper place, and on it, instead of rows of + milk-cans, or even of milk-jugs, there was a COW. Not a Persian cow, + either, nor, most fortunately, a musk-cow, if there is such a thing, but a + smooth, sleek, dun-coloured Jersey cow, who blinked large soft eyes at the + gas-light and mooed in an amiable if rather inquiring manner. + </p> + <p> + Anthea had always been afraid of cows; but now she tried to be brave. + </p> + <p> + ‘Anyway, it can’t run after me,’ she said to herself ‘There isn’t room for + it even to begin to run.’ + </p> + <p> + The cow was perfectly placid. She behaved like a strayed duchess till some + one brought a saucer for the milk, and some one else tried to milk the cow + into it. Milking is very difficult. You may think it is easy, but it is + not. All the children were by this time strung up to a pitch of heroism + that would have been impossible to them in their ordinary condition. + Robert and Cyril held the cow by the horns; and Jane, when she was quite + sure that their end of the cow was quite secure, consented to stand by, + ready to hold the cow by the tail should occasion arise. Anthea, holding + the saucer, now advanced towards the cow. She remembered to have heard + that cows, when milked by strangers, are susceptible to the soothing + influence of the human voice. So, clutching her saucer very tight, she + sought for words to whose soothing influence the cow might be susceptible. + And her memory, troubled by the events of the night, which seemed to go on + and on for ever and ever, refused to help her with any form of words + suitable to address a Jersey cow in. + </p> + <p> + ‘Poor pussy, then. Lie down, then, good dog, lie down!’ was all that she + could think of to say, and she said it. + </p> + <p> + And nobody laughed. The situation, full of grey mewing cats, was too + serious for that. Then Anthea, with a beating heart, tried to milk the + cow. Next moment the cow had knocked the saucer out of her hand and + trampled on it with one foot, while with the other three she had walked on + a foot each of Robert, Cyril, and Jane. + </p> + <p> + Jane burst into tears. ‘Oh, how much too horrid everything is!’ she cried. + ‘Come away. Let’s go to bed and leave the horrid cats with the hateful + cow. Perhaps somebody will eat somebody else. And serve them right.’ + </p> + <p> + They did not go to bed, but they had a shivering council in the + drawing-room, which smelt of soot—and, indeed, a heap of this lay in + the fender. There had been no fire in the room since mother went away, and + all the chairs and tables were in the wrong places, and the chrysanthemums + were dead, and the water in the pot nearly dried up. Anthea wrapped the + embroidered woolly sofa blanket round Jane and herself, while Robert and + Cyril had a struggle, silent and brief, but fierce, for the larger share + of the fur hearthrug. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is most truly awful,’ said Anthea, ‘and I am so tired. Let’s let the + cats loose.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And the cow, perhaps?’ said Cyril. ‘The police would find us at once. + That cow would stand at the gate and mew—I mean moo—to come + in. And so would the cats. No; I see quite well what we’ve got to do. We + must put them in baskets and leave them on people’s doorsteps, like orphan + foundlings.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ve got three baskets, counting mother’s work one,’ said Jane + brightening. + </p> + <p> + ‘And there are nearly two hundred cats,’ said Anthea, ‘besides the cow—and + it would have to be a different-sized basket for her; and then I don’t + know how you’d carry it, and you’d never find a doorstep big enough to put + it on. Except the church one—and—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, well,’ said Cyril, ‘if you simply MAKE difficulties—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m with you,’ said Robert. ‘Don’t fuss about the cow, Panther. It’s + simply GOT to stay the night, and I’m sure I’ve read that the cow is a + remunerating creature, and that means it will sit still and think for + hours. The carpet can take it away in the morning. And as for the baskets, + we’ll do them up in dusters, or pillow-cases, or bath-towels. Come on, + Squirrel. You girls can be out of it if you like.’ + </p> + <p> + His tone was full of contempt, but Jane and Anthea were too tired and + desperate to care; even being ‘out of it’, which at other times they could + not have borne, now seemed quite a comfort. They snuggled down in the sofa + blanket, and Cyril threw the fur hearthrug over them. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, he said, ‘that’s all women are fit for—to keep safe and warm, + while the men do the work and run dangers and risks and things.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m not,’ said Anthea, ‘you know I’m not.’ But Cyril was gone. + </p> + <p> + It was warm under the blanket and the hearthrug, and Jane snuggled up + close to her sister; and Anthea cuddled Jane closely and kindly, and in a + sort of dream they heard the rise of a wave of mewing as Robert opened the + door of the nursery. They heard the booted search for baskets in the back + kitchen. They heard the side door open and close, and they knew that each + brother had gone out with at least one cat. Anthea’s last thought was that + it would take at least all night to get rid of one hundred and ninety-nine + cats by twos. There would be ninety-nine journeys of two cats each, and + one cat over. + </p> + <p> + ‘I almost think we might keep the one cat over,’ said Anthea. ‘I don’t + seem to care for cats just now, but I daresay I shall again some day.’ And + she fell asleep. Jane also was sleeping. + </p> + <p> + It was Jane who awoke with a start, to find Anthea still asleep. As, in + the act of awakening, she kicked her sister, she wondered idly why they + should have gone to bed in their boots; but the next moment she remembered + where they were. + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of muffled, shuffled feet on the stairs. Like the + heroine of the classic poem, Jane ‘thought it was the boys’, and as she + felt quite wide awake, and not nearly so tired as before, she crept gently + from Anthea’s side and followed the footsteps. They went down into the + basement; the cats, who seemed to have fallen into the sleep of + exhaustion, awoke at the sound of the approaching footsteps and mewed + piteously. Jane was at the foot of the stairs before she saw it was not + her brothers whose coming had roused her and the cats, but a burglar. She + knew he was a burglar at once, because he wore a fur cap and a red and + black charity-check comforter, and he had no business where he was. + </p> + <p> + If you had been stood in jane’s shoes you would no doubt have run away in + them, appealing to the police and neighbours with horrid screams. But Jane + knew better. She had read a great many nice stories about burglars, as + well as some affecting pieces of poetry, and she knew that no burglar will + ever hurt a little girl if he meets her when burgling. Indeed, in all the + cases Jane had read of, his burglarishness was almost at once forgotten in + the interest he felt in the little girl’s artless prattle. So if Jane + hesitated for a moment before addressing the burglar, it was only because + she could not at once think of any remark sufficiently prattling and + artless to make a beginning with. In the stories and the affecting poetry + the child could never speak plainly, though it always looked old enough to + in the pictures. And Jane could not make up her mind to lisp and ‘talk + baby’, even to a burglar. And while she hesitated he softly opened the + nursery door and went in. + </p> + <p> + Jane followed—just in time to see him sit down flat on the floor, + scattering cats as a stone thrown into a pool splashes water. + </p> + <p> + She closed the door softly and stood there, still wondering whether she + COULD bring herself to say, ‘What’s ‘oo doing here, Mithter Wobber?’ and + whether any other kind of talk would do. + </p> + <p> + Then she heard the burglar draw a long breath, and he spoke. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a judgement,’ he said, ‘so help me bob if it ain’t. Oh, ‘ere’s a + thing to ‘appen to a chap! Makes it come ‘ome to you, don’t it neither? + Cats an’ cats an’ cats. There couldn’t be all them cats. Let alone the + cow. If she ain’t the moral of the old man’s Daisy. She’s a dream out of + when I was a lad—I don’t mind ‘er so much. ‘Ere, Daisy, Daisy?’ + </p> + <p> + The cow turned and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘SHE’S all right,’ he went on. ‘Sort of company, too. Though them above + knows how she got into this downstairs parlour. But them cats—oh, + take ‘em away, take ‘em away! I’ll chuck the ‘ole show—Oh, take ‘em + away.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Burglar,’ said Jane, close behind him, and he started convulsively, and + turned on her a blank face, whose pale lips trembled. ‘I can’t take those + cats away.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lor’ lumme!’ exclaimed the man; ‘if ‘ere ain’t another on ‘em. Are you + real, miss, or something I’ll wake up from presently?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am quite real,’ said Jane, relieved to find that a lisp was not needed + to make the burglar understand her. ‘And so,’ she added, ‘are the cats.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then send for the police, send for the police, and I’ll go quiet. If you + ain’t no realler than them cats, I’m done, spunchuck—out of time. + Send for the police. I’ll go quiet. One thing, there’d not be room for + ‘arf them cats in no cell as ever <i>I</i> see.’ + </p> + <p> + He ran his fingers through his hair, which was short, and his eyes + wandered wildly round the roomful of cats. + </p> + <p> + ‘Burglar,’ said Jane, kindly and softly, ‘if you didn’t like cats, what + did you come here for?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Send for the police,’ was the unfortunate criminal’s only reply. ‘I’d + rather you would—honest, I’d rather.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I daren’t,’ said Jane, ‘and besides, I’ve no one to send. I hate the + police. I wish he’d never been born.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ve a feeling ‘art, miss,’ said the burglar; ‘but them cats is really + a little bit too thick.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ said Jane, ‘I won’t call the police. And I am quite a real + little girl, though I talk older than the kind you’ve met before when + you’ve been doing your burglings. And they are real cats—and they + want real milk—and—Didn’t you say the cow was like somebody’s + Daisy that you used to know?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wish I may die if she ain’t the very spit of her,’ replied the man. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, then,’ said Jane—and a thrill of joyful pride ran through her—‘perhaps + you know how to milk cows?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps I does,’ was the burglar’s cautious rejoinder. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then,’ said Jane, ‘if you will ONLY milk ours—you don’t know how we + shall always love you.’ + </p> + <p> + The burglar replied that loving was all very well. + </p> + <p> + ‘If those cats only had a good long, wet, thirsty drink of milk,’ Jane + went on with eager persuasion, ‘they’d lie down and go to sleep as likely + as not, and then the police won’t come back. But if they go on mewing like + this he will, and then I don’t know what’ll become of us, or you either.’ + </p> + <p> + This argument seemed to decide the criminal. Jane fetched the wash-bowl + from the sink, and he spat on his hands and prepared to milk the cow. At + this instant boots were heard on the stairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s all up,’ said the man, desperately, ‘this ‘ere’s a plant. ‘ERE’S the + police.’ He made as if to open the window and leap from it. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s all right, I tell you,’ whispered Jane, in anguish. ‘I’ll say you’re + a friend of mine, or the good clergyman called in, or my uncle, or + ANYTHING—only do, do, do milk the cow. Oh, DON’T go—oh—oh, + thank goodness it’s only the boys!’ + </p> + <p> + It was; and their entrance had awakened Anthea, who, with her brothers, + now crowded through the doorway. The man looked about him like a rat looks + round a trap. + </p> + <p> + ‘This is a friend of mine,’ said Jane; ‘he’s just called in, and he’s + going to milk the cow for us. ISN’T it good and kind of him?’ + </p> + <p> + She winked at the others, and though they did not understand they played + up loyally. + </p> + <p> + ‘How do?’ said Cyril, ‘Very glad to meet you. Don’t let us interrupt the + milking.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall ‘ave a ‘ead and a ‘arf in the morning, and no bloomin’ error,’ + remarked the burglar; but he began to milk the cow. + </p> + <p> + Robert was winked at to stay and see that he did not leave off milking or + try to escape, and the others went to get things to put the milk in; for + it was now spurting and foaming in the wash-bowl, and the cats had ceased + from mewing and were crowding round the cow, with expressions of hope and + anticipation on their whiskered faces. + </p> + <p> + ‘We can’t get rid of any more cats,’ said Cyril, as he and his sisters + piled a tray high with saucers and soup-plates and platters and + pie-dishes, ‘the police nearly got us as it was. Not the same one—a + much stronger sort. He thought it really was a foundling orphan we’d got. + If it hadn’t been for me throwing the two bags of cat slap in his eye and + hauling Robert over a railing, and lying like mice under a laurel-bush—Well, + it’s jolly lucky I’m a good shot, that’s all. He pranced off when he’d got + the cat-bags off his face—thought we’d bolted. And here we are.’ + </p> + <p> + The gentle samishness of the milk swishing into the hand-bowl seemed to + have soothed the burglar very much. He went on milking in a sort of happy + dream, while the children got a cap and ladled the warm milk out into the + pie-dishes and plates, and platters and saucers, and set them down to the + music of Persian purrs and lappings. + </p> + <p> + ‘It makes me think of old times,’ said the burglar, smearing his ragged + coat-cuff across his eyes—‘about the apples in the orchard at home, + and the rats at threshing time, and the rabbits and the ferrets, and how + pretty it was seeing the pigs killed.’ + </p> + <p> + Finding him in this softened mood, Jane said— + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish you’d tell us how you came to choose our house for your burglaring + to-night. I am awfully glad you did. You have been so kind. I don’t know + what we should have done without you,’ she added hastily. ‘We all love you + ever so. Do tell us.’ + </p> + <p> + The others added their affectionate entreaties, and at last the burglar + said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, it’s my first job, and I didn’t expect to be made so welcome, and + that’s the truth, young gents and ladies. And I don’t know but what it + won’t be my last. For this ‘ere cow, she reminds me of my father, and I + know ‘ow ‘e’d ‘ave ‘ided me if I’d laid ‘ands on a ‘a’penny as wasn’t my + own.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m sure he would,’ Jane agreed kindly; ‘but what made you come here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, miss,’ said the burglar, ‘you know best ‘ow you come by them cats, + and why you don’t like the police, so I’ll give myself away free, and + trust to your noble ‘earts. (You’d best bale out a bit, the pan’s getting + fullish.) I was a-selling oranges off of my barrow—for I ain’t a + burglar by trade, though you ‘ave used the name so free—an’ there + was a lady bought three ‘a’porth off me. An’ while she was a-pickin’ of + them out—very careful indeed, and I’m always glad when them sort + gets a few over-ripe ones—there was two other ladies talkin’ over + the fence. An’ one on ‘em said to the other on ‘em just like this— + </p> + <p> + “‘I’ve told both gells to come, and they can doss in with M’ria and Jane, + ‘cause their boss and his missis is miles away and the kids too. So they + can just lock up the ‘ouse and leave the gas a-burning, so’s no one won’t + know, and get back bright an’ early by ‘leven o’clock. And we’ll make a + night of it, Mrs Prosser, so we will. I’m just a-going to run out to pop + the letter in the post.” And then the lady what had chosen the three + ha’porth so careful, she said: “Lor, Mrs Wigson, I wonder at you, and your + hands all over suds. This good gentleman’ll slip it into the post for yer, + I’ll be bound, seeing I’m a customer of his.” So they give me the letter, + and of course I read the direction what was written on it afore I shoved + it into the post. And then when I’d sold my barrowful, I was a-goin’ ‘ome + with the chink in my pocket, and I’m blowed if some bloomin’ thievin’ + beggar didn’t nick the lot whilst I was just a-wettin’ of my whistle, for + callin’ of oranges is dry work. Nicked the bloomin’ lot ‘e did—and + me with not a farden to take ‘ome to my brother and his missus.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How awful!’ said Anthea, with much sympathy. + </p> + <p> + ‘Horful indeed, miss, I believe yer,’ the burglar rejoined, with deep + feeling. ‘You don’t know her temper when she’s roused. An’ I’m sure I ‘ope + you never may, neither. And I’d ‘ad all my oranges off of ‘em. So it came + back to me what was wrote on the ongverlope, and I says to myself, “Why + not, seein’ as I’ve been done myself, and if they keeps two slaveys there + must be some pickings?” An’ so ‘ere I am. But them cats, they’ve brought + me back to the ways of honestness. Never no more.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘these cats are very valuable—very indeed. + And we will give them all to you, if only you will take them away.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I see they’re a breedy lot,’ replied the burglar. ‘But I don’t want no + bother with the coppers. Did you come by them honest now? Straight?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They are all our very own,’ said Anthea, ‘we wanted them, but the + confidement—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Consignment,’ whispered Cyril, ‘was larger than we wanted, and they’re an + awful bother. If you got your barrow, and some sacks or baskets, your + brother’s missus would be awfully pleased. My father says Persian cats are + worth pounds and pounds each.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said the burglar—and he was certainly moved by her remarks—‘I + see you’re in a hole—and I don’t mind lending a helping ‘and. I + don’t ask ‘ow you come by them. But I’ve got a pal—‘e’s a mark on + cats. I’ll fetch him along, and if he thinks they’d fetch anything above + their skins I don’t mind doin’ you a kindness.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You won’t go away and never come back,’ said Jane, ‘because I don’t think + I COULD bear that.’ + </p> + <p> + The burglar, quite touched by her emotion, swore sentimentally that, alive + or dead, he would come back. + </p> + <p> + Then he went, and Cyril and Robert sent the girls to bed and sat up to + wait for his return. It soon seemed absurd to await him in a state of + wakefulness, but his stealthy tap on the window awoke them readily enough. + For he did return, with the pal and the barrow and the sacks. The pal + approved of the cats, now dormant in Persian repletion, and they were + bundled into the sacks, and taken away on the barrow—mewing, indeed, + but with mews too sleepy to attract public attention. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m a fence—that’s what I am,’ said the burglar gloomily. ‘I never + thought I’d come down to this, and all acause er my kind ‘eart.’ + </p> + <p> + Cyril knew that a fence is a receiver of stolen goods, and he replied + briskly— + </p> + <p> + ‘I give you my sacred the cats aren’t stolen. What do you make the time?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I ain’t got the time on me,’ said the pal—‘but it was just about + chucking-out time as I come by the “Bull and Gate”. I shouldn’t wonder if + it was nigh upon one now.’ + </p> + <p> + When the cats had been removed, and the boys and the burglar had parted + with warm expressions of friendship, there remained only the cow. + </p> + <p> + ‘She must stay all night,’ said Robert. ‘Cook’ll have a fit when she sees + her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All night?’ said Cyril. ‘Why—it’s tomorrow morning if it’s one. We + can have another wish!’ + </p> + <p> + So the carpet was urged, in a hastily written note, to remove the cow to + wherever she belonged, and to return to its proper place on the nursery + floor. But the cow could not be got to move on to the carpet. So Robert + got the clothes line out of the back kitchen, and tied one end very firmly + to the cow’s horns, and the other end to a bunched-up corner of the + carpet, and said ‘Fire away.’ + </p> + <p> + And the carpet and cow vanished together, and the boys went to bed, tired + out and only too thankful that the evening at last was over. + </p> + <p> + Next morning the carpet lay calmly in its place, but one corner was very + badly torn. It was the corner that the cow had been tied on to. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 9. THE BURGLAR’S BRIDE + </h2> + <p> + The morning after the adventure of the Persian cats, the musk-rats, the + common cow, and the uncommon burglar, all the children slept till it was + ten o’clock; and then it was only Cyril who woke; but he attended to the + others, so that by half past ten every one was ready to help to get + breakfast. It was shivery cold, and there was but little in the house that + was really worth eating. + </p> + <p> + Robert had arranged a thoughtful little surprise for the absent servants. + He had made a neat and delightful booby trap over the kitchen door, and as + soon as they heard the front door click open and knew the servants had + come back, all four children hid in the cupboard under the stairs and + listened with delight to the entrance—the tumble, the splash, the + scuffle, and the remarks of the servants. They heard the cook say it was a + judgement on them for leaving the place to itself; she seemed to think + that a booby trap was a kind of plant that was quite likely to grow, all + by itself, in a dwelling that was left shut up. But the housemaid, more + acute, judged that someone must have been in the house—a view + confirmed by the sight of the breakfast things on the nursery table. + </p> + <p> + The cupboard under the stairs was very tight and paraffiny, however, and a + silent struggle for a place on top ended in the door bursting open and + discharging Jane, who rolled like a football to the feet of the servants. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Cyril, firmly, when the cook’s hysterics had become quieter, + and the housemaid had time to say what she thought of them, ‘don’t you + begin jawing us. We aren’t going to stand it. We know too much. You’ll + please make an extra special treacle roley for dinner, and we’ll have a + tinned tongue.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I daresay,’ said the housemaid, indignant, still in her outdoor things + and with her hat very much on one side. ‘Don’t you come a-threatening me, + Master Cyril, because I won’t stand it, so I tell you. You tell your ma + about us being out? Much I care! She’ll be sorry for me when she hears + about my dear great-aunt by marriage as brought me up from a child and was + a mother to me. She sent for me, she did, she wasn’t expected to last the + night, from the spasms going to her legs—and cook was that kind and + careful she couldn’t let me go alone, so—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t,’ said Anthea, in real distress. ‘You know where liars go to, Eliza—at + least if you don’t—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Liars indeed!’ said Eliza, ‘I won’t demean myself talking to you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How’s Mrs Wigson?’ said Robert, ‘and DID you keep it up last night?’ + </p> + <p> + The mouth of the housemaid fell open. + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you doss with Maria or Emily?’ asked Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘How did Mrs Prosser enjoy herself?’ asked Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘Forbear,’ said Cyril, ‘they’ve had enough. Whether we tell or not depends + on your later life,’ he went on, addressing the servants. ‘If you are + decent to us we’ll be decent to you. You’d better make that treacle roley—and + if I were you, Eliza, I’d do a little housework and cleaning, just for a + change.’ + </p> + <p> + The servants gave in once and for all. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s nothing like firmness,’ Cyril went on, when the breakfast things + were cleared away and the children were alone in the nursery. ‘People are + always talking of difficulties with servants. It’s quite simple, when you + know the way. We can do what we like now and they won’t peach. I think + we’ve broken THEIR proud spirit. Let’s go somewhere by carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ said the Phoenix, yawning, as it swooped down + from its roost on the curtain pole. ‘I’ve given you one or two hints, but + now concealment is at an end, and I see I must speak out.’ + </p> + <p> + It perched on the back of a chair and swayed to and fro, like a parrot on + a swing. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s the matter now?’ said Anthea. She was not quite so gentle as + usual, because she was still weary from the excitement of last night’s + cats. ‘I’m tired of things happening. I shan’t go anywhere on the carpet. + I’m going to darn my stockings.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Darn!’ said the Phoenix, ‘darn! From those young lips these strange + expressions—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mend, then,’ said Anthea, ‘with a needle and wool.’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix opened and shut its wings thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘Your stockings,’ it said, ‘are much less important than they now appear + to you. But the carpet—look at the bare worn patches, look at the + great rent at yonder corner. The carpet has been your faithful friend—your + willing servant. How have you requited its devoted service?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dear Phoenix,’ Anthea urged, ‘don’t talk in that horrid lecturing tone. + You make me feel as if I’d done something wrong. And really it is a + wishing carpet, and we haven’t done anything else to it—only + wishes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Only wishes,’ repeated the Phoenix, ruffling its neck feathers angrily, + ‘and what sort of wishes? Wishing people to be in a good temper, for + instance. What carpet did you ever hear of that had such a wish asked of + it? But this noble fabric, on which you trample so recklessly’ (every one + removed its boots from the carpet and stood on the linoleum), ‘this carpet + never flinched. It did what you asked, but the wear and tear must have + been awful. And then last night—I don’t blame you about the cats and + the rats, for those were its own choice; but what carpet could stand a + heavy cow hanging on to it at one corner?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should think the cats and rats were worse,’ said Robert, ‘look at all + their claws.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said the bird, ‘eleven thousand nine hundred and forty of them—I + daresay you noticed? I should be surprised if these had not left their + mark.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good gracious,’ said Jane, sitting down suddenly on the floor, and + patting the edge of the carpet softly; ‘do you mean it’s WEARING OUT?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Its life with you has not been a luxurious one,’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘French mud twice. Sand of sunny shores twice. Soaking in southern seas + once. India once. Goodness knows where in Persia once. Musk-rat-land once. + And once, wherever the cow came from. Hold your carpet up to the light, + and with cautious tenderness, if YOU please.’ + </p> + <p> + With cautious tenderness the boys held the carpet up to the light; the + girls looked, and a shiver of regret ran through them as they saw how + those eleven thoousand nine hundred and forty claws had run through the + carpet. It was full of little holes: there were some large ones, and more + than one thin place. At one corner a strip of it was torn, and hung + forlornly. + </p> + <p> + ‘We must mend it,’ said Anthea; ‘never mind about my stockings. I can sew + them up in lumps with sewing cotton if there’s no time to do them + properly. I know it’s awful and no girl would who respected herself, and + all that; but the poor dear carpet’s more important than my silly + stockings. Let’s go out now this very minute.’ + </p> + <p> + So out they all went, and bought wool to mend the carpet; but there is no + shop in Camden Town where you can buy wishing-wool, no, nor in Kentish + Town either. However, ordinary Scotch heather-mixture fingering seemed + good enough, and this they bought, and all that day Jane and Anthea darned + and darned and darned. The boys went out for a walk in the afternoon, and + the gentle Phoenix paced up and down the table—for exercise, as it + said—and talked to the industrious girls about their carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is not an ordinary, ignorant, innocent carpet from Kidderminster,’ it + said, ‘it is a carpet with a past—a Persian past. Do you know that + in happier years, when that carpet was the property of caliphs, viziers, + kings, and sultans, it never lay on a floor?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I thought the floor was the proper home of a carpet,’ Jane interrupted. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not of a MAGIC carpet,’ said the Phoenix; ‘why, if it had been allowed to + lie about on floors there wouldn’t be much of it left now. No, indeed! It + has lived in chests of cedarwood, inlaid with pearl and ivory, wrapped in + priceless tissues of cloth of gold, embroidered with gems of fabulous + value. It has reposed in the sandal-wood caskets of princesses, and in the + rose-attar-scented treasure-houses of kings. Never, never, had any one + degraded it by walking on it—except in the way of business, when + wishes were required, and then they always took their shoes off. And YOU—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, DON’T!’ said Jane, very near tears. ‘You know you’d never have been + hatched at all if it hadn’t been for mother wanting a carpet for us to + walk on.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You needn’t have walked so much or so hard!’ said the bird, ‘but come, + dry that crystal tear, and I will relate to you the story of the Princess + Zulieka, the Prince of Asia, and the magic carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Relate away,’ said Anthea—‘I mean, please do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The Princess Zulieka, fairest of royal ladies,’ began the bird, ‘had in + her cradle been the subject of several enchantments. Her grandmother had + been in her day—’ + </p> + <p> + But what in her day Zulieka’s grandmother had been was destined never to + be revealed, for Cyril and Robert suddenly burst into the room, and on + each brow were the traces of deep emotion. On Cyril’s pale brow stood + beads of agitation and perspiration, and on the scarlet brow of Robert was + a large black smear. + </p> + <p> + ‘What ails ye both?’ asked the Phoenix, and it added tartly that + story-telling was quite impossible if people would come interrupting like + that. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, do shut up, for any sake!’ said Cyril, sinking into a chair. + </p> + <p> + Robert smoothed the ruffled golden feathers, adding kindly— + </p> + <p> + ‘Squirrel doesn’t mean to be a beast. It’s only that the MOST AWFUL thing + has happened, and stories don’t seem to matter so much. Don’t be cross. + You won’t be when you’ve heard what’s happened.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, what HAS happened?’ said the bird, still rather crossly; and Anthea + and Jane paused with long needles poised in air, and long needlefuls of + Scotch heather-mixture fingering wool drooping from them. + </p> + <p> + ‘The most awful thing you can possibly think of,’ said Cyril. ‘That nice + chap—our own burglar—the police have got him, on suspicion of + stolen cats. That’s what his brother’s missis told me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, begin at the beginning!’ cried Anthea impatiently. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, then, we went out, and down by where the undertaker’s is, with the + china flowers in the window—you know. There was a crowd, and of + course we went to have a squint. And it was two bobbies and our burglar + between them, and he was being dragged along; and he said, “I tell you + them cats was GIVE me. I got ‘em in exchange for me milking a cow in a + basement parlour up Camden Town way.” + </p> + <p> + ‘And the people laughed. Beasts! And then one of the policemen said + perhaps he could give the name and address of the cow, and he said, no, he + couldn’t; but he could take them there if they’d only leave go of his coat + collar, and give him a chance to get his breath. And the policeman said he + could tell all that to the magistrate in the morning. He didn’t see us, + and so we came away.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, Cyril, how COULD you?’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t be a pudding-head,’ Cyril advised. ‘A fat lot of good it would have + done if we’d let him see us. No one would have believed a word we said. + They’d have thought we were kidding. We did better than let him see us. We + asked a boy where he lived and he told us, and we went there, and it’s a + little greengrocer’s shop, and we bought some Brazil nuts. Here they are.’ + The girls waved away the Brazil nuts with loathing and contempt. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, we had to buy SOMETHING, and while we were making up our minds what + to buy we heard his brother’s missis talking. She said when he came home + with all them miaoulers she thought there was more in it than met the eye. + But he WOULD go out this morning with the two likeliest of them, one under + each arm. She said he sent her out to buy blue ribbon to put round their + beastly necks, and she said if he got three months’ hard it was her dying + word that he’d got the blue ribbon to thank for it; that, and his own + silly thieving ways, taking cats that anybody would know he couldn’t have + come by in the way of business, instead of things that wouldn’t have been + missed, which Lord knows there are plenty such, and—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, STOP!’ cried Jane. And indeed it was time, for Cyril seemed like a + clock that had been wound up, and could not help going on. ‘Where is he + now?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘At the police-station,’ said Robert, for Cyril was out of breath. ‘The + boy told us they’d put him in the cells, and would bring him up before the + Beak in the morning. I thought it was a jolly lark last night—getting + him to take the cats—but now—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The end of a lark,’ said the Phoenix, ‘is the Beak.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let’s go to him,’ cried both the girls jumping up. ‘Let’s go and tell the + truth. They MUST believe us.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They CAN’T,’ said Cyril. ‘Just think! If any one came to you with such a + tale, you couldn’t believe it, however much you tried. We should only mix + things up worse for him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There must be something we could do,’ said Jane, sniffing very much—‘my + own dear pet burglar! I can’t bear it. And he was so nice, the way he + talked about his father, and how he was going to be so extra honest. Dear + Phoenix, you MUST be able to help us. You’re so good and kind and pretty + and clever. Do, do tell us what to do.’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix rubbed its beak thoughtfully with its claw. + </p> + <p> + ‘You might rescue him,’ it said, ‘and conceal him here, till the + law-supporters had forgotten about him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That would be ages and ages,’ said Cyril, ‘and we couldn’t conceal him + here. Father might come home at any moment, and if he found the burglar + here HE wouldn’t believe the true truth any more than the police would. + That’s the worst of the truth. Nobody ever believes it. Couldn’t we take + him somewhere else?’ + </p> + <p> + Jane clapped her hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘The sunny southern shore!’ she cried, ‘where the cook is being queen. He + and she would be company for each other!’ + </p> + <p> + And really the idea did not seem bad, if only he would consent to go. + </p> + <p> + So, all talking at once, the children arranged to wait till evening, and + then to seek the dear burglar in his lonely cell. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Jane and Anthea darned away as hard as they could, to make the + carpet as strong as possible. For all felt how terrible it would be if the + precious burglar, while being carried to the sunny southern shore, were to + tumble through a hole in the carpet, and be lost for ever in the sunny + southern sea. + </p> + <p> + The servants were tired after Mrs Wigson’s party, so every one went to bed + early, and when the Phoenix reported that both servants were snoring in a + heartfelt and candid manner, the children got up—they had never + undressed; just putting their nightgowns on over their things had been + enough to deceive Eliza when she came to turn out the gas. So they were + ready for anything, and they stood on the carpet and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish we were in our burglar’s lonely cell.’ and instantly they were. + </p> + <p> + I think every one had expected the cell to be the ‘deepest dungeon below + the castle moat’. I am sure no one had doubted that the burglar, chained + by heavy fetters to a ring in the damp stone wall, would be tossing + uneasily on a bed of straw, with a pitcher of water and a mouldering + crust, untasted, beside him. Robert, remembering the underground passage + and the treasure, had brought a candle and matches, but these were not + needed. + </p> + <p> + The cell was a little white-washed room about twelve feet long and six + feet wide. On one side of it was a sort of shelf sloping a little towards + the wall. On this were two rugs, striped blue and yellow, and a + water-proof pillow. Rolled in the rugs, and with his head on the pillow, + lay the burglar, fast asleep. (He had had his tea, though this the + children did not know—it had come from the coffee-shop round the + corner, in very thick crockery.) The scene was plainly revealed by the + light of a gas-lamp in the passage outside, which shone into the cell + through a pane of thick glass over the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall gag him,’ said Cyril, ‘and Robert will hold him down. Anthea and + Jane and the Phoenix can whisper soft nothings to him while he gradually + awakes.’ + </p> + <p> + This plan did not have the success it deserved, because the burglar, + curiously enough, was much stronger, even in his sleep, than Robert and + Cyril, and at the first touch of their hands he leapt up and shouted out + something very loud indeed. + </p> + <p> + Instantly steps were heard outside. Anthea threw her arms round the + burglar and whispered— + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s us—the ones that gave you the cats. We’ve come to save you, + only don’t let on we’re here. Can’t we hide somewhere?’ + </p> + <p> + Heavy boots sounded on the flagged passage outside, and a firm voice + shouted— + </p> + <p> + ‘Here—you—stop that row, will you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All right, governor,’ replied the burglar, still with Anthea’s arms round + him; ‘I was only a-talking in my sleep. No offence.’ + </p> + <p> + It was an awful moment. Would the boots and the voice come in. Yes! No! + The voice said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, stow it, will you?’ + </p> + <p> + And the boots went heavily away, along the passage and up some sounding + stone stairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now then,’ whispered Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘How the blue Moses did you get in?’ asked the burglar, in a hoarse + whisper of amazement. + </p> + <p> + ‘On the carpet,’ said Jane, truly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stow that,’ said the burglar. ‘One on you I could ‘a’ swallowed, but four—AND + a yellow fowl.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ said Cyril, sternly, ‘you wouldn’t have believed any one if + they’d told you beforehand about your finding a cow and all those cats in + our nursery.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That I wouldn’t,’ said the burglar, with whispered fervour, ‘so help me + Bob, I wouldn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, then,’ Cyril went on, ignoring this appeal to his brother, ‘just + try to believe what we tell you and act accordingly. It can’t do you any + HARM, you know,’ he went on in hoarse whispered earnestness. ‘You can’t be + very much worse off than you are now, you know. But if you’ll just trust + to us we’ll get you out of this right enough. No one saw us come in. The + question is, where would you like to go?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’d like to go to Boolong,’ was the instant reply of the burglar. ‘I’ve + always wanted to go on that there trip, but I’ve never ‘ad the ready at + the right time of the year.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Boolong is a town like London,’ said Cyril, well meaning, but inaccurate, + ‘how could you get a living there?’ + </p> + <p> + The burglar scratched his head in deep doubt. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s ‘ard to get a ‘onest living anywheres nowadays,’ he said, and his + voice was sad. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Jane, sympathetically; ‘but how about a sunny + southern shore, where there’s nothing to do at all unless you want to.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s my billet, miss,’ replied the burglar. ‘I never did care about + work—not like some people, always fussing about.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you never like any sort of work?’ asked Anthea, severely. + </p> + <p> + ‘Lor’, lumme, yes,’ he answered, ‘gardening was my ‘obby, so it was. But + father died afore ‘e could bind me to a nurseryman, an’—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ll take you to the sunny southern shore,’ said Jane; ‘you’ve no idea + what the flowers are like.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Our old cook’s there,’ said Anthea. ‘She’s queen—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, chuck it,’ the burglar whispered, clutching at his head with both + hands. ‘I knowed the first minute I see them cats and that cow as it was a + judgement on me. I don’t know now whether I’m a-standing on my hat or my + boots, so help me I don’t. If you CAN get me out, get me, and if you + can’t, get along with you for goodness’ sake, and give me a chanst to + think about what’ll be most likely to go down with the Beak in the + morning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come on to the carpet, then,’ said Anthea, gently shoving. The others + quietly pulled, and the moment the feet of the burglar were planted on the + carpet Anthea wished: + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish we were all on the sunny southern shore where cook is.’ + </p> + <p> + And instantly they were. There were the rainbow sands, the tropic glories + of leaf and flower, and there, of course, was the cook, crowned with white + flowers, and with all the wrinkles of crossness and tiredness and hard + work wiped out of her face. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, cook, you’re quite pretty!’ Anthea said, as soon as she had got her + breath after the tumble-rush-whirl of the carpet. The burglar stood + rubbing his eyes in the brilliant tropic sunlight, and gazing wildly round + him on the vivid hues of the tropic land. + </p> + <p> + ‘Penny plain and tuppence coloured!’ he exclaimed pensively, ‘and well + worth any tuppence, however hard-earned.’ + </p> + <p> + The cook was seated on a grassy mound with her court of copper-coloured + savages around her. The burglar pointed a grimy finger at these. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are they tame?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Do they bite or scratch, or do + anything to yer with poisoned arrows or oyster shells or that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t you be so timid,’ said the cook. ‘Look’e ‘ere, this ‘ere’s only a + dream what you’ve come into, an’ as it’s only a dream there’s no nonsense + about what a young lady like me ought to say or not, so I’ll say you’re + the best-looking fellow I’ve seen this many a day. And the dream goes on + and on, seemingly, as long as you behaves. The things what you has to eat + and drink tastes just as good as real ones, and—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Look ‘ere,’ said the burglar, ‘I’ve come ‘ere straight outer the pleece + station. These ‘ere kids’ll tell you it ain’t no blame er mine.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, you WERE a burglar, you know,’ said the truthful Anthea gently. + </p> + <p> + ‘Only because I was druv to it by dishonest blokes, as well you knows, + miss,’ rejoined the criminal. ‘Blowed if this ain’t the ‘ottest January as + I’ve known for years.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wouldn’t you like a bath?’ asked the queen, ‘and some white clothes like + me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should only look a juggins in ‘em, miss, thanking you all the same,’ + was the reply; ‘but a bath I wouldn’t resist, and my shirt was only clean + on week before last.’ + </p> + <p> + Cyril and Robert led him to a rocky pool, where he bathed luxuriously. + Then, in shirt and trousers he sat on the sand and spoke. + </p> + <p> + ‘That cook, or queen, or whatever you call her—her with the white + bokay on her ‘ed—she’s my sort. Wonder if she’d keep company!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should ask her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I was always a quick hitter,’ the man went on; ‘it’s a word and a blow + with me. I will.’ + </p> + <p> + In shirt and trousers, and crowned with a scented flowery wreath which + Cyril hastily wove as they returned to the court of the queen, the burglar + stood before the cook and spoke. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look ‘ere, miss,’ he said. ‘You an’ me being’ all forlorn-like, both on + us, in this ‘ere dream, or whatever you calls it, I’d like to tell you + straight as I likes yer looks.’ + </p> + <p> + The cook smiled and looked down bashfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m a single man—what you might call a batcheldore. I’m mild in my + ‘abits, which these kids’ll tell you the same, and I’d like to ‘ave the + pleasure of walkin’ out with you next Sunday.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lor!’ said the queen cook, ‘’ow sudden you are, mister.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Walking out means you’re going to be married,’ said Anthea. ‘Why not get + married and have done with it? <i>I</i> would.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t mind if I do,’ said the burglar. But the cook said— + </p> + <p> + ‘No, miss. Not me, not even in a dream. I don’t say anythink ag’in the + young chap’s looks, but I always swore I’d be married in church, if at all—and, + anyway, I don’t believe these here savages would know how to keep a + registering office, even if I was to show them. No, mister, thanking you + kindly, if you can’t bring a clergyman into the dream I’ll live and die + like what I am.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Will you marry her if we get a clergyman?’ asked the match-making Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m agreeable, miss, I’m sure,’ said he, pulling his wreath straight. + ‘’Ow this ‘ere bokay do tiddle a chap’s ears to be sure!’ + </p> + <p> + So, very hurriedly, the carpet was spread out, and instructed to fetch a + clergyman. The instructions were written on the inside of Cyril’s cap with + a piece of billiard chalk Robert had got from the marker at the hotel at + Lyndhurst. The carpet disappeared, and more quickly than you would have + thought possible it came back, bearing on its bosom the Reverend Septimus + Blenkinsop. + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Septimus was rather a nice young man, but very much mazed and + muddled, because when he saw a strange carpet laid out at his feet, in his + own study, he naturally walked on it to examine it more closely. And he + happened to stand on one of the thin places that Jane and Anthea had + darned, so that he was half on wishing carpet and half on plain Scotch + heather-mixture fingering, which has no magic properties at all. + </p> + <p> + The effect of this was that he was only half there—so that the + children could just see through him, as though he had been a ghost. And as + for him, he saw the sunny southern shore, the cook and the burglar and the + children quite plainly; but through them all he saw, quite plainly also, + his study at home, with the books and the pictures and the marble clock + that had been presented to him when he left his last situation. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to himself to be in a sort of insane fit, so that it did not + matter what he did—and he married the burglar to the cook. The cook + said that she would rather have had a solider kind of a clergyman, one + that you couldn’t see through so plain, but perhaps this was real enough + for a dream. + </p> + <p> + And of course the clergyman, though misty, was really real, and able to + marry people, and he did. When the ceremony was over the clergyman + wandered about the island collecting botanical specimens, for he was a + great botanist, and the ruling passion was strong even in an insane fit. + </p> + <p> + There was a splendid wedding feast. Can you fancy Jane and Anthea, and + Robert and Cyril, dancing merrily in a ring, hand-in-hand with + copper-coloured savages, round the happy couple, the queen cook and the + burglar consort? There were more flowers gathered and thrown than you have + ever even dreamed of, and before the children took carpet for home the now + married-and-settled burglar made a speech. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘and savages of both kinds, only I know + you can’t understand what I’m a saying of, but we’ll let that pass. If + this is a dream, I’m on. If it ain’t, I’m onner than ever. If it’s betwixt + and between—well, I’m honest, and I can’t say more. I don’t want no + more ‘igh London society—I’ve got some one to put my arm around of; + and I’ve got the whole lot of this ‘ere island for my allotment, and if I + don’t grow some broccoli as’ll open the judge’s eye at the cottage flower + shows, well, strike me pink! All I ask is, as these young gents and + ladies’ll bring some parsley seed into the dream, and a penn’orth of + radish seed, and threepenn’orth of onion, and I wouldn’t mind goin’ to + fourpence or fippence for mixed kale, only I ain’t got a brown, so I don’t + deceive you. And there’s one thing more, you might take away the parson. I + don’t like things what I can see ‘alf through, so here’s how!’ He drained + a coconut-shell of palm wine. + </p> + <p> + It was now past midnight—though it was tea-time on the island. + </p> + <p> + With all good wishes the children took their leave. They also collected + the clergyman and took him back to his study and his presentation clock. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix kindly carried the seeds next day to the burglar and his + bride, and returned with the most satisfactory news of the happy pair. + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s made a wooden spade and started on his allotment,’ it said, ‘and she + is weaving him a shirt and trousers of the most radiant whiteness.’ + </p> + <p> + The police never knew how the burglar got away. In Kentish Town Police + Station his escape is still spoken of with bated breath as the Persian + mystery. + </p> + <p> + As for the Reverend Septimus Blenkinsop, he felt that he had had a very + insane fit indeed, and he was sure it was due to over-study. So he planned + a little dissipation, and took his two maiden aunts to Paris, where they + enjoyed a dazzling round of museums and picture galleries, and came back + feeling that they had indeed seen life. He never told his aunts or any one + else about the marriage on the island—because no one likes it to be + generally known if he has had insane fits, however interesting and + unusual. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 10. THE HOLE IN THE CARPET + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Hooray! hooray! hooray! + Mother comes home to-day; + Mother comes home to-day, + Hooray! hooray! hooray!’ +</pre> + <p> + Jane sang this simple song directly after breakfast, and the Phoenix shed + crystal tears of affectionate sympathy. + </p> + <p> + ‘How beautiful,’ it said, ‘is filial devotion!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She won’t be home till past bedtime, though,’ said Robert. ‘We might have + one more carpet-day.’ + </p> + <p> + He was glad that mother was coming home—quite glad, very glad; but + at the same time that gladness was rudely contradicted by a quite strong + feeling of sorrow, because now they could not go out all day on the + carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘I do wish we could go and get something nice for mother, only she’d want + to know where we got it,’ said Anthea. ‘And she’d never, never believe it, + the truth. People never do, somehow, if it’s at all interesting.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Robert. ‘Suppose we wished the carpet to take + us somewhere where we could find a purse with money in it—then we + could buy her something.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Suppose it took us somewhere foreign, and the purse was covered with + strange Eastern devices, embroidered in rich silks, and full of money that + wasn’t money at all here, only foreign curiosities, then we couldn’t spend + it, and people would bother about where we got it, and we shouldn’t know + how on earth to get out of it at all.’ + </p> + <p> + Cyril moved the table off the carpet as he spoke, and its leg caught in + one of Anthea’s darns and ripped away most of it, as well as a large slit + in the carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, now you HAVE done it,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + But Anthea was a really first-class sister. She did not say a word till + she had got out the Scotch heather-mixture fingering wool and the + darning-needle and the thimble and the scissors, and by that time she had + been able to get the better of her natural wish to be thoroughly + disagreeable, and was able to say quite kindly— + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind, Squirrel, I’ll soon mend it.’ + </p> + <p> + Cyril thumped her on the back. He understood exactly how she had felt, and + he was not an ungrateful brother. + </p> + <p> + ‘Respecting the purse containing coins,’ the Phoenix said, scratching its + invisible ear thoughtfully with its shining claw, ‘it might be as well, + perhaps, to state clearly the amount which you wish to find, as well as + the country where you wish to find it, and the nature of the coins which + you prefer. It would be indeed a cold moment when you should find a purse + containing but three oboloi.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How much is an oboloi?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘An obol is about twopence halfpenny,’ the Phoenix replied. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Jane, ‘and if you find a purse I suppose it is only because + some one has lost it, and you ought to take it to the policeman.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The situation,’ remarked the Phoenix, ‘does indeed bristle with + difficulties.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What about a buried treasure,’ said Cyril, ‘and every one was dead that + it belonged to?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mother wouldn’t believe THAT,’ said more than one voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘Suppose,’ said Robert—‘suppose we asked to be taken where we could + find a purse and give it back to the person it belonged to, and they would + give us something for finding it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We aren’t allowed to take money from strangers. You know we aren’t, + Bobs,’ said Anthea, making a knot at the end of a needleful of Scotch + heather-mixture fingering wool (which is very wrong, and you must never do + it when you are darning). + </p> + <p> + ‘No, THAT wouldn’t do,’ said Cyril. ‘Let’s chuck it and go to the North + Pole, or somewhere really interesting.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said the girls together, ‘there must be SOME way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wait a sec,’ Anthea added. ‘I’ve got an idea coming. Don’t speak.’ + </p> + <p> + There was a silence as she paused with the darning-needle in the air! + Suddenly she spoke: + </p> + <p> + ‘I see. Let’s tell the carpet to take us somewhere where we can get the + money for mother’s present, and—and—and get it some way that + she’ll believe in and not think wrong.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I must say you are learning the way to get the most out of the + carpet,’ said Cyril. He spoke more heartily and kindly than usual, because + he remembered how Anthea had refrained from snarking him about tearing the + carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said the Phoenix, ‘you certainly are. And you have to remember that + if you take a thing out it doesn’t stay in.’ + </p> + <p> + No one paid any attention to this remark at the time, but afterwards every + one thought of it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do hurry up, Panther,’ said Robert; and that was why Anthea did hurry up, + and why the big darn in the middle of the carpet was all open and webby + like a fishing net, not tight and close like woven cloth, which is what a + good, well-behaved darn should be. + </p> + <p> + Then every one put on its outdoor things, the Phoenix fluttered on to the + mantelpiece and arranged its golden feathers in the glass, and all was + ready. Every one got on to the carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Please go slowly, dear carpet,’ Anthea began; we like to see where we’re + going.’ And then she added the difficult wish that had been decided on. + </p> + <p> + Next moment the carpet, stiff and raftlike, was sailing over the roofs of + Kentish Town. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish—No, I don’t mean that. I mean it’s a PITY we aren’t higher + up,’ said Anthea, as the edge of the carpet grazed a chimney-pot. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s right. Be careful,’ said the Phoenix, in warning tones. ‘If you + wish when you’re on a wishing carpet, you DO wish, and there’s an end of + it.’ + </p> + <p> + So for a short time no one spoke, and the carpet sailed on in calm + magnificence over St Pancras and King’s Cross stations and over the + crowded streets of Clerkenwell. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’re going out Greenwich way,’ said Cyril, as they crossed the streak of + rough, tumbled water that was the Thames. ‘We might go and have a look at + the Palace.’ + </p> + <p> + On and on the carpet swept, still keeping much nearer to the chimney-pots + than the children found at all comfortable. And then, just over New Cross, + a terrible thing happened. + </p> + <p> + Jane and Robert were in the middle of the carpet. Part of them was on the + carpet, and part of them—the heaviest part—was on the great + central darn. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s all very misty,’ said Jane; ‘it looks partly like out of doors and + partly like in the nursery at home. I feel as if I was going to have + measles; everything looked awfully rum then, remember.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I feel just exactly the same,’ Robert said. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s the hole,’ said the Phoenix; ‘it’s not measles whatever that + possession may be.’ + </p> + <p> + And at that both Robert and Jane suddenly, and at once, made a bound to + try and get on to the safer part of the carpet, and the darn gave way and + their boots went up, and the heavy heads and bodies of them went down + through the hole, and they landed in a position something between sitting + and sprawling on the flat leads on the top of a high, grey, gloomy, + respectable house whose address was 705, Amersham Road, New Cross. + </p> + <p> + The carpet seemed to awaken to new energy as soon as it had got rid of + their weight, and it rose high in the air. The others lay down flat and + peeped over the edge of the rising carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you hurt?’ cried Cyril, and Robert shouted ‘No,’ and next moment the + carpet had sped away, and Jane and Robert were hidden from the sight of + the others by a stack of smoky chimneys. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, how awful!’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘It might have been worse,’ said the Phoenix. ‘What would have been the + sentiments of the survivors if that darn had given way when we were + crossing the river?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, there’s that,’ said Cyril, recovering himself. ‘They’ll be all + right. They’ll howl till some one gets them down, or drop tiles into the + front garden to attract attention of passersby. Bobs has got my + one-and-fivepence—lucky you forgot to mend that hole in my pocket, + Panther, or he wouldn’t have had it. They can tram it home.’ + </p> + <p> + But Anthea would not be comforted. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s all my fault,’ she said. ‘I KNEW the proper way to darn, and I + didn’t do it. It’s all my fault. Let’s go home and patch the carpet with + your Etons—something really strong—and send it to fetch them.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All right,’ said Cyril; ‘but your Sunday jacket is stronger than my + Etons. We must just chuck mother’s present, that’s all. I wish—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Stop!’ cried the Phoenix; ‘the carpet is dropping to earth.’ + </p> + <p> + And indeed it was. + </p> + <p> + It sank swiftly, yet steadily, and landed on the pavement of the Deptford + Road. It tipped a little as it landed, so that Cyril and Anthea naturally + walked off it, and in an instant it had rolled itself up and hidden behind + a gate-post. It did this so quickly that not a single person in the + Deptford Road noticed it. The Phoenix rustled its way into the breast of + Cyril’s coat, and almost at the same moment a well-known voice remarked— + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I never! What on earth are you doing here?’ + </p> + <p> + They were face to face with their pet uncle—their Uncle Reginald. + </p> + <p> + ‘We DID think of going to Greenwich Palace and talking about Nelson,’ said + Cyril, telling as much of the truth as he thought his uncle could believe. + </p> + <p> + ‘And where are the others?’ asked Uncle Reginald. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t exactly know,’ Cyril replied, this time quite truthfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Uncle Reginald, ‘I must fly. I’ve a case in the County Court. + That’s the worst of being a beastly solicitor. One can’t take the chances + of life when one gets them. If only I could come with you to the Painted + Hall and give you lunch at the “Ship” afterwards! But, alas! it may not + be.’ + </p> + <p> + The uncle felt in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>I</i> mustn’t enjoy myself,’ he said, ‘but that’s no reason why you + shouldn’t. Here, divide this by four, and the product ought to give you + some desired result. Take care of yourselves. Adieu.’ + </p> + <p> + And waving a cheery farewell with his neat umbrella, the good and + high-hatted uncle passed away, leaving Cyril and Anthea to exchange + eloquent glances over the shining golden sovereign that lay in Cyril’s + hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well!’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well!’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well!’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good old carpet!’ said Cyril, joyously. + </p> + <p> + ‘It WAS clever of it—so adequate and yet so simple,’ said the + Phoenix, with calm approval. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, come on home and let’s mend the carpet. I am a beast. I’d forgotten + the others just for a minute,’ said the conscience-stricken Anthea. + </p> + <p> + They unrolled the carpet quickly and slyly—they did not want to + attract public attention—and the moment their feet were on the + carpet Anthea wished to be at home, and instantly they were. + </p> + <p> + The kindness of their excellent uncle had made it unnecessary for them to + go to such extremes as Cyril’s Etons or Anthea’s Sunday jacket for the + patching of the carpet. + </p> + <p> + Anthea set to work at once to draw the edges of the broken darn together, + and Cyril hastily went out and bought a large piece of the + marble-patterned American oil-cloth which careful house-wives use to cover + dressers and kitchen tables. It was the strongest thing he could think of. + </p> + <p> + Then they set to work to line the carpet throughout with the oil-cloth. + The nursery felt very odd and empty without the others, and Cyril did not + feel so sure as he had done about their being able to ‘tram it’ home. So + he tried to help Anthea, which was very good of him, but not much use to + her. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix watched them for a time, but it was plainly growing more and + more restless. It fluffed up its splendid feathers, and stood first on one + gilded claw and then on the other, and at last it said— + </p> + <p> + ‘I can bear it no longer. This suspense! My Robert—who set my egg to + hatch—in the bosom of whose Norfolk raiment I have nestled so often + and so pleasantly! I think, if you’ll excuse me—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes—DO,’ cried Anthea, ‘I wish we’d thought of asking you before.’ + </p> + <p> + Cyril opened the window. The Phoenix flapped its sunbright wings and + vanished. + </p> + <p> + ‘So THAT’S all right,’ said Cyril, taking up his needle and instantly + pricking his hand in a new place. + </p> + <p> + Of course I know that what you have really wanted to know about all this + time is not what Anthea and Cyril did, but what happened to Jane and + Robert after they fell through the carpet on to the leads of the house + which was called number 705, Amersham Road. + </p> + <p> + But I had to tell you the other first. That is one of the most annoying + things about stories, you cannot tell all the different parts of them at + the same time. + </p> + <p> + Robert’s first remark when he found himself seated on the damp, cold, + sooty leads was— + </p> + <p> + ‘Here’s a go!’ + </p> + <p> + Jane’s first act was tears. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dry up, Pussy; don’t be a little duffer,’ said her brother, kindly, + ‘it’ll be all right.’ + </p> + <p> + And then he looked about, just as Cyril had known he would, for something + to throw down, so as to attract the attention of the wayfarers far below + in the street. He could not find anything. Curiously enough, there were no + stones on the leads, not even a loose tile. The roof was of slate, and + every single slate knew its place and kept it. But, as so often happens, + in looking for one thing he found another. There was a trap-door leading + down into the house. + </p> + <p> + And that trap-door was not fastened. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stop snivelling and come here, Jane,’ he cried, encouragingly. ‘Lend a + hand to heave this up. If we can get into the house, we might sneak down + without meeting any one, with luck. Come on.’ + </p> + <p> + They heaved up the door till it stood straight up, and, as they bent to + look into the hole below, the door fell back with a hollow clang on the + leads behind, and with its noise was mingled a blood-curdling scream from + underneath. + </p> + <p> + ‘Discovered!’ hissed Robert. ‘Oh, my cats alive!’ + </p> + <p> + They were indeed discovered. + </p> + <p> + They found themselves looking down into an attic, which was also a + lumber-room. It had boxes and broken chairs, old fenders and + picture-frames, and rag-bags hanging from nails. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the floor was a box, open, half full of clothes. Other + clothes lay on the floor in neat piles. In the middle of the piles of + clothes sat a lady, very fat indeed, with her feet sticking out straight + in front of her. And it was she who had screamed, and who, in fact, was + still screaming. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t!’ cried Jane, ‘please don’t! We won’t hurt you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Where are the rest of your gang?’ asked the lady, stopping short in the + middle of a scream. + </p> + <p> + ‘The others have gone on, on the wishing carpet,’ said Jane truthfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘The wishing carpet?’ said the lady. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Jane, before Robert could say ‘You shut up!’ ‘You must have + read about it. The Phoenix is with them.’ + </p> + <p> + Then the lady got up, and picking her way carefully between the piles of + clothes she got to the door and through it. She shut it behind her, and + the two children could hear her calling ‘Septimus! Septimus!’ in a loud + yet frightened way. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Robert quickly; ‘I’ll drop first.’ + </p> + <p> + He hung by his hands and dropped through the trap-door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now you. Hang by your hands. I’ll catch you. Oh, there’s no time for jaw. + Drop, I say.’ + </p> + <p> + Jane dropped. + </p> + <p> + Robert tried to catch her, and even before they had finished the + breathless roll among the piles of clothes, which was what his catching + ended in, he whispered— + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ll hide—behind those fenders and things; they’ll think we’ve + gone along the roofs. Then, when all is calm, we’ll creep down the stairs + and take our chance.’ + </p> + <p> + They hastily hid. A corner of an iron bedstead stuck into Robert’s side, + and Jane had only standing room for one foot—but they bore it—and + when the lady came back, not with Septimus, but with another lady, they + held their breath and their hearts beat thickly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Gone!’ said the first lady; ‘poor little things—quite mad, my dear—and + at large! We must lock this room and send for the police.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me look out,’ said the second lady, who was, if possible, older and + thinner and primmer than the first. So the two ladies dragged a box under + the trap-door and put another box on the top of it, and then they both + climbed up very carefully and put their two trim, tidy heads out of the + trap-door to look for the ‘mad children’. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ whispered Robert, getting the bedstead leg out of his side. + </p> + <p> + They managed to creep out from their hiding-place and out through the door + before the two ladies had done looking out of the trap-door on to the + empty leads. + </p> + <p> + Robert and Jane tiptoed down the stairs—one flight, two flights. + Then they looked over the banisters. Horror! a servant was coming up with + a loaded scuttle. + </p> + <p> + The children with one consent crept swiftly through the first open door. + </p> + <p> + The room was a study, calm and gentlemanly, with rows of books, a writing + table, and a pair of embroidered slippers warming themselves in the + fender. The children hid behind the window-curtains. As they passed the + table they saw on it a missionary-box with its bottom label torn off, open + and empty. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, how awful!’ whispered Jane. ‘We shall never get away alive.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Hush!’ said Robert, not a moment too soon, for there were steps on the + stairs, and next instant the two ladies came into the room. They did not + see the children, but they saw the empty missionary box. + </p> + <p> + ‘I knew it,’ said one. ‘Selina, it WAS a gang. I was certain of it from + the first. The children were not mad. They were sent to distract our + attention while their confederates robbed the house.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am afraid you are right,’ said Selina; ‘and WHERE ARE THEY NOW?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Downstairs, no doubt, collecting the silver milk-jug and sugar-basin and + the punch-ladle that was Uncle Joe’s, and Aunt Jerusha’s teaspoons. I + shall go down.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, don’t be so rash and heroic,’ said Selina. ‘Amelia, we must call the + police from the window. Lock the door. I WILL—I will—’ + </p> + <p> + The words ended in a yell as Selina, rushing to the window, came face to + face with the hidden children. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, don’t!’ said Jane; ‘how can you be so unkind? We AREN’T burglars, and + we haven’t any gang, and we didn’t open your missionary-box. We opened our + own once, but we didn’t have to use the money, so our consciences made us + put it back and—DON’T! Oh, I wish you wouldn’t—’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Selina had seized Jane and Miss Amelia captured Robert. The children + found themselves held fast by strong, slim hands, pink at the wrists and + white at the knuckles. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ve got YOU, at any rate,’ said Miss Amelia. ‘Selina, your captive is + smaller than mine. You open the window at once and call “Murder!” as loud + as you can. + </p> + <p> + Selina obeyed; but when she had opened the window, instead of calling + ‘Murder!’ she called ‘Septimus!’ because at that very moment she saw her + nephew coming in at the gate. + </p> + <p> + In another minute he had let himself in with his latch-key and had mounted + the stairs. As he came into the room Jane and Robert each uttered a shriek + of joy so loud and so sudden that the ladies leaped with surprise, and + nearly let them go. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s our own clergyman,’ cried Jane. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t you remember us?’ asked Robert. ‘You married our burglar for us—don’t + you remember?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I KNEW it was a gang,’ said Amelia. ‘Septimus, these abandoned children + are members of a desperate burgling gang who are robbing the house. They + have already forced the missionary-box and purloined its contents.’ + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Septimus passed his hand wearily over his brow. + </p> + <p> + ‘I feel a little faint,’ he said, ‘running upstairs so quickly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We never touched the beastly box,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then your confederates did,’ said Miss Selina. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no,’ said the curate, hastily. ‘<i>I</i> opened the box myself. This + morning I found I had not enough small change for the Mothers’ Independent + Unity Measles and Croup Insurance payments. I suppose this is NOT a dream, + is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dream? No, indeed. Search the house. I insist upon it.’ + </p> + <p> + The curate, still pale and trembling, searched the house, which, of + course, was blamelessly free of burglars. + </p> + <p> + When he came back he sank wearily into his chair. + </p> + <p> + ‘Aren’t you going to let us go?’ asked Robert, with furious indignation, + for there is something in being held by a strong lady that sets the blood + of a boy boiling in his veins with anger and despair. ‘We’ve never done + anything to you. It’s all the carpet. It dropped us on the leads. WE + couldn’t help it. You know how it carried you over to the island, and you + had to marry the burglar to the cook.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, my head!’ said the curate. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind your head just now,’ said Robert; ‘try to be honest and + honourable, and do your duty in that state of life!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This is a judgement on me for something, I suppose,’ said the Reverend + Septimus, wearily, ‘but I really cannot at the moment remember what.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Send for the police,’ said Miss Selina. + </p> + <p> + ‘Send for a doctor,’ said the curate. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you think they ARE mad, then,’ said Miss Amelia. + </p> + <p> + ‘I think I am,’ said the curate. + </p> + <p> + Jane had been crying ever since her capture. Now she said— ‘You + aren’t now, but perhaps you will be, if—And it would serve you jolly + well right, too.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Aunt Selina,’ said the curate, ‘and Aunt Amelia, believe me, this is only + an insane dream. You will realize it soon. It has happened to me before. + But do not let us be unjust, even in a dream. Do not hold the children; + they have done no harm. As I said before, it was I who opened the box.’ + </p> + <p> + The strong, bony hands unwillingly loosened their grasp. Robert shook + himself and stood in sulky resentment. But Jane ran to the curate and + embraced him so suddenly that he had not time to defend himself. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re a dear,’ she said. ‘It IS like a dream just at first, but you get + used to it. Now DO let us go. There’s a good, kind, honourable clergyman.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know,’ said the Reverend Septimus; ‘it’s a difficult problem. It + is such a very unusual dream. Perhaps it’s only a sort of other life—quite + real enough for you to be mad in. And if you’re mad, there might be a + dream-asylum where you’d be kindly treated, and in time restored, cured, + to your sorrowing relatives. It is very hard to see your duty plainly, + even in ordinary life, and these dream-circumstances are so complicated—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If it’s a dream,’ said Robert, ‘you will wake up directly, and then you’d + be sorry if you’d sent us into a dream-asylum, because you might never get + into the same dream again and let us out, and so we might stay there for + ever, and then what about our sorrowing relatives who aren’t in the dreams + at all?’ + </p> + <p> + But all the curate could now say was, ‘Oh, my head!’ + </p> + <p> + And Jane and Robert felt quite ill with helplessness and hopelessness. A + really conscientious curate is a very difficult thing to manage. + </p> + <p> + And then, just as the hopelessness and the helplessness were getting to be + almost more than they could bear, the two children suddenly felt that + extraordinary shrinking feeling that you always have when you are just + going to vanish. And the next moment they had vanished, and the Reverend + Septimus was left alone with his aunts. + </p> + <p> + ‘I knew it was a dream,’ he cried, wildly. ‘I’ve had something like it + before. Did you dream it too, Aunt Selina, and you, Aunt Amelia? I dreamed + that you did, you know.’ + </p> + <p> + Aunt Selina looked at him and then at Aunt Amelia. Then she said boldly— + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you mean? WE haven’t been dreaming anything. You must have + dropped off in your chair.’ + </p> + <p> + The curate heaved a sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, if it’s only <i>I</i>,’ he said; ‘if we’d all dreamed it I could + never have believed it, never!’ + </p> + <p> + Afterwards Aunt Selina said to the other aunt— + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I know it was an untruth, and I shall doubtless be punished for it + in due course. But I could see the poor dear fellow’s brain giving way + before my very eyes. He couldn’t have stood the strain of three dreams. It + WAS odd, wasn’t it? All three of us dreaming the same thing at the same + moment. We must never tell dear Seppy. But I shall send an account of it + to the Psychical Society, with stars instead of names, you know.’ + </p> + <p> + And she did. And you can read all about it in one of the society’s fat + Blue-books. + </p> + <p> + Of course, you understand what had happened? The intelligent Phoenix had + simply gone straight off to the Psammead, and had wished Robert and Jane + at home. And, of course, they were at home at once. Cyril and Anthea had + not half finished mending the carpet. + </p> + <p> + When the joyful emotions of reunion had calmed down a little, they all + went out and spent what was left of Uncle Reginald’s sovereign in presents + for mother. They bought her a pink silk handkerchief, a pair of blue and + white vases, a bottle of scent, a packet of Christmas candles, and a cake + of soap shaped and coloured like a tomato, and one that was so like an + orange that almost any one you had given it to would have tried to peel it—if + they liked oranges, of course. Also they bought a cake with icing on, and + the rest of the money they spent on flowers to put in the vases. + </p> + <p> + When they had arranged all the things on a table, with the candles stuck + up on a plate ready to light the moment mother’s cab was heard, they + washed themselves thoroughly and put on tidier clothes. + </p> + <p> + Then Robert said, ‘Good old Psammead,’ and the others said so too. + </p> + <p> + ‘But, really, it’s just as much good old Phoenix,’ said Robert. ‘Suppose + it hadn’t thought of getting the wish!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ said the Phoenix, ‘it is perhaps fortunate for you that I am such a + competent bird.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s mother’s cab,’ cried Anthea, and the Phoenix hid and they lighted + the candles, and next moment mother was home again. + </p> + <p> + She liked her presents very much, and found their story of Uncle Reginald + and the sovereign easy and even pleasant to believe. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good old carpet,’ were Cyril’s last sleepy words. + </p> + <p> + ‘What there is of it,’ said the Phoenix, from the cornice-pole. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 11. THE BEGINNING OF THE END + </h2> + <p> + ‘Well, I MUST say,’ mother said, looking at the wishing carpet as it lay, + all darned and mended and backed with shiny American cloth, on the floor + of the nursery—‘I MUST say I’ve never in my life bought such a bad + bargain as that carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + A soft ‘Oh!’ of contradiction sprang to the lips of Cyril, Robert, Jane, + and Anthea. Mother looked at them quickly, and said— + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, of course, I see you’ve mended it very nicely, and that was sweet + of you, dears.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The boys helped too,’ said the dears, honourably. + </p> + <p> + ‘But, still—twenty-two and ninepence! It ought to have lasted for + years. It’s simply dreadful now. Well, never mind, darlings, you’ve done + your best. I think we’ll have coconut matting next time. A carpet doesn’t + have an easy life of it in this room, does it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not our fault, mother, is it, that our boots are the really reliable + kind?’ Robert asked the question more in sorrow than in anger. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, dear, we can’t help our boots,’ said mother, cheerfully, ‘but we + might change them when we come in, perhaps. It’s just an idea of mine. I + wouldn’t dream of scolding on the very first morning after I’ve come home. + Oh, my Lamb, how could you?’ + </p> + <p> + This conversation was at breakfast, and the Lamb had been beautifully good + until every one was looking at the carpet, and then it was for him but the + work of a moment to turn a glass dish of syrupy blackberry jam upside down + on his young head. It was the work of a good many minutes and several + persons to get the jam off him again, and this interesting work took + people’s minds off the carpet, and nothing more was said just then about + its badness as a bargain and about what mother hoped for from coconut + matting. + </p> + <p> + When the Lamb was clean again he had to be taken care of while mother + rumpled her hair and inked her fingers and made her head ache over the + difficult and twisted house-keeping accounts which cook gave her on dirty + bits of paper, and which were supposed to explain how it was that cook had + only fivepence-half-penny and a lot of unpaid bills left out of all the + money mother had sent her for house-keeping. Mother was very clever, but + even she could not quite understand the cook’s accounts. + </p> + <p> + The Lamb was very glad to have his brothers and sisters to play with him. + He had not forgotten them a bit, and he made them play all the old + exhausting games: ‘Whirling Worlds’, where you swing the baby round and + round by his hands; and ‘Leg and Wing’, where you swing him from side to + side by one ankle and one wrist. There was also climbing Vesuvius. In this + game the baby walks up you, and when he is standing on your shoulders, you + shout as loud as you can, which is the rumbling of the burning mountain, + and then tumble him gently on to the floor, and roll him there, which is + the destruction of Pompeii. + </p> + <p> + ‘All the same, I wish we could decide what we’d better say next time + mother says anything about the carpet,’ said Cyril, breathlessly ceasing + to be a burning mountain. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, you talk and decide,’ said Anthea; ‘here, you lovely ducky Lamb. + Come to Panther and play Noah’s Ark.’ + </p> + <p> + The Lamb came with his pretty hair all tumbled and his face all dusty from + the destruction of Pompeii, and instantly became a baby snake, hissing and + wriggling and creeping in Anthea’s arms, as she said— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘I love my little baby snake, + He hisses when he is awake, + He creeps with such a wriggly creep, + He wriggles even in his sleep.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘Crocky,’ said the Lamb, and showed all his little teeth. So Anthea went + on— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘I love my little crocodile, + I love his truthful toothful smile; + It is so wonderful and wide, + I like to see it—FROM OUTSIDE.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘Well, you see,’ Cyril was saying; ‘it’s just the old bother. Mother can’t + believe the real true truth about the carpet, and—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You speak sooth, O Cyril,’ remarked the Phoenix, coming out from the + cupboard where the blackbeetles lived, and the torn books, and the broken + slates, and odd pieces of toys that had lost the rest of themselves. ‘Now + hear the wisdom of Phoenix, the son of the Phoenix—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There is a society called that,’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where is it? And what is a society?’ asked the bird. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a sort of joined-together lot of people—a sort of brotherhood—a + kind of—well, something very like your temple, you know, only quite + different.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I take your meaning,’ said the Phoenix. ‘I would fain see these calling + themselves Sons of the Phoenix.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But what about your words of wisdom?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wisdom is always welcome,’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘Pretty Polly!’ remarked the Lamb, reaching his hands towards the golden + speaker. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix modestly retreated behind Robert, and Anthea hastened to + distract the attention of the Lamb by murmuring— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I love my little baby rabbit; + But oh! he has a dreadful habit + Of paddling out among the rocks + And soaking both his bunny socks.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘I don’t think you’d care about the sons of the Phoenix, really,’ said + Robert. ‘I have heard that they don’t do anything fiery. They only drink a + great deal. Much more than other people, because they drink lemonade and + fizzy things, and the more you drink of those the more good you get.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In your mind, perhaps,’ said Jane; ‘but it wouldn’t be good in your body. + You’d get too balloony.’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix yawned. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ said Anthea; ‘I really have an idea. This isn’t like a common + carpet. It’s very magic indeed. Don’t you think, if we put Tatcho on it, + and then gave it a rest, the magic part of it might grow, like hair is + supposed to do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It might,’ said Robert; ‘but I should think paraffin would do as well—at + any rate as far as the smell goes, and that seems to be the great thing + about Tatcho.’ + </p> + <p> + But with all its faults Anthea’s idea was something to do, and they did + it. + </p> + <p> + It was Cyril who fetched the Tatcho bottle from father’s washhand-stand. + But the bottle had not much in it. + </p> + <p> + ‘We mustn’t take it all,’ Jane said, ‘in case father’s hair began to come + off suddenly. If he hadn’t anything to put on it, it might all drop off + before Eliza had time to get round to the chemist’s for another bottle. It + would be dreadful to have a bald father, and it would all be our fault.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And wigs are very expensive, I believe,’ said Anthea. ‘Look here, leave + enough in the bottle to wet father’s head all over with in case any + emergency emerges—and let’s make up with paraffin. I expect it’s the + smell that does the good really—and the smell’s exactly the same.’ + </p> + <p> + So a small teaspoonful of the Tatcho was put on the edges of the worst + darn in the carpet and rubbed carefully into the roots of the hairs of it, + and all the parts that there was not enough Tatcho for had paraffin rubbed + into them with a piece of flannel. Then the flannel was burned. It made a + gay flame, which delighted the Phoenix and the Lamb. + </p> + <p> + ‘How often,’ said mother, opening the door—‘how often am I to tell + you that you are NOT to play with paraffin? What have you been doing?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We have burnt a paraffiny rag,’ Anthea answered. + </p> + <p> + It was no use telling mother what they had done to the carpet. She did not + know it was a magic carpet, and no one wants to be laughed at for trying + to mend an ordinary carpet with lamp-oil. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, don’t do it again,’ said mother. ‘And now, away with melancholy! + Father has sent a telegram. Look!’ She held it out, and the children, + holding it by its yielding corners, read— + </p> + <p> + ‘Box for kiddies at Garrick. Stalls for us, Haymarket. Meet Charing Cross, + 6.30.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That means,’ said mother, ‘that you’re going to see “The Water Babies” + all by your happy selves, and father and I will take you and fetch you. + Give me the Lamb, dear, and you and Jane put clean lace in your red + evening frocks, and I shouldn’t wonder if you found they wanted ironing. + This paraffin smell is ghastly. Run and get out your frocks.’ + </p> + <p> + The frocks did want ironing—wanted it rather badly, as it happened; + for, being of tomato-Coloured Liberty silk, they had been found very + useful for tableaux vivants when a red dress was required for Cardinal + Richelieu. They were very nice tableaux, these, and I wish I could tell + you about them; but one cannot tell everything in a story. You would have + been specially interested in hearing about the tableau of the Princes in + the Tower, when one of the pillows burst, and the youthful Princes were so + covered with feathers that the picture might very well have been called + ‘Michaelmas Eve; or, Plucking the Geese’. + </p> + <p> + Ironing the dresses and sewing the lace in occupied some time, and no one + was dull, because there was the theatre to look forward to, and also the + possible growth of hairs on the carpet, for which every one kept looking + anxiously. By four o’clock Jane was almost sure that several hairs were + beginning to grow. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix perched on the fender, and its conversation, as usual, was + entertaining and instructive—like school prizes are said to be. But + it seemed a little absent-minded, and even a little sad. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t you feel well, Phoenix, dear?’ asked Anthea, stooping to take an + iron off the fire. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am not sick,’ replied the golden bird, with a gloomy shake of the head; + ‘but I am getting old.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, you’ve hardly been hatched any time at all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Time,’ remarked the Phoenix, ‘is measured by heartbeats. I’m sure the + palpitations I’ve had since I’ve known you are enough to blanch the + feathers of any bird.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But I thought you lived 500 years,’ said Robert, and you’ve hardly begun + this set of years. Think of all the time that’s before you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Time,’ said the Phoenix, ‘is, as you are probably aware, merely a + convenient fiction. There is no such thing as time. I have lived in these + two months at a pace which generously counterbalances 500 years of life in + the desert. I am old, I am weary. I feel as if I ought to lay my egg, and + lay me down to my fiery sleep. But unless I’m careful I shall be hatched + again instantly, and that is a misfortune which I really do not think I + COULD endure. But do not let me intrude these desperate personal + reflections on your youthful happiness. What is the show at the theatre + to-night? Wrestlers? Gladiators? A combat of cameleopards and unicorns?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t think so,’ said Cyril; ‘it’s called “The Water Babies”, and if + it’s like the book there isn’t any gladiating in it. There are + chimney-sweeps and professors, and a lobster and an otter and a salmon, + and children living in the water.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It sounds chilly.’ The Phoenix shivered, and went to sit on the tongs. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t suppose there will be REAL water,’ said Jane. ‘And theatres are + very warm and pretty, with a lot of gold and lamps. Wouldn’t you like to + come with us?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>I</i> was just going to say that,’ said Robert, in injured tones, + ‘only I know how rude it is to interrupt. Do come, Phoenix, old chap; it + will cheer you up. It’ll make you laugh like any thing. Mr Bourchier + always makes ripping plays. You ought to have seen “Shock-headed Peter” + last year.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your words are strange,’ said the Phoenix, ‘but I will come with you. The + revels of this Bourchier, of whom you speak, may help me to forget the + weight of my years.’ So that evening the Phoenix snugged inside the + waistcoat of Robert’s Etons—a very tight fit it seemed both to + Robert and to the Phoenix—and was taken to the play. + </p> + <p> + Robert had to pretend to be cold at the glittering, many-mirrored + restaurant where they ate dinner, with father in evening dress, with a + very shiny white shirt-front, and mother looking lovely in her grey + evening dress, that changes into pink and green when she moves. Robert + pretended that he was too cold to take off his great-coat, and so sat + sweltering through what would otherwise have been a most thrilling meal. + He felt that he was a blot on the smart beauty of the family, and he hoped + the Phoenix knew what he was suffering for its sake. Of course, we are all + pleased to suffer for the sake of others, but we like them to know it + unless we are the very best and noblest kind of people, and Robert was + just ordinary. + </p> + <p> + Father was full of jokes and fun, and every one laughed all the time, even + with their mouths full, which is not manners. Robert thought father would + not have been quite so funny about his keeping his over-coat on if father + had known all the truth. And there Robert was probably right. + </p> + <p> + When dinner was finished to the last grape and the last paddle in the + finger glasses—for it was a really truly grown-up dinner—the + children were taken to the theatre, guided to a box close to the stage, + and left. + </p> + <p> + Father’s parting words were: ‘Now, don’t you stir out of this box, + whatever you do. I shall be back before the end of the play. Be good and + you will be happy. Is this zone torrid enough for the abandonment of + great-coats, Bobs? No? Well, then, I should say you were sickening for + something—mumps or measles or thrush or teething. Goodbye.’ + </p> + <p> + He went, and Robert was at last able to remove his coat, mop his + perspiring brow, and release the crushed and dishevelled Phoenix. Robert + had to arrange his damp hair at the looking-glass at the back of the box, + and the Phoenix had to preen its disordered feathers for some time before + either of them was fit to be seen. + </p> + <p> + They were very, very early. When the lights went up fully, the Phoenix, + balancing itself on the gilded back of a chair, swayed in ecstasy. + </p> + <p> + ‘How fair a scene is this!’ it murmured; ‘how far fairer than my temple! + Or have I guessed aright? Have you brought me hither to lift up my heart + with emotions of joyous surprise? Tell me, my Robert, is it not that this, + THIS is my true temple, and the other was but a humble shrine frequented + by outcasts?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know about outcasts,’ said Robert, ‘but you can call this your + temple if you like. Hush! the music is beginning.’ + </p> + <p> + I am not going to tell you about the play. As I said before, one can’t + tell everything, and no doubt you saw ‘The Water Babies’ yourselves. If + you did not it was a shame, or, rather, a pity. + </p> + <p> + What I must tell you is that, though Cyril and Jane and Robert and Anthea + enjoyed it as much as any children possibly could, the pleasure of the + Phoenix was far, far greater than theirs. + </p> + <p> + ‘This is indeed my temple,’ it said again and again. ‘What radiant rites! + And all to do honour to me!’ + </p> + <p> + The songs in the play it took to be hymns in its honour. The choruses were + choric songs in its praise. The electric lights, it said, were magic + torches lighted for its sake, and it was so charmed with the footlights + that the children could hardly persuade it to sit still. But when the + limelight was shown it could contain its approval no longer. It flapped + its golden wings, and cried in a voice that could be heard all over the + theatre: + </p> + <p> + ‘Well done, my servants! Ye have my favour and my countenance!’ + </p> + <p> + Little Tom on the stage stopped short in what he was saying. A deep breath + was drawn by hundreds of lungs, every eye in the house turned to the box + where the luckless children cringed, and most people hissed, or said + ‘Shish!’ or ‘Turn them out!’ + </p> + <p> + Then the play went on, and an attendant presently came to the box and + spoke wrathfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘It wasn’t us, indeed it wasn’t,’ said Anthea, earnestly; ‘it was the + bird.’ + </p> + <p> + The man said well, then, they must keep their bird very quiet. ‘Disturbing + every one like this,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘It won’t do it again,’ said Robert, glancing imploringly at the golden + bird; ‘I’m sure it won’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You have my leave to depart,’ said the Phoenix gently. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, he is a beauty, and no mistake,’ said the attendant, ‘only I’d + cover him up during the acts. It upsets the performance.’ + </p> + <p> + And he went. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t speak again, there’s a dear,’ said Anthea; ‘you wouldn’t like to + interfere with your own temple, would you?’ + </p> + <p> + So now the Phoenix was quiet, but it kept whispering to the children. It + wanted to know why there was no altar, no fire, no incense, and became so + excited and fretful and tiresome that four at least of the party of five + wished deeply that it had been left at home. + </p> + <p> + What happened next was entirely the fault of the Phoenix. It was not in + the least the fault of the theatre people, and no one could ever + understand afterwards how it did happen. No one, that is, except the + guilty bird itself and the four children. The Phoenix was balancing itself + on the gilt back of the chair, swaying backwards and forwards and up and + down, as you may see your own domestic parrot do. I mean the grey one with + the red tail. All eyes were on the stage, where the lobster was delighting + the audience with that gem of a song, ‘If you can’t walk straight, walk + sideways!’ when the Phoenix murmured warmly— + </p> + <p> + ‘No altar, no fire, no incense!’ and then, before any of the children + could even begin to think of stopping it, it spread its bright wings and + swept round the theatre, brushing its gleaming feathers against delicate + hangings and gilded woodwork. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to have made but one circular wing-sweep, such as you may see a + gull make over grey water on a stormy day. Next moment it was perched + again on the chair-back—and all round the theatre, where it had + passed, little sparks shone like tinsel seeds, then little smoke wreaths + curled up like growing plants—little flames opened like flower-buds. + People whispered—then people shrieked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Fire! Fire!’ The curtain went down—the lights went up. + </p> + <p> + ‘Fire!’ cried every one, and made for the doors. + </p> + <p> + ‘A magnificent idea!’ said the Phoenix, complacently. ‘An enormous altar—fire + supplied free of charge. Doesn’t the incense smell delicious?’ + </p> + <p> + The only smell was the stifling smell of smoke, of burning silk, or + scorching varnish. + </p> + <p> + The little flames had opened now into great flame-flowers. The people in + the theatre were shouting and pressing towards the doors. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, how COULD you!’ cried Jane. ‘Let’s get out.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Father said stay here,’ said Anthea, very pale, and trying to speak in + her ordinary voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘He didn’t mean stay and be roasted,’ said Robert. ‘No boys on burning + decks for me, thank you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not much,’ said Cyril, and he opened the door of the box. + </p> + <p> + But a fierce waft of smoke and hot air made him shut it again. It was not + possible to get out that way. + </p> + <p> + They looked over the front of the box. Could they climb down? + </p> + <p> + It would be possible, certainly; but would they be much better off? + </p> + <p> + ‘Look at the people,’ moaned Anthea; ‘we couldn’t get through.’ + </p> + <p> + And, indeed, the crowd round the doors looked as thick as flies in the + jam-making season. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish we’d never seen the Phoenix,’ cried Jane. + </p> + <p> + Even at that awful moment Robert looked round to see if the bird had + overheard a speech which, however natural, was hardly polite or grateful. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix was gone. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ said Cyril, ‘I’ve read about fires in papers; I’m sure it’s + all right. Let’s wait here, as father said.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We can’t do anything else,’ said Anthea bitterly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ said Robert, ‘I’m NOT frightened—no, I’m not. The + Phoenix has never been a skunk yet, and I’m certain it’ll see us through + somehow. I believe in the Phoenix!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The Phoenix thanks you, O Robert,’ said a golden voice at his feet, and + there was the Phoenix itself, on the Wishing Carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Quick!’ it said. ‘Stand on those portions of the carpet which are truly + antique and authentic—and—’ + </p> + <p> + A sudden jet of flame stopped its words. Alas! the Phoenix had + unconsciously warmed to its subject, and in the unintentional heat of the + moment had set fire to the paraffin with which that morning the children + had anointed the carpet. It burned merrily. The children tried in vain to + stamp it out. They had to stand back and let it burn itself out. When the + paraffin had burned away it was found that it had taken with it all the + darns of Scotch heather-mixture fingering. Only the fabric of the old + carpet was left—and that was full of holes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come,’ said the Phoenix, ‘I’m cool now.’ + </p> + <p> + The four children got on to what was left of the carpet. Very careful they + were not to leave a leg or a hand hanging over one of the holes. It was + very hot—the theatre was a pit of fire. Every one else had got out. + </p> + <p> + Jane had to sit on Anthea’s lap. + </p> + <p> + ‘Home!’ said Cyril, and instantly the cool draught from under the nursery + door played upon their legs as they sat. They were all on the carpet + still, and the carpet was lying in its proper place on the nursery floor, + as calm and unmoved as though it had never been to the theatre or taken + part in a fire in its life. + </p> + <p> + Four long breaths of deep relief were instantly breathed. The draught + which they had never liked before was for the moment quite pleasant. And + they were safe. And every one else was safe. The theatre had been quite + empty when they left. Every one was sure of that. + </p> + <p> + They presently found themselves all talking at once. Somehow none of their + adventures had given them so much to talk about. None other had seemed so + real. + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you notice—?’ they said, and ‘Do you remember—?’ + </p> + <p> + When suddenly Anthea’s face turned pale under the dirt which it had + collected on it during the fire. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘mother and father! Oh, how awful! They’ll think we’re + burned to cinders. Oh, let’s go this minute and tell them we aren’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We should only miss them,’ said the sensible Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well—YOU go then,’ said Anthea, ‘or I will. Only do wash your face + first. Mother will be sure to think you are burnt to a cinder if she sees + you as black as that, and she’ll faint or be ill or something. Oh, I wish + we’d never got to know that Phoenix.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Hush!’ said Robert; ‘it’s no use being rude to the bird. I suppose it + can’t help its nature. Perhaps we’d better wash too. Now I come to think + of it my hands are rather—’ + </p> + <p> + No one had noticed the Phoenix since it had bidden them to step on the + carpet. And no one noticed that no one had noticed. + </p> + <p> + All were partially clean, and Cyril was just plunging into his great-coat + to go and look for his parents—he, and not unjustly, called it + looking for a needle in a bundle of hay—when the sound of father’s + latchkey in the front door sent every one bounding up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you all safe?’ cried mother’s voice; ‘are you all safe?’ and the next + moment she was kneeling on the linoleum of the hall, trying to kiss four + damp children at once, and laughing and crying by turns, while father + stood looking on and saying he was blessed or something. + </p> + <p> + ‘But how did you guess we’d come home,’ said Cyril, later, when every one + was calm enough for talking. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, it was rather a rum thing. We heard the Garrick was on fire, and of + course we went straight there,’ said father, briskly. ‘We couldn’t find + you, of course—and we couldn’t get in—but the firemen told us + every one was safely out. And then I heard a voice at my ear say, “Cyril, + Anthea, Robert, and Jane”—and something touched me on the shoulder. + It was a great yellow pigeon, and it got in the way of my seeing who’d + spoken. It fluttered off, and then some one said in the other ear, + “They’re safe at home”; and when I turned again, to see who it was + speaking, hanged if there wasn’t that confounded pigeon on my other + shoulder. Dazed by the fire, I suppose. Your mother said it was the voice + of—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I said it was the bird that spoke,’ said mother, ‘and so it was. Or at + least I thought so then. It wasn’t a pigeon. It was an orange-coloured + cockatoo. I don’t care who it was that spoke. It was true and you’re + safe.’ + </p> + <p> + Mother began to cry again, and father said bed was a good place after the + pleasures of the stage. + </p> + <p> + So every one went there. + </p> + <p> + Robert had a talk to the Phoenix that night. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, very well,’ said the bird, when Robert had said what he felt, ‘didn’t + you know that I had power over fire? Do not distress yourself. I, like my + high priests in Lombard Street, can undo the work of flames. Kindly open + the casement.’ + </p> + <p> + It flew out. + </p> + <p> + That was why the papers said next day that the fire at the theatre had + done less damage than had been anticipated. As a matter of fact it had + done none, for the Phoenix spent the night in putting things straight. How + the management accounted for this, and how many of the theatre officials + still believe that they were mad on that night will never be known. + </p> + <p> + Next day mother saw the burnt holes in the carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘It caught where it was paraffiny,’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘I must get rid of that carpet at once,’ said mother. + </p> + <p> + But what the children said in sad whispers to each other, as they pondered + over last night’s events, was— + </p> + <p> + ‘We must get rid of that Phoenix.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 12. THE END OF THE END + </h2> + <p> + ‘Egg, toast, tea, milk, tea-cup and saucer, egg-spoon, knife, butter—that’s + all, I think,’ remarked Anthea, as she put the last touches to mother’s + breakfast-tray, and went, very carefully up the stairs, feeling for every + step with her toes, and holding on to the tray with all her fingers. She + crept into mother’s room and set the tray on a chair. Then she pulled one + of the blinds up very softly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is your head better, mammy dear?’ she asked, in the soft little voice + that she kept expressly for mother’s headaches. ‘I’ve brought your + brekkie, and I’ve put the little cloth with clover-leaves on it, the one I + made you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s very nice,’ said mother sleepily. + </p> + <p> + Anthea knew exactly what to do for mothers with headaches who had + breakfast in bed. She fetched warm water and put just enough eau de + Cologne in it, and bathed mother’s face and hands with the sweet-scented + water. Then mother was able to think about breakfast. + </p> + <p> + ‘But what’s the matter with my girl?’ she asked, when her eyes got used to + the light. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, I’m so sorry you’re ill,’ Anthea said. ‘It’s that horrible fire and + you being so frightened. Father said so. And we all feel as if it was our + faults. I can’t explain, but—’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It wasn’t your fault a bit, you darling goosie,’ mother said. ‘How could + it be?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s just what I can’t tell you,’ said Anthea. ‘I haven’t got a futile + brain like you and father, to think of ways of explaining everything.’ + </p> + <p> + Mother laughed. + </p> + <p> + ‘My futile brain—or did you mean fertile?—anyway, it feels + very stiff and sore this morning—but I shall be quite all right by + and by. And don’t be a silly little pet girl. The fire wasn’t your faults. + No; I don’t want the egg, dear. I’ll go to sleep again, I think. Don’t you + worry. And tell cook not to bother me about meals. You can order what you + like for lunch.’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea closed the door very mousily, and instantly went downstairs and + ordered what she liked for lunch. She ordered a pair of turkeys, a large + plum-pudding, cheese-cakes, and almonds and raisins. + </p> + <p> + Cook told her to go along, do. And she might as well not have ordered + anything, for when lunch came it was just hashed mutton and semolina + pudding, and cook had forgotten the sippets for the mutton hash and the + semolina pudding was burnt. + </p> + <p> + When Anthea rejoined the others she found them all plunged in the gloom + where she was herself. For every one knew that the days of the carpet were + now numbered. Indeed, so worn was it that you could almost have numbered + its threads. + </p> + <p> + So that now, after nearly a month of magic happenings, the time was at + hand when life would have to go on in the dull, ordinary way and Jane, + Robert, Anthea, and Cyril would be just in the same position as the other + children who live in Camden Town, the children whom these four had so + often pitied, and perhaps a little despised. + </p> + <p> + ‘We shall be just like them,’ Cyril said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Except,’ said Robert, ‘that we shall have more things to remember and be + sorry we haven’t got.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mother’s going to send away the carpet as soon as she’s well enough to + see about that coconut matting. Fancy us with coconut-matting—us! + And we’ve walked under live coconut-trees on the island where you can’t + have whooping-cough.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Pretty island,’ said the Lamb; ‘paint-box sands and sea all shiny + sparkly.’ + </p> + <p> + His brothers and sisters had often wondered whether he remembered that + island. Now they knew that he did. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Cyril; ‘no more cheap return trips by carpet for us—that’s + a dead cert.’ + </p> + <p> + They were all talking about the carpet, but what they were all thinking + about was the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + The golden bird had been so kind, so friendly, so polite, so instructive—and + now it had set fire to a theatre and made mother ill. + </p> + <p> + Nobody blamed the bird. It had acted in a perfectly natural manner. But + every one saw that it must not be asked to prolong its visit. Indeed, in + plain English it must be asked to go! + </p> + <p> + The four children felt like base spies and treacherous friends; and each + in its mind was saying who ought not to be the one to tell the Phoenix + that there could no longer be a place for it in that happy home in Camden + Town. Each child was quite sure that one of them ought to speak out in a + fair and manly way, but nobody wanted to be the one. + </p> + <p> + They could not talk the whole thing over as they would have liked to do, + because the Phoenix itself was in the cupboard, among the blackbeetles and + the odd shoes and the broken chessmen. + </p> + <p> + But Anthea tried. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s very horrid. I do hate thinking things about people, and not being + able to say the things you’re thinking because of the way they would feel + when they thought what things you were thinking, and wondered what they’d + done to make you think things like that, and why you were thinking them.’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea was so anxious that the Phoenix should not understand what she said + that she made a speech completely baffling to all. It was not till she + pointed to the cupboard in which all believed the Phoenix to be that Cyril + understood. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he said, while Jane and Robert were trying to tell each other how + deeply they didn’t understand what Anthea were saying; ‘but after recent + eventfulnesses a new leaf has to be turned over, and, after all, mother is + more important than the feelings of any of the lower forms of creation, + however unnatural.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How beautifully you do do it,’ said Anthea, absently beginning to build a + card-house for the Lamb—‘mixing up what you’re saying, I mean. We + ought to practise doing it so as to be ready for mysterious occasions. + We’re talking about THAT,’ she said to Jane and Robert, frowning, and + nodding towards the cupboard where the Phoenix was. Then Robert and Jane + understood, and each opened its mouth to speak. + </p> + <p> + ‘Wait a minute,’ said Anthea quickly; ‘the game is to twist up what you + want to say so that no one can understand what you’re saying except the + people you want to understand it, and sometimes not them.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The ancient philosophers,’ said a golden voice, ‘Well understood the art + of which you speak.’ + </p> + <p> + Of course it was the Phoenix, who had not been in the cupboard at all, but + had been cocking a golden eye at them from the cornice during the whole + conversation. + </p> + <p> + ‘Pretty dickie!’ remarked the Lamb. ‘CANARY dickie!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Poor misguided infant,’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + There was a painful pause; the four could not but think it likely that the + Phoenix had understood their very veiled allusions, accompanied as they + had been by gestures indicating the cupboard. For the Phoenix was not + wanting in intelligence. + </p> + <p> + ‘We were just saying—’ Cyril began, and I hope he was not going to + say anything but the truth. Whatever it was he did not say it, for the + Phoenix interrupted him, and all breathed more freely as it spoke. + </p> + <p> + ‘I gather,’ it said, ‘that you have some tidings of a fatal nature to + communicate to our degraded black brothers who run to and fro for ever + yonder.’ It pointed a claw at the cupboard, where the blackbeetles lived. + </p> + <p> + ‘Canary TALK,’ said the Lamb joyously; ‘go and show mammy.’ + </p> + <p> + He wriggled off Anthea’s lap. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mammy’s asleep,’ said Jane, hastily. ‘Come and be wild beasts in a cage + under the table.’ + </p> + <p> + But the Lamb caught his feet and hands, and even his head, so often and so + deeply in the holes of the carpet that the cage, or table, had to be moved + on to the linoleum, and the carpet lay bare to sight with all its horrid + holes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah,’ said the bird, ‘it isn’t long for this world.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Robert; ‘everything comes to an end. It’s awful.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Sometimes the end is peace,’ remarked the Phoenix. ‘I imagine that unless + it comes soon the end of your carpet will be pieces.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Cyril, respectfully kicking what was left of the carpet. The + movement of its bright colours caught the eye of the Lamb, who went down + on all fours instantly and began to pull at the red and blue threads. + </p> + <p> + ‘Aggedydaggedygaggedy,’ murmured the Lamb; ‘daggedy ag ag ag!’ + </p> + <p> + And before any one could have winked (even if they had wanted to, and it + would not have been of the slightest use) the middle of the floor showed + bare, an island of boards surrounded by a sea of linoleum. The magic + carpet was gone, AND SO WAS THE LAMB! + </p> + <p> + There was a horrible silence. The Lamb—the baby, all alone—had + been wafted away on that untrustworthy carpet, so full of holes and magic. + And no one could know where he was. And no one could follow him because + there was now no carpet to follow on. + </p> + <p> + Jane burst into tears, but Anthea, though pale and frantic, was dry-eyed. + </p> + <p> + ‘It MUST be a dream,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s what the clergyman said,’ remarked Robert forlornly; ‘but it + wasn’t, and it isn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But the Lamb never wished,’ said Cyril; ‘he was only talking Bosh.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The carpet understands all speech,’ said the Phoenix, ‘even Bosh. I know + not this Boshland, but be assured that its tongue is not unknown to the + carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you mean, then,’ said Anthea, in white terror, ‘that when he was + saying “Agglety dag,” or whatever it was, that he meant something by it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All speech has meaning,’ said the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + ‘There I think you’re wrong,’ said Cyril; ‘even people who talk English + sometimes say things that don’t mean anything in particular.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, never mind that now,’ moaned Anthea; ‘you think “Aggety dag” meant + something to him and the carpet?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Beyond doubt it held the same meaning to the carpet as to the luckless + infant,’ the Phoenix said calmly. + </p> + <p> + ‘And WHAT did it mean? Oh WHAT?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Unfortunately,’ the bird rejoined, ‘I never studied Bosh.’ + </p> + <p> + Jane sobbed noisily, but the others were calm with what is sometimes + called the calmness of despair. The Lamb was gone—the Lamb, their + own precious baby brother—who had never in his happy little life + been for a moment out of the sight of eyes that loved him—he was + gone. He had gone alone into the great world with no other companion and + protector than a carpet with holes in it. The children had never really + understood before what an enormously big place the world is. And the Lamb + might be anywhere in it! + </p> + <p> + ‘And it’s no use going to look for him.’ Cyril, in flat and wretched + tones, only said what the others were thinking. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you wish him to return?’ the Phoenix asked; it seemed to speak with + some surprise. + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course we do!’ cried everybody. + </p> + <p> + ‘Isn’t he more trouble than he’s worth?’ asked the bird doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no. Oh, we do want him back! We do!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then,’ said the wearer of gold plumage, ‘if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just + pop out and see what I can do.’ + </p> + <p> + Cyril flung open the window, and the Phoenix popped out. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, if only mother goes on sleeping! Oh, suppose she wakes up and wants + the Lamb! Oh, suppose the servants come! Stop crying, Jane. It’s no + earthly good. No, I’m not crying myself—at least I wasn’t till you + said so, and I shouldn’t anyway if—if there was any mortal thing we + could do. Oh, oh, oh!’ + </p> + <p> + Cyril and Robert were boys, and boys never cry, of course. Still, the + position was a terrible one, and I do not wonder that they made faces in + their efforts to behave in a really manly way. + </p> + <p> + And at this awful moment mother’s bell rang. + </p> + <p> + A breathless stillness held the children. Then Anthea dried her eyes. She + looked round her and caught up the poker. She held it out to Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hit my hand hard,’ she said; ‘I must show mother some reason for my eyes + being like they are. Harder,’ she cried as Cyril gently tapped her with + the iron handle. And Cyril, agitated and trembling, nerved himself to hit + harder, and hit very much harder than he intended. + </p> + <p> + Anthea screamed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, Panther, I didn’t mean to hurt, really,’ cried Cyril, clattering the + poker back into the fender. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s—all—right,’ said Anthea breathlessly, clasping the hurt + hand with the one that wasn’t hurt; ‘it’s—getting—red.’ + </p> + <p> + It was—a round red and blue bump was rising on the back of it. ‘Now, + Robert,’ she said, trying to breathe more evenly, ‘you go out—oh, I + don’t know where—on to the dustbin—anywhere—and I shall + tell mother you and the Lamb are out.’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea was now ready to deceive her mother for as long as ever she could. + Deceit is very wrong, we know, but it seemed to Anthea that it was her + plain duty to keep her mother from being frightened about the Lamb as long + as possible. And the Phoenix might help. + </p> + <p> + ‘It always has helped,’ Robert said; ‘it got us out of the tower, and even + when it made the fire in the theatre it got us out all right. I’m certain + it will manage somehow.’ + </p> + <p> + Mother’s bell rang again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, Eliza’s never answered it,’ cried Anthea; ‘she never does. Oh, I must + go.’ + </p> + <p> + And she went. + </p> + <p> + Her heart beat bumpingly as she climbed the stairs. Mother would be + certain to notice her eyes—well, her hand would account for that. + But the Lamb— + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I must NOT think of the Lamb, she said to herself, and bit her tongue + till her eyes watered again, so as to give herself something else to think + of. Her arms and legs and back, and even her tear-reddened face, felt + stiff with her resolution not to let mother be worried if she could help + it. + </p> + <p> + She opened the door softly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, mother?’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dearest,’ said mother, ‘the Lamb—’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea tried to be brave. She tried to say that the Lamb and Robert were + out. Perhaps she tried too hard. Anyway, when she opened her mouth no + words came. So she stood with it open. It seemed easier to keep from + crying with one’s mouth in that unusual position. + </p> + <p> + ‘The Lamb,’ mother went on; ‘he was very good at first, but he’s pulled + the toilet-cover off the dressing-table with all the brushes and pots and + things, and now he’s so quiet I’m sure he’s in some dreadful mischief. And + I can’t see him from here, and if I’d got out of bed to see I’m sure I + should have fainted.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you mean he’s HERE?’ said Anthea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course he’s here,’ said mother, a little impatiently. ‘Where did you + think he was?’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea went round the foot of the big mahogany bed. There was a pause. + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s not here NOW,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + That he had been there was plain, from the toilet-cover on the floor, the + scattered pots and bottles, the wandering brushes and combs, all involved + in the tangle of ribbons and laces which an open drawer had yielded to the + baby’s inquisitive fingers. + </p> + <p> + ‘He must have crept out, then,’ said mother; ‘do keep him with you, + there’s a darling. If I don’t get some sleep I shall be a wreck when + father comes home.’ + </p> + <p> + Anthea closed the door softly. Then she tore downstairs and burst into the + nursery, crying— + </p> + <p> + ‘He must have wished he was with mother. He’s been there all the time. + “Aggety dag—“’ + </p> + <p> + The unusual word was frozen on her lip, as people say in books. + </p> + <p> + For there, on the floor, lay the carpet, and on the carpet, surrounded by + his brothers and by Jane, sat the Lamb. He had covered his face and + clothes with vaseline and violet powder, but he was easily recognizable in + spite of this disguise. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are right,’ said the Phoenix, who was also present; ‘it is evident + that, as you say, “Aggety dag” is Bosh for “I want to be where my mother + is,” and so the faithful carpet understood it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But how,’ said Anthea, catching up the Lamb and hugging him—‘how + did he get back here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said the Phoenix, ‘I flew to the Psammead and wished that your + infant brother were restored to your midst, and immediately it was so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, I am glad, I am glad!’ cried Anthea, still hugging the baby. ‘Oh, you + darling! Shut up, Jane! I don’t care HOW much he comes off on me! Cyril! + You and Robert roll that carpet up and put it in the beetle-cupboard. He + might say “Aggety dag” again, and it might mean something quite different + next time. Now, my Lamb, Panther’ll clean you a little. Come on.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I hope the beetles won’t go wishing,’ said Cyril, as they rolled up the + carpet. + </p> + <p> + Two days later mother was well enough to go out, and that evening the + coconut matting came home. The children had talked and talked, and thought + and thought, but they had not found any polite way of telling the Phoenix + that they did not want it to stay any longer. + </p> + <p> + The days had been days spent by the children in embarrassment, and by the + Phoenix in sleep. + </p> + <p> + And, now the matting was laid down, the Phoenix awoke and fluttered down + on to it. + </p> + <p> + It shook its crested head. + </p> + <p> + ‘I like not this carpet,’ it said; ‘it is harsh and unyielding, and it + hurts my golden feet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ve jolly well got to get used to its hurting OUR golden feet,’ said + Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘This, then,’ said the bird, ‘supersedes the Wishing Carpet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Robert, ‘if you mean that it’s instead of it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And the magic web?’ inquired the Phoenix, with sudden eagerness. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s the rag-and-bottle man’s day to-morrow,’ said Anthea, in a low + voice; ‘he will take it away.’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix fluttered up to its favourite perch on the chair-back. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hear me!’ it cried, ‘oh youthful children of men, and restrain your tears + of misery and despair, for what must be must be, and I would not remember + you, thousands of years hence, as base ingrates and crawling worms compact + of low selfishness.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should hope not, indeed,’ said Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘Weep not,’ the bird went on; ‘I really do beg that you won’t weep. + </p> + <p> + I will not seek to break the news to you gently. Let the blow fall at + once. The time has come when I must leave you.’ + </p> + <p> + All four children breathed forth a long sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + ‘We needn’t have bothered so about how to break the news to it,’ whispered + Cyril. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, sigh not so,’ said the bird, gently. ‘All meetings end in partings. I + must leave you. I have sought to prepare you for this. Ah, do not give + way!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Must you really go—so soon?’ murmured Anthea. It was what she had + often heard her mother say to calling ladies in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + ‘I must, really; thank you so much, dear,’ replied the bird, just as + though it had been one of the ladies. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am weary,’ it went on. ‘I desire to rest—after all the happenings + of this last moon I do desire really to rest, and I ask of you one last + boon.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Any little thing we can do,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + Now that it had really come to parting with the Phoenix, whose favourite + he had always been, Robert did feel almost as miserable as the Phoenix + thought they all did. + </p> + <p> + ‘I ask but the relic designed for the rag-and-bottle man. Give me what is + left of the carpet and let me go.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dare we?’ said Anthea. ‘Would mother mind?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have dared greatly for your sakes,’ remarked the bird. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, then, we will,’ said Robert. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix fluffed out its feathers joyously. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nor shall you regret it, children of golden hearts,’ it said. ‘Quick—spread + the carpet and leave me alone; but first pile high the fire. Then, while I + am immersed in the sacred preliminary rites, do ye prepare sweet-smelling + woods and spices for the last act of parting.’ + </p> + <p> + The children spread out what was left of the carpet. And, after all, + though this was just what they would have wished to have happened, all + hearts were sad. Then they put half a scuttle of coal on the fire and went + out, closing the door on the Phoenix—left, at last, alone with the + carpet. + </p> + <p> + ‘One of us must keep watch,’ said Robert, excitedly, as soon as they were + all out of the room, ‘and the others can go and buy sweet woods and + spices. Get the very best that money can buy, and plenty of them. Don’t + let’s stand to a threepence or so. I want it to have a jolly good + send-off. It’s the only thing that’ll make us feel less horrid inside.’ + </p> + <p> + It was felt that Robert, as the pet of the Phoenix, ought to have the last + melancholy pleasure of choosing the materials for its funeral pyre. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll keep watch if you like,’ said Cyril. ‘I don’t mind. And, besides, + it’s raining hard, and my boots let in the wet. You might call and see if + my other ones are “really reliable” again yet.’ + </p> + <p> + So they left Cyril, standing like a Roman sentinel outside the door inside + which the Phoenix was getting ready for the great change, and they all + went out to buy the precious things for the last sad rites. + </p> + <p> + ‘Robert is right,’ Anthea said; ‘this is no time for being careful about + our money. Let’s go to the stationer’s first, and buy a whole packet of + lead-pencils. They’re cheaper if you buy them by the packet.’ + </p> + <p> + This was a thing that they had always wanted to do, but it needed the + great excitement of a funeral pyre and a parting from a beloved Phoenix to + screw them up to the extravagance. + </p> + <p> + The people at the stationer’s said that the pencils were real cedar-wood, + so I hope they were, for stationers should always speak the truth. At any + rate they cost one-and-fourpence. Also they spent sevenpence + three-farthings on a little sandal-wood box inlaid with ivory. + </p> + <p> + ‘Because,’ said Anthea, ‘I know sandalwood smells sweet, and when it’s + burned it smells very sweet indeed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ivory doesn’t smell at all,’ said Robert, ‘but I expect when you burn it + it smells most awful vile, like bones.’ + </p> + <p> + At the grocer’s they bought all the spices they could remember the names + of—shell-like mace, cloves like blunt nails, peppercorns, the long + and the round kind; ginger, the dry sort, of course; and the beautiful + bloom-covered shells of fragrant cinnamon. Allspice too, and caraway seeds + (caraway seeds that smelt most deadly when the time came for burning + them). + </p> + <p> + Camphor and oil of lavender were bought at the chemist’s, and also a + little scent sachet labelled ‘Violettes de Parme’. + </p> + <p> + They took the things home and found Cyril still on guard. When they had + knocked and the golden voice of the Phoenix had said ‘Come in,’ they went + in. + </p> + <p> + There lay the carpet—or what was left of it—and on it lay an + egg, exactly like the one out of which the Phoenix had been hatched. + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix was walking round and round the egg, clucking with joy and + pride. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve laid it, you see,’ it said, ‘and as fine an egg as ever I laid in + all my born days.’ + </p> + <p> + Every one said yes, it was indeed a beauty. + </p> + <p> + The things which the children had bought were now taken out of their + papers and arranged on the table, and when the Phoenix had been persuaded + to leave its egg for a moment and look at the materials for its last fire + it was quite overcome. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never, never have I had a finer pyre than this will be. You shall not + regret it,’ it said, wiping away a golden tear. ‘Write quickly: “Go and + tell the Psammead to fulfil the last wish of the Phoenix, and return + instantly”.’ + </p> + <p> + But Robert wished to be polite and he wrote— + </p> + <p> + ‘Please go and ask the Psammead to be so kind as to fulfil the Phoenix’s + last wish, and come straight back, if you please.’ The paper was pinned to + the carpet, which vanished and returned in the flash of an eye. + </p> + <p> + Then another paper was written ordering the carpet to take the egg + somewhere where it wouldn’t be hatched for another two thousand years. The + Phoenix tore itself away from its cherished egg, which it watched with + yearning tenderness till, the paper being pinned on, the carpet hastily + rolled itself up round the egg, and both vanished for ever from the + nursery of the house in Camden Town. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!’ said everybody. + </p> + <p> + ‘Bear up,’ said the bird; ‘do you think <i>I</i> don’t suffer, being + parted from my precious new-laid egg like this? Come, conquer your + emotions and build my fire.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘OH!’ cried Robert, suddenly, and wholly breaking down, ‘I can’t BEAR you + to go!’ + </p> + <p> + The Phoenix perched on his shoulder and rubbed its beak softly against his + ear. + </p> + <p> + ‘The sorrows of youth soon appear but as dreams,’ it said. ‘Farewell, + Robert of my heart. I have loved you well.’ + </p> + <p> + The fire had burnt to a red glow. One by one the spices and sweet woods + were laid on it. Some smelt nice and some—the caraway seeds and the + Violettes de Parme sachet among them—smelt worse than you would + think possible. + </p> + <p> + ‘Farewell, farewell, farewell, farewell!’ said the Phoenix, in a far-away + voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, GOOD-BYE,’ said every one, and now all were in tears. + </p> + <p> + The bright bird fluttered seven times round the room and settled in the + hot heart of the fire. The sweet gums and spices and woods flared and + flickered around it, but its golden feathers did not burn. It seemed to + grow red-hot to the very inside heart of it—and then before the + eight eyes of its friends it fell together, a heap of white ashes, and the + flames of the cedar pencils and the sandal-wood box met and joined above + it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Whatever have you done with the carpet?’ asked mother next day. + </p> + <p> + ‘We gave it to some one who wanted it very much. The name began with a P,’ + said Jane. + </p> + <p> + The others instantly hushed her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, well, it wasn’t worth twopence,’ said mother. + </p> + <p> + ‘The person who began with P said we shouldn’t lose by it,’ Jane went on + before she could be stopped. + </p> + <p> + ‘I daresay!’ said mother, laughing. + </p> + <p> + But that very night a great box came, addressed to the children by all + their names. Eliza never could remember the name of the carrier who + brought it. It wasn’t Carter Paterson or the Parcels Delivery. + </p> + <p> + It was instantly opened. It was a big wooden box, and it had to be opened + with a hammer and the kitchen poker; the long nails came squeaking out, + and boards scrunched as they were wrenched off. Inside the box was soft + paper, with beautiful Chinese patterns on it—blue and green and red + and violet. And under the paper—well, almost everything lovely that + you can think of. Everything of reasonable size, I mean; for, of course, + there were no motors or flying machines or thoroughbred chargers. But + there really was almost everything else. Everything that the children had + always wanted—toys and games and books, and chocolate and candied + cherries and paint-boxes and photographic cameras, and all the presents + they had always wanted to give to father and mother and the Lamb, only + they had never had the money for them. At the very bottom of the box was a + tiny golden feather. No one saw it but Robert, and he picked it up and hid + it in the breast of his jacket, which had been so often the nesting-place + of the golden bird. When he went to bed the feather was gone. It was the + last he ever saw of the Phoenix. + </p> + <p> + Pinned to the lovely fur cloak that mother had always wanted was a paper, + and it said— + </p> + <p> + ‘In return for the carpet. With gratitude.—P.’ + </p> + <p> + You may guess how father and mother talked it over. They decided at last + the person who had had the carpet, and whom, curiously enough, the + children were quite unable to describe, must be an insane millionaire who + amused himself by playing at being a rag-and-bone man. But the children + knew better. + </p> + <p> + They knew that this was the fulfilment, by the powerful Psammead, of the + last wish of the Phoenix, and that this glorious and delightful boxful of + treasures was really the very, very, very end of the Phoenix and the + Carpet. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Phoenix and the Carpet, by E. 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Nesbit + +Posting Date: August 2, 2008 [EBook #836] +Release Date: March, 1997 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHOENIX AND THE CARPET *** + + + + +Produced by Jo Churcher + + + + + +THE PHOENIX AND THE CARPET + +E. Nesbit + + + + TO + + My Dear Godson + HUBERT GRIFFITH + and his sister + MARGARET + + + TO HUBERT + + Dear Hubert, if I ever found + A wishing-carpet lying round, + I'd stand upon it, and I'd say: + 'Take me to Hubert, right away!' + And then we'd travel very far + To where the magic countries are + That you and I will never see, + And choose the loveliest gifts for you, from me. + + But oh! alack! and well-a-day! + No wishing-carpets come my way. + I never found a Phoenix yet, + And Psammeads are so hard to get! + So I give you nothing fine-- + Only this book your book and mine, + And hers, whose name by yours is set; + Your book, my book, the book of Margaret! + + E. NESBIT + DYMCHURCH + September, 1904 + + + + +CONTENTS + + 1 The Egg + 2 The Topless Tower + 3 The Queen Cook + 4 Two Bazaars + 5 The Temple + 6 Doing Good + 7 Mews from Persia + 8 The Cats, the Cow, and the Burglar + 9 The Burglar's Bride + 10 The Hole in the Carpet + 11 The Beginning of the End + 12 The End of the End + + + + +CHAPTER 1. THE EGG + + +It began with the day when it was almost the Fifth of November, and a +doubt arose in some breast--Robert's, I fancy--as to the quality of the +fireworks laid in for the Guy Fawkes celebration. + +'They were jolly cheap,' said whoever it was, and I think it was Robert, +'and suppose they didn't go off on the night? Those Prosser kids would +have something to snigger about then.' + +'The ones _I_ got are all right,' Jane said; 'I know they are, because +the man at the shop said they were worth thribble the money--' + +'I'm sure thribble isn't grammar,' Anthea said. + +'Of course it isn't,' said Cyril; 'one word can't be grammar all by +itself, so you needn't be so jolly clever.' + +Anthea was rummaging in the corner-drawers of her mind for a very +disagreeable answer, when she remembered what a wet day it was, and how +the boys had been disappointed of that ride to London and back on the +top of the tram, which their mother had promised them as a reward for +not having once forgotten, for six whole days, to wipe their boots on +the mat when they came home from school. + +So Anthea only said, 'Don't be so jolly clever yourself, Squirrel. And +the fireworks look all right, and you'll have the eightpence that your +tram fares didn't cost to-day, to buy something more with. You ought to +get a perfectly lovely Catharine wheel for eightpence.' + +'I daresay,' said Cyril, coldly; 'but it's not YOUR eightpence anyhow--' + +'But look here,' said Robert, 'really now, about the fireworks. We don't +want to be disgraced before those kids next door. They think because +they wear red plush on Sundays no one else is any good.' + +'I wouldn't wear plush if it was ever so--unless it was black to be +beheaded in, if I was Mary Queen of Scots,' said Anthea, with scorn. + +Robert stuck steadily to his point. One great point about Robert is the +steadiness with which he can stick. + +'I think we ought to test them,' he said. + +'You young duffer,' said Cyril, 'fireworks are like postage-stamps. You +can only use them once.' + +'What do you suppose it means by "Carter's tested seeds" in the +advertisement?' + +There was a blank silence. Then Cyril touched his forehead with his +finger and shook his head. + +'A little wrong here,' he said. 'I was always afraid of that with poor +Robert. All that cleverness, you know, and being top in algebra so +often--it's bound to tell--' + +'Dry up,' said Robert, fiercely. 'Don't you see? You can't TEST seeds if +you do them ALL. You just take a few here and there, and if those +grow you can feel pretty sure the others will be--what do you call +it?--Father told me--"up to sample". Don't you think we ought to sample +the fire-works? Just shut our eyes and each draw one out, and then try +them.' + +'But it's raining cats and dogs,' said Jane. + +'And Queen Anne is dead,' rejoined Robert. No one was in a very good +temper. 'We needn't go out to do them; we can just move back the table, +and let them off on the old tea-tray we play toboggans with. I don't +know what YOU think, but _I_ think it's time we did something, and +that would be really useful; because then we shouldn't just HOPE the +fireworks would make those Prossers sit up--we should KNOW.' + +'It WOULD be something to do,' Cyril owned with languid approval. + +So the table was moved back. And then the hole in the carpet, that +had been near the window till the carpet was turned round, showed most +awfully. But Anthea stole out on tip-toe, and got the tray when cook +wasn't looking, and brought it in and put it over the hole. + +Then all the fireworks were put on the table, and each of the four +children shut its eyes very tight and put out its hand and grasped +something. Robert took a cracker, Cyril and Anthea had Roman candles; +but Jane's fat paw closed on the gem of the whole collection, the +Jack-in-the-box that had cost two shillings, and one at least of the +party--I will not say which, because it was sorry afterwards--declared +that Jane had done it on purpose. Nobody was pleased. For the worst of +it was that these four children, with a very proper dislike of anything +even faintly bordering on the sneakish, had a law, unalterable as those +of the Medes and Persians, that one had to stand by the results of a +toss-up, or a drawing of lots, or any other appeal to chance, however +much one might happen to dislike the way things were turning out. + +'I didn't mean to,' said Jane, near tears. 'I don't care, I'll draw +another--' + +'You know jolly well you can't,' said Cyril, bitterly. 'It's settled. +It's Medium and Persian. You've done it, and you'll have to stand by +it--and us too, worse luck. Never mind. YOU'LL have your pocket-money +before the Fifth. Anyway, we'll have the Jack-in-the-box LAST, and get +the most out of it we can.' + +So the cracker and the Roman candles were lighted, and they were +all that could be expected for the money; but when it came to the +Jack-in-the-box it simply sat in the tray and laughed at them, as Cyril +said. They tried to light it with paper and they tried to light it with +matches; they tried to light it with Vesuvian fusees from the pocket +of father's second-best overcoat that was hanging in the hall. And then +Anthea slipped away to the cupboard under the stairs where the brooms +and dustpans were kept, and the rosiny fire-lighters that smell so nice +and like the woods where pine-trees grow, and the old newspapers and the +bees-wax and turpentine, and the horrid an stiff dark rags that are used +for cleaning brass and furniture, and the paraffin for the lamps. She +came back with a little pot that had once cost sevenpence-halfpenny when +it was full of red-currant jelly; but the jelly had been all eaten long +ago, and now Anthea had filled the jar with paraffin. She came in, and +she threw the paraffin over the tray just at the moment when Cyril was +trying with the twenty-third match to light the Jack-in-the-box. The +Jack-in-the-box did not catch fire any more than usual, but the paraffin +acted quite differently, and in an instant a hot flash of flame leapt +up and burnt off Cyril's eyelashes, and scorched the faces of all +four before they could spring back. They backed, in four instantaneous +bounds, as far as they could, which was to the wall, and the pillar of +fire reached from floor to ceiling. + +'My hat,' said Cyril, with emotion, 'You've done it this time, Anthea.' + +The flame was spreading out under the ceiling like the rose of fire in +Mr Rider Haggard's exciting story about Allan Quatermain. Robert and +Cyril saw that no time was to be lost. They turned up the edges of the +carpet, and kicked them over the tray. This cut off the column of fire, +and it disappeared and there was nothing left but smoke and a dreadful +smell of lamps that have been turned too low. + +All hands now rushed to the rescue, and the paraffin fire was only a +bundle of trampled carpet, when suddenly a sharp crack beneath their +feet made the amateur firemen start back. Another crack--the carpet +moved as if it had had a cat wrapped in it; the Jack-in-the-box had at +last allowed itself to be lighted, and it was going off with desperate +violence inside the carpet. + +Robert, with the air of one doing the only possible thing, rushed to the +window and opened it. Anthea screamed, Jane burst into tears, and +Cyril turned the table wrong way up on top of the carpet heap. But the +firework went on, banging and bursting and spluttering even underneath +the table. + +Next moment mother rushed in, attracted by the howls of Anthea, and in a +few moments the firework desisted and there was a dead silence, and +the children stood looking at each other's black faces, and, out of the +corners of their eyes, at mother's white one. + +The fact that the nursery carpet was ruined occasioned but little +surprise, nor was any one really astonished that bed should prove the +immediate end of the adventure. It has been said that all roads lead to +Rome; this may be true, but at any rate, in early youth I am quite sure +that many roads lead to BED, and stop there--or YOU do. + +The rest of the fireworks were confiscated, and mother was not pleased +when father let them off himself in the back garden, though he said, +'Well, how else can you get rid of them, my dear?' + +You see, father had forgotten that the children were in disgrace, and +that their bedroom windows looked out on to the back garden. So that +they all saw the fireworks most beautifully, and admired the skill with +which father handled them. + +Next day all was forgotten and forgiven; only the nursery had to +be deeply cleaned (like spring-cleaning), and the ceiling had to be +whitewashed. + +And mother went out; and just at tea-time next day a man came with a +rolled-up carpet, and father paid him, and mother said-- + +'If the carpet isn't in good condition, you know, I shall expect you to +change it.' And the man replied-- + +'There ain't a thread gone in it nowhere, mum. It's a bargain, if ever +there was one, and I'm more'n 'arf sorry I let it go at the price; but +we can't resist the lydies, can we, sir?' and he winked at father and +went away. + +Then the carpet was put down in the nursery, and sure enough there +wasn't a hole in it anywhere. + +As the last fold was unrolled something hard and loud-sounding bumped +out of it and trundled along the nursery floor. All the children +scrambled for it, and Cyril got it. He took it to the gas. It was shaped +like an egg, very yellow and shiny, half-transparent, and it had an odd +sort of light in it that changed as you held it in different ways. It +was as though it was an egg with a yolk of pale fire that just showed +through the stone. + +'I MAY keep it, mayn't I, mother?' Cyril asked. + +And of course mother said no; they must take it back to the man who had +brought the carpet, because she had only paid for a carpet, and not for +a stone egg with a fiery yolk to it. + +So she told them where the shop was, and it was in the Kentish Town +Road, not far from the hotel that is called the Bull and Gate. It was +a poky little shop, and the man was arranging furniture outside on the +pavement very cunningly, so that the more broken parts should show as +little as possible. And directly he saw the children he knew them again, +and he began at once, without giving them a chance to speak. + +'No you don't' he cried loudly; 'I ain't a-goin' to take back no +carpets, so don't you make no bloomin' errer. A bargain's a bargain, and +the carpet's puffik throughout.' + +'We don't want you to take it back,' said Cyril; 'but we found something +in it.' + +'It must have got into it up at your place, then,' said the man, with +indignant promptness, 'for there ain't nothing in nothing as I sell. +It's all as clean as a whistle.' + +'I never said it wasn't CLEAN,' said Cyril, 'but--' + +'Oh, if it's MOTHS,' said the man, 'that's easy cured with borax. But I +expect it was only an odd one. I tell you the carpet's good through and +through. It hadn't got no moths when it left my 'ands--not so much as an +hegg.' + +'But that's just it,' interrupted Jane; 'there WAS so much as an egg.' + +The man made a sort of rush at the children and stamped his foot. + +'Clear out, I say!' he shouted, 'or I'll call for the police. A nice +thing for customers to 'ear you a-coming 'ere a-charging me with finding +things in goods what I sells. 'Ere, be off, afore I sends you off with a +flea in your ears. Hi! constable--' + +The children fled, and they think, and their father thinks, that they +couldn't have done anything else. Mother has her own opinion. + +But father said they might keep the egg. + +'The man certainly didn't know the egg was there when he brought the +carpet,' said he, 'any more than your mother did, and we've as much +right to it as he had.' + +So the egg was put on the mantelpiece, where it quite brightened up the +dingy nursery. The nursery was dingy, because it was a basement room, +and its windows looked out on a stone area with a rockery made of +clinkers facing the windows. Nothing grew in the rockery except London +pride and snails. + +The room had been described in the house agent's list as a 'convenient +breakfast-room in basement,' and in the daytime it was rather dark. This +did not matter so much in the evenings when the gas was alight, but then +it was in the evening that the blackbeetles got so sociable, and used to +come out of the low cupboards on each side of the fireplace where their +homes were, and try to make friends with the children. At least, I +suppose that was what they wanted, but the children never would. + +On the Fifth of November father and mother went to the theatre, and +the children were not happy, because the Prossers next door had lots of +fireworks and they had none. + +They were not even allowed to have a bonfire in the garden. + +'No more playing with fire, thank you,' was father's answer, when they +asked him. + +When the baby had been put to bed the children sat sadly round the fire +in the nursery. + +'I'm beastly bored,' said Robert. + +'Let's talk about the Psammead,' said Anthea, who generally tried to +give the conversation a cheerful turn. + +'What's the good of TALKING?' said Cyril. 'What I want is for something +to happen. It's awfully stuffy for a chap not to be allowed out in the +evenings. There's simply nothing to do when you've got through your +homers.' + +Jane finished the last of her home-lessons and shut the book with a +bang. + +'We've got the pleasure of memory,' said she. 'Just think of last +holidays.' + +Last holidays, indeed, offered something to think of--for they had +been spent in the country at a white house between a sand-pit and a +gravel-pit, and things had happened. The children had found a Psammead, +or sand-fairy, and it had let them have anything they wished for--just +exactly anything, with no bother about its not being really for their +good, or anything like that. And if you want to know what kind of things +they wished for, and how their wishes turned out you can read it all in +a book called Five Children and It (It was the Psammead). If you've not +read it, perhaps I ought to tell you that the fifth child was the baby +brother, who was called the Lamb, because the first thing he ever said +was 'Baa!' and that the other children were not particularly handsome, +nor were they extra clever, nor extraordinarily good. But they were not +bad sorts on the whole; in fact, they were rather like you. + +'I don't want to think about the pleasures of memory,' said Cyril; 'I +want some more things to happen.' + +'We're very much luckier than any one else, as it is,' said Jane. 'Why, +no one else ever found a Psammead. We ought to be grateful.' + +'Why shouldn't we GO ON being, though?' Cyril asked--'lucky, I mean, not +grateful. Why's it all got to stop?' + +'Perhaps something will happen,' said Anthea, comfortably. 'Do you know, +sometimes I think we are the sort of people that things DO happen to.' + +'It's like that in history,' said Jane: 'some kings are full of +interesting things, and others--nothing ever happens to them, except +their being born and crowned and buried, and sometimes not that.' + +'I think Panther's right,' said Cyril: 'I think we are the sort of +people things do happen to. I have a sort of feeling things would happen +right enough if we could only give them a shove. It just wants something +to start it. That's all.' + +'I wish they taught magic at school,' Jane sighed. 'I believe if we +could do a little magic it might make something happen.' + +'I wonder how you begin?' Robert looked round the room, but he got no +ideas from the faded green curtains, or the drab Venetian blinds, or +the worn brown oil-cloth on the floor. Even the new carpet suggested +nothing, though its pattern was a very wonderful one, and always seemed +as though it were just going to make you think of something. + +'I could begin right enough,' said Anthea; 'I've read lots about it. But +I believe it's wrong in the Bible.' + +'It's only wrong in the Bible because people wanted to hurt other +people. I don't see how things can be wrong unless they hurt somebody, +and we don't want to hurt anybody; and what's more, we jolly well +couldn't if we tried. Let's get the Ingoldsby Legends. There's a thing +about Abra-cadabra there,' said Cyril, yawning. 'We may as well play at +magic. Let's be Knights Templars. They were awfully gone on magic. They +used to work spells or something with a goat and a goose. Father says +so.' + +'Well, that's all right,' said Robert, unkindly; 'you can play the goat +right enough, and Jane knows how to be a goose.' + +'I'll get Ingoldsby,' said Anthea, hastily. 'You turn up the hearthrug.' + +So they traced strange figures on the linoleum, where the hearthrug had +kept it clean. They traced them with chalk that Robert had nicked +from the top of the mathematical master's desk at school. You know, of +course, that it is stealing to take a new stick of chalk, but it is not +wrong to take a broken piece, so long as you only take one. (I do not +know the reason of this rule, nor who made it.) And they chanted all the +gloomiest songs they could think of. And, of course, nothing happened. +So then Anthea said, 'I'm sure a magic fire ought to be made of +sweet-smelling wood, and have magic gums and essences and things in it.' + +'I don't know any sweet-smelling wood, except cedar,' said Robert; 'but +I've got some ends of cedar-wood lead pencil.' + +So they burned the ends of lead pencil. And still nothing happened. + +'Let's burn some of the eucalyptus oil we have for our colds,' said +Anthea. + +And they did. It certainly smelt very strong. And they burned lumps +of camphor out of the big chest. It was very bright, and made a horrid +black smoke, which looked very magical. But still nothing happened. Then +they got some clean tea-cloths from the dresser drawer in the kitchen, +and waved them over the magic chalk-tracings, and sang 'The Hymn of the +Moravian Nuns at Bethlehem', which is very impressive. And still nothing +happened. So they waved more and more wildly, and Robert's tea-cloth +caught the golden egg and whisked it off the mantelpiece, and it fell +into the fender and rolled under the grate. + +'Oh, crikey!' said more than one voice. + +And every one instantly fell down flat on its front to look under the +grate, and there lay the egg, glowing in a nest of hot ashes. + +'It's not smashed, anyhow,' said Robert, and he put his hand under the +grate and picked up the egg. But the egg was much hotter than any one +would have believed it could possibly get in such a short time, and +Robert had to drop it with a cry of 'Bother!' It fell on the top bar of +the grate, and bounced right into the glowing red-hot heart of the fire. + +'The tongs!' cried Anthea. But, alas, no one could remember where they +were. Every one had forgotten that the tongs had last been used to fish +up the doll's teapot from the bottom of the water-butt, where the Lamb +had dropped it. So the nursery tongs were resting between the water-butt +and the dustbin, and cook refused to lend the kitchen ones. + +'Never mind,' said Robert, 'we'll get it out with the poker and the +shovel.' + +'Oh, stop,' cried Anthea. 'Look at it! Look! look! look! I do believe +something IS going to happen!' + +For the egg was now red-hot, and inside it something was moving. Next +moment there was a soft cracking sound; the egg burst in two, and out of +it came a flame-coloured bird. It rested a moment among the flames, and +as it rested there the four children could see it growing bigger and +bigger under their eyes. + +Every mouth was a-gape, every eye a-goggle. + +The bird rose in its nest of fire, stretched its wings, and flew out +into the room. It flew round and round, and round again, and where it +passed the air was warm. Then it perched on the fender. The children +looked at each other. Then Cyril put out a hand towards the bird. It put +its head on one side and looked up at him, as you may have seen a parrot +do when it is just going to speak, so that the children were hardly +astonished at all when it said, 'Be careful; I am not nearly cool yet.' + +They were not astonished, but they were very, very much interested. + +They looked at the bird, and it was certainly worth looking at. Its +feathers were like gold. It was about as large as a bantam, only its +beak was not at all bantam-shaped. 'I believe I know what it is,' said +Robert. 'I've seen a picture.' + +He hurried away. A hasty dash and scramble among the papers on father's +study table yielded, as the sum-books say, 'the desired result'. But +when he came back into the room holding out a paper, and crying, 'I say, +look here,' the others all said 'Hush!' and he hushed obediently and +instantly, for the bird was speaking. + +'Which of you,' it was saying, 'put the egg into the fire?' + +'He did,' said three voices, and three fingers pointed at Robert. + +The bird bowed; at least it was more like that than anything else. + +'I am your grateful debtor,' it said with a high-bred air. + +The children were all choking with wonder and curiosity--all except +Robert. He held the paper in his hand, and he KNEW. He said so. He +said-- + +'_I_ know who you are.' + +And he opened and displayed a printed paper, at the head of which was a +little picture of a bird sitting in a nest of flames. + +'You are the Phoenix,' said Robert; and the bird was quite pleased. + +'My fame has lived then for two thousand years,' it said. 'Allow me to +look at my portrait.' It looked at the page which Robert, kneeling down, +spread out in the fender, and said-- + +'It's not a flattering likeness... And what are these characters?' it +asked, pointing to the printed part. + +'Oh, that's all dullish; it's not much about YOU, you know,' said Cyril, +with unconscious politeness; 'but you're in lots of books.' + +'With portraits?' asked the Phoenix. + +'Well, no,' said Cyril; 'in fact, I don't think I ever saw any portrait +of you but that one, but I can read you something about yourself, if you +like.' + +The Phoenix nodded, and Cyril went off and fetched Volume X of the old +Encyclopedia, and on page 246 he found the following:-- + +'Phoenix--in ornithology, a fabulous bird of antiquity.' + +'Antiquity is quite correct,' said the Phoenix, 'but fabulous--well, do +I look it?' + +Every one shook its head. Cyril went on-- + + +'The ancients speak of this bird as single, or the only one of its +kind.' + +'That's right enough,' said the Phoenix. + +'They describe it as about the size of an eagle.' + +'Eagles are of different sizes,' said the Phoenix; 'it's not at all a +good description.' + +All the children were kneeling on the hearthrug, to be as near the +Phoenix as possible. + +'You'll boil your brains,' it said. 'Look out, I'm nearly cool now;' and +with a whirr of golden wings it fluttered from the fender to the table. +It was so nearly cool that there was only a very faint smell of burning +when it had settled itself on the table-cloth. + +'It's only a very little scorched,' said the Phoenix, apologetically; +'it will come out in the wash. Please go on reading.' + +The children gathered round the table. + +'The size of an eagle,' Cyril went on, 'its head finely crested with a +beautiful plumage, its neck covered with feathers of a gold colour, and +the rest of its body purple; only the tail white, and the eyes sparkling +like stars. They say that it lives about five hundred years in the +wilderness, and when advanced in age it builds itself a pile of sweet +wood and aromatic gums, fires it with the wafting of its wings, and thus +burns itself; and that from its ashes arises a worm, which in time grows +up to be a Phoenix. Hence the Phoenicians gave--' + +'Never mind what they gave,' said the Phoenix, ruffling its golden +feathers. 'They never gave much, anyway; they always were people who +gave nothing for nothing. That book ought to be destroyed. It's +most inaccurate. The rest of my body was never purple, and as for +my--tail--well, I simply ask you, IS it white?' + +It turned round and gravely presented its golden tail to the children. + +'No, it's not,' said everybody. + +'No, and it never was,' said the Phoenix. 'And that about the worm +is just a vulgar insult. The Phoenix has an egg, like all respectable +birds. It makes a pile--that part's all right--and it lays its egg, and +it burns itself; and it goes to sleep and wakes up in its egg, and comes +out and goes on living again, and so on for ever and ever. I can't tell +you how weary I got of it--such a restless existence; no repose.' + +'But how did your egg get HERE?' asked Anthea. + +'Ah, that's my life-secret,' said the Phoenix. 'I couldn't tell it to +any one who wasn't really sympathetic. I've always been a misunderstood +bird. You can tell that by what they say about the worm. I might tell +YOU,' it went on, looking at Robert with eyes that were indeed starry. +'You put me on the fire--' Robert looked uncomfortable. + +'The rest of us made the fire of sweet-scented woods and gums, though,' +said Cyril. + +'And--and it was an accident my putting you on the fire,' said Robert, +telling the truth with some difficulty, for he did not know how the +Phoenix might take it. It took it in the most unexpected manner. + +'Your candid avowal,' it said, 'removes my last scruple. I will tell you +my story.' + +'And you won't vanish, or anything sudden will you? asked Anthea, +anxiously. + +'Why?' it asked, puffing out the golden feathers, 'do you wish me to +stay here?' + +'Oh YES,' said every one, with unmistakable sincerity. + +'Why?' asked the Phoenix again, looking modestly at the table-cloth. + +'Because,' said every one at once, and then stopped short; only Jane +added after a pause, 'you are the most beautiful person we've ever +seen.' 'You are a sensible child,' said the Phoenix, 'and I will NOT +vanish or anything sudden. And I will tell you my tale. I had resided, +as your book says, for many thousand years in the wilderness, which is +a large, quiet place with very little really good society, and I was +becoming weary of the monotony of my existence. But I acquired the habit +of laying my egg and burning myself every five hundred years--and you +know how difficult it is to break yourself of a habit.' + +'Yes,' said Cyril; 'Jane used to bite her nails.' + +'But I broke myself of it,' urged Jane, rather hurt, 'You know I did.' + +'Not till they put bitter aloes on them,' said Cyril. + +'I doubt,' said the bird, gravely, 'whether even bitter aloes (the aloe, +by the way, has a bad habit of its own, which it might well cure before +seeking to cure others; I allude to its indolent practice of flowering +but once a century), I doubt whether even bitter aloes could have cured +ME. But I WAS cured. I awoke one morning from a feverish dream--it was +getting near the time for me to lay that tiresome fire and lay that +tedious egg upon it--and I saw two people, a man and a woman. They were +sitting on a carpet--and when I accosted them civilly they narrated to +me their life-story, which, as you have not yet heard it, I will now +proceed to relate. They were a prince and princess, and the story of +their parents was one which I am sure you will like to hear. In early +youth the mother of the princess happened to hear the story of a certain +enchanter, and in that story I am sure you will be interested. The +enchanter--' + +'Oh, please don't,' said Anthea. 'I can't understand all these +beginnings of stories, and you seem to be getting deeper and deeper in +them every minute. Do tell us your OWN story. That's what we really want +to hear.' + +'Well,' said the Phoenix, seeming on the whole rather flattered, 'to +cut about seventy long stories short (though _I_ had to listen to them +all--but to be sure in the wilderness there is plenty of time), this +prince and princess were so fond of each other that they did not want +any one else, and the enchanter--don't be alarmed, I won't go into +his history--had given them a magic carpet (you've heard of a magic +carpet?), and they had just sat on it and told it to take them right +away from every one--and it had brought them to the wilderness. And as +they meant to stay there they had no further use for the carpet, so they +gave it to me. That was indeed the chance of a lifetime!' + +'I don't see what you wanted with a carpet,' said Jane, 'when you've got +those lovely wings.' + +'They ARE nice wings, aren't they?' said the Phoenix, simpering and +spreading them out. 'Well, I got the prince to lay out the carpet, and I +laid my egg on it; then I said to the carpet, "Now, my excellent carpet, +prove your worth. Take that egg somewhere where it can't be hatched for +two thousand years, and where, when that time's up, some one will light +a fire of sweet wood and aromatic gums, and put the egg in to hatch;" +and you see it's all come out exactly as I said. The words were no +sooner out of my beak than egg and carpet disappeared. The royal lovers +assisted to arrange my pile, and soothed my last moments. I burnt myself +up and knew no more till I awoke on yonder altar.' + +It pointed its claw at the grate. + +'But the carpet,' said Robert, 'the magic carpet that takes you anywhere +you wish. What became of that?' + +'Oh, THAT?' said the Phoenix, carelessly--'I should say that that is the +carpet. I remember the pattern perfectly.' + +It pointed as it spoke to the floor, where lay the carpet which mother +had bought in the Kentish Town Road for twenty-two shillings and +ninepence. + +At that instant father's latch-key was heard in the door. + +'OH,' whispered Cyril, 'now we shall catch it for not being in bed!' + +'Wish yourself there,' said the Phoenix, in a hurried whisper, 'and then +wish the carpet back in its place.' + +No sooner said than done. It made one a little giddy, certainly, and a +little breathless; but when things seemed right way up again, there the +children were, in bed, and the lights were out. + +They heard the soft voice of the Phoenix through the darkness. + +'I shall sleep on the cornice above your curtains,' it said. 'Please +don't mention me to your kinsfolk.' + +'Not much good,' said Robert, 'they'd never believe us. I say,' he +called through the half-open door to the girls; 'talk about adventures +and things happening. We ought to be able to get some fun out of a magic +carpet AND a Phoenix.' + +'Rather,' said the girls, in bed. + +'Children,' said father, on the stairs, 'go to sleep at once. What do +you mean by talking at this time of night?' + +No answer was expected to this question, but under the bedclothes Cyril +murmured one. + +'Mean?' he said. 'Don't know what we mean. I don't know what anything +means.' + +'But we've got a magic carpet AND a Phoenix,' said Robert. + +'You'll get something else if father comes in and catches you,' said +Cyril. 'Shut up, I tell you.' + +Robert shut up. But he knew as well as you do that the adventures of +that carpet and that Phoenix were only just beginning. + +Father and mother had not the least idea of what had happened in their +absence. This is often the case, even when there are no magic carpets or +Phoenixes in the house. + +The next morning--but I am sure you would rather wait till the next +chapter before you hear about THAT. + + + +CHAPTER 2. THE TOPLESS TOWER + + +The children had seen the Phoenix-egg hatched in the flames in their own +nursery grate, and had heard from it how the carpet on their own nursery +floor was really the wishing carpet, which would take them anywhere they +chose. The carpet had transported them to bed just at the right +moment, and the Phoenix had gone to roost on the cornice supporting the +window-curtains of the boys' room. + +'Excuse me,' said a gentle voice, and a courteous beak opened, very +kindly and delicately, the right eye of Cyril. 'I hear the slaves below +preparing food. Awaken! A word of explanation and arrangement... I do +wish you wouldn't--' + +The Phoenix stopped speaking and fluttered away crossly to the +cornice-pole; for Cyril had hit out, as boys do when they are awakened +suddenly, and the Phoenix was not used to boys, and his feelings, if not +his wings, were hurt. + +'Sorry,' said Cyril, coming awake all in a minute. 'Do come back! What +was it you were saying? Something about bacon and rations?' + +The Phoenix fluttered back to the brass rail at the foot of the bed. + +'I say--you ARE real,' said Cyril. 'How ripping! And the carpet?' + +'The carpet is as real as it ever was,' said the Phoenix, rather +contemptuously; 'but, of course, a carpet's only a carpet, whereas a +Phoenix is superlatively a Phoenix.' + +'Yes, indeed,' said Cyril, 'I see it is. Oh, what luck! Wake up, Bobs! +There's jolly well something to wake up for today. And it's Saturday, +too.' + +'I've been reflecting,' said the Phoenix, 'during the silent watches +of the night, and I could not avoid the conclusion that you were quite +insufficiently astonished at my appearance yesterday. The ancients were +always VERY surprised. Did you, by chance, EXPECT my egg to hatch?' + +'Not us,' Cyril said. + +'And if we had,' said Anthea, who had come in in her nightie when she +heard the silvery voice of the Phoenix, 'we could never, never have +expected it to hatch anything so splendid as you.' + +The bird smiled. Perhaps you've never seen a bird smile? + +'You see,' said Anthea, wrapping herself in the boys' counterpane, for +the morning was chill, 'we've had things happen to us before;' and she +told the story of the Psammead, or sand-fairy. + +'Ah yes,' said the Phoenix; 'Psammeads were rare, even in my time. I +remember I used to be called the Psammead of the Desert. I was always +having compliments paid me; I can't think why.' + +'Can YOU give wishes, then?' asked Jane, who had now come in too. + +'Oh, dear me, no,' said the Phoenix, contemptuously, 'at least--but I +hear footsteps approaching. I hasten to conceal myself.' And it did. + +I think I said that this day was Saturday. It was also cook's birthday, +and mother had allowed her and Eliza to go to the Crystal Palace with a +party of friends, so Jane and Anthea of course had to help to make beds +and to wash up the breakfast cups, and little things like that. Robert +and Cyril intended to spend the morning in conversation with the +Phoenix, but the bird had its own ideas about this. + +'I must have an hour or two's quiet,' it said, 'I really must. My nerves +will give way unless I can get a little rest. You must remember it's two +thousand years since I had any conversation--I'm out of practice, and I +must take care of myself. I've often been told that mine is a valuable +life.' So it nestled down inside an old hatbox of father's, which had +been brought down from the box-room some days before, when a helmet was +suddenly needed for a game of tournaments, with its golden head under +its golden wing, and went to sleep. So then Robert and Cyril moved +the table back and were going to sit on the carpet and wish themselves +somewhere else. But before they could decide on the place, Cyril said-- + +'I don't know. Perhaps it's rather sneakish to begin without the girls.' + +'They'll be all the morning,' said Robert, impatiently. And then a thing +inside him, which tiresome books sometimes call the 'inward monitor', +said, 'Why don't you help them, then?' + +Cyril's 'inward monitor' happened to say the same thing at the same +moment, so the boys went and helped to wash up the tea-cups, and to dust +the drawing-room. Robert was so interested that he proposed to clean +the front doorsteps--a thing he had never been allowed to do. Nor was +he allowed to do it on this occasion. One reason was that it had already +been done by cook. + +When all the housework was finished, the girls dressed the happy, +wriggling baby in his blue highwayman coat and three-cornered hat, and +kept him amused while mother changed her dress and got ready to take +him over to granny's. Mother always went to granny's every Saturday, +and generally some of the children went with her; but today they were to +keep house. And their hearts were full of joyous and delightful feelings +every time they remembered that the house they would have to keep had a +Phoenix in it, AND a wishing carpet. + +You can always keep the Lamb good and happy for quite a long time if you +play the Noah's Ark game with him. It is quite simple. He just sits on +your lap and tells you what animal he is, and then you say the little +poetry piece about whatever animal he chooses to be. + +Of course, some of the animals, like the zebra and the tiger, haven't +got any poetry, because they are so difficult to rhyme to. The Lamb +knows quite well which are the poetry animals. + +'I'm a baby bear!' said the Lamb, snugging down; and Anthea began: + + + 'I love my little baby bear, + I love his nose and toes and hair; + I like to hold him in my arm, + And keep him VERY safe and warm.' + + +And when she said 'very', of course there was a real bear's hug. + +Then came the eel, and the Lamb was tickled till he wriggled exactly +like a real one: + + + 'I love my little baby eel, + He is so squidglety to feel; + He'll be an eel when he is big-- + But now he's just--a--tiny SNIG!' + + +Perhaps you didn't know that a snig was a baby eel? It is, though, and +the Lamb knew it. + +'Hedgehog now-!' he said; and Anthea went on: + + + 'My baby hedgehog, how I like ye, + Though your back's so prickly-spiky; + Your front is very soft, I've found, + So I must love you front ways round!' + + +And then she loved him front ways round, while he squealed with +pleasure. + +It is a very baby game, and, of course, the rhymes are only meant for +very, very small people--not for people who are old enough to read +books, so I won't tell you any more of them. + +By the time the Lamb had been a baby lion and a baby weazel, and a baby +rabbit and a baby rat, mother was ready; and she and the Lamb, having +been kissed by everybody and hugged as thoroughly as it is possible to +be when you're dressed for out-of-doors, were seen to the tram by the +boys. When the boys came back, every one looked at every one else and +said-- + +'Now!' + +They locked the front door and they locked the back door, and they +fastened all the windows. They moved the table and chairs off the +carpet, and Anthea swept it. + +'We must show it a LITTLE attention,' she said kindly. 'We'll give it +tea-leaves next time. Carpets like tea-leaves.' + +Then every one put on its out-door things, because as Cyril said, they +didn't know where they might be going, and it makes people stare if you +go out of doors in November in pinafores and without hats. + +Then Robert gently awoke the Phoenix, who yawned and stretched itself, +and allowed Robert to lift it on to the middle of the carpet, where it +instantly went to sleep again with its crested head tucked under its +golden wing as before. Then every one sat down on the carpet. + +'Where shall we go?' was of course the question, and it was warmly +discussed. Anthea wanted to go to Japan. Robert and Cyril voted for +America, and Jane wished to go to the seaside. + +'Because there are donkeys there,' said she. + +'Not in November, silly,' said Cyril; and the discussion got warmer and +warmer, and still nothing was settled. + +'I vote we let the Phoenix decide,' said Robert, at last. So they +stroked it till it woke. 'We want to go somewhere abroad,' they said, +'and we can't make up our minds where.' + +'Let the carpet make up ITS mind, if it has one,' said the Phoenix. + +'Just say you wish to go abroad.' + +So they did; and the next moment the world seemed to spin upside down, +and when it was right way up again and they were ungiddy enough to look +about them, they were out of doors. + +Out of doors--this is a feeble way to express where they were. They +were out of--out of the earth, or off it. In fact, they were floating +steadily, safely, splendidly, in the crisp clear air, with the pale +bright blue of the sky above them, and far down below the pale bright +sun-diamonded waves of the sea. The carpet had stiffened itself somehow, +so that it was square and firm like a raft, and it steered itself so +beautifully and kept on its way so flat and fearless that no one was at +all afraid of tumbling off. In front of them lay land. + +'The coast of France,' said the Phoenix, waking up and pointing with +its wing. 'Where do you wish to go? I should always keep one wish, of +course--for emergencies--otherwise you may get into an emergency from +which you can't emerge at all.' + +But the children were far too deeply interested to listen. + +'I tell you what,' said Cyril: 'let's let the thing go on and on, and +when we see a place we really want to stop at--why, we'll just stop. +Isn't this ripping?' + +'It's like trains,' said Anthea, as they swept over the low-lying +coast-line and held a steady course above orderly fields and straight +roads bordered with poplar trees--'like express trains, only in trains +you never can see anything because of grown-ups wanting the windows +shut; and then they breathe on them, and it's like ground glass, and +nobody can see anything, and then they go to sleep.' + +'It's like tobogganing,' said Robert, 'so fast and smooth, only there's +no door-mat to stop short on--it goes on and on.' + +'You darling Phoenix,' said Jane, 'it's all your doing. Oh, look at +that ducky little church and the women with flappy cappy things on their +heads.' + +'Don't mention it,' said the Phoenix, with sleepy politeness. + +'OH!' said Cyril, summing up all the rapture that was in every heart. +'Look at it all--look at it--and think of the Kentish Town Road!' + +Every one looked and every one thought. And the glorious, gliding, +smooth, steady rush went on, and they looked down on strange and +beautiful things, and held their breath and let it go in deep sighs, and +said 'Oh!' and 'Ah!' till it was long past dinner-time. + +It was Jane who suddenly said, 'I wish we'd brought that jam tart and +cold mutton with us. It would have been jolly to have a picnic in the +air.' + +The jam tart and cold mutton were, however, far away, sitting quietly in +the larder of the house in Camden Town which the children were supposed +to be keeping. A mouse was at that moment tasting the outside of the +raspberry jam part of the tart (she had nibbled a sort of gulf, or bay, +through the pastry edge) to see whether it was the sort of dinner she +could ask her little mouse-husband to sit down to. She had had a very +good dinner herself. It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good. + +'We'll stop as soon as we see a nice place,' said Anthea. 'I've got +threepence, and you boys have the fourpence each that your trams didn't +cost the other day, so we can buy things to eat. I expect the Phoenix +can speak French.' + +The carpet was sailing along over rocks and rivers and trees and towns +and farms and fields. It reminded everybody of a certain time when all +of them had had wings, and had flown up to the top of a church tower, +and had had a feast there of chicken and tongue and new bread and +soda-water. And this again reminded them how hungry they were. And just +as they were all being reminded of this very strongly indeed, they saw +ahead of them some ruined walls on a hill, and strong and upright, and +really, to look at, as good as new--a great square tower. + +'The top of that's just the exactly same size as the carpet,' said Jane. +'_I_ think it would be good to go to the top of that, because then none +of the Abby-what's-its-names--I mean natives--would be able to take the +carpet away even if they wanted to. And some of us could go out and get +things to eat--buy them honestly, I mean, not take them out of larder +windows.' + +'I think it would be better if we went--' Anthea was beginning; but Jane +suddenly clenched her hands. + +'I don't see why I should never do anything I want, just because I'm +the youngest. I wish the carpet would fit itself in at the top of that +tower--so there!' + +The carpet made a disconcerting bound, and next moment it was hovering +above the square top of the tower. Then slowly and carefully it began to +sink under them. It was like a lift going down with you at the Army and +Navy Stores. + +'I don't think we ought to wish things without all agreeing to them +first,' said Robert, huffishly. 'Hullo! What on earth?' + +For unexpectedly and greyly something was coming up all round the four +sides of the carpet. It was as if a wall were being built by magic +quickness. It was a foot high--it was two feet high--three, four, five. +It was shutting out the light--more and more. + +Anthea looked up at the sky and the walls that now rose six feet above +them. + +'We're dropping into the tower,' she screamed. 'THERE WASN'T ANY TOP TO +IT. So the carpet's going to fit itself in at the bottom.' + +Robert sprang to his feet. + +'We ought to have--Hullo! an owl's nest.' He put his knee on a jutting +smooth piece of grey stone, and reached his hand into a deep window +slit--broad to the inside of the tower, and narrowing like a funnel to +the outside. + +'Look sharp!' cried every one, but Robert did not look sharp enough. By +the time he had drawn his hand out of the owl's nest--there were no eggs +there--the carpet had sunk eight feet below him. + +'Jump, you silly cuckoo!' cried Cyril, with brotherly anxiety. + +But Robert couldn't turn round all in a minute into a jumping position. +He wriggled and twisted and got on to the broad ledge, and by the time +he was ready to jump the walls of the tower had risen up thirty feet +above the others, who were still sinking with the carpet, and Robert +found himself in the embrasure of a window; alone, for even the owls +were not at home that day. The wall was smoothish; there was no climbing +up, and as for climbing down--Robert hid his face in his hands, and +squirmed back and back from the giddy verge, until the back part of him +was wedged quite tight in the narrowest part of the window slit. + +He was safe now, of course, but the outside part of his window was like +a frame to a picture of part of the other side of the tower. It was very +pretty, with moss growing between the stones and little shiny gems; but +between him and it there was the width of the tower, and nothing in it +but empty air. The situation was terrible. Robert saw in a flash that +the carpet was likely to bring them into just the same sort of tight +places that they used to get into with the wishes the Psammead granted +them. + +And the others--imagine their feelings as the carpet sank slowly and +steadily to the very bottom of the tower, leaving Robert clinging to the +wall. Robert did not even try to imagine their feelings--he had quite +enough to do with his own; but you can. + +As soon as the carpet came to a stop on the ground at the bottom of the +inside of the tower it suddenly lost that raft-like stiffness which had +been such a comfort during the journey from Camden Town to the topless +tower, and spread itself limply over the loose stones and little earthy +mounds at the bottom of the tower, just exactly like any ordinary +carpet. Also it shrank suddenly, so that it seemed to draw away from +under their feet, and they stepped quickly off the edges and stood on +the firm ground, while the carpet drew itself in till it was its proper +size, and no longer fitted exactly into the inside of the tower, but +left quite a big space all round it. + +Then across the carpet they looked at each other, and then every chin +was tilted up and every eye sought vainly to see where poor Robert had +got to. Of course, they couldn't see him. + +'I wish we hadn't come,' said Jane. + +'You always do,' said Cyril, briefly. 'Look here, we can't leave Robert +up there. I wish the carpet would fetch him down.' + +The carpet seemed to awake from a dream and pull itself together. It +stiffened itself briskly and floated up between the four walls of the +tower. The children below craned their heads back, and nearly broke +their necks in doing it. The carpet rose and rose. It hung poised darkly +above them for an anxious moment or two; then it dropped down again, +threw itself on the uneven floor of the tower, and as it did so it +tumbled Robert out on the uneven floor of the tower. + +'Oh, glory!' said Robert, 'that was a squeak. You don't know how I felt. +I say, I've had about enough for a bit. Let's wish ourselves at home +again and have a go at that jam tart and mutton. We can go out again +afterwards.' + +'Righto!' said every one, for the adventure had shaken the nerves of +all. So they all got on to the carpet again, and said-- + +'I wish we were at home.' + +And lo and behold, they were no more at home than before. The carpet +never moved. The Phoenix had taken the opportunity to go to sleep. +Anthea woke it up gently. + +'Look here,' she said. + +'I'm looking,' said the Phoenix. + +'We WISHED to be at home, and we're still here,' complained Jane. + +'No,' said the Phoenix, looking about it at the high dark walls of the +tower. 'No; I quite see that.' + +'But we wished to be at home,' said Cyril. + +'No doubt,' said the bird, politely. + +'And the carpet hasn't moved an inch,' said Robert. + +'No,' said the Phoenix, 'I see it hasn't.' + +'But I thought it was a wishing carpet?' + +'So it is,' said the Phoenix. + +'Then why--?' asked the children, altogether. + +'I did tell you, you know,' said the Phoenix, 'only you are so fond +of listening to the music of your own voices. It is, indeed, the most +lovely music to each of us, and therefore--' + +'You did tell us WHAT?' interrupted an Exasperated. + +'Why, that the carpet only gives you three wishes a day and YOU'VE HAD +THEM.' + +There was a heartfelt silence. + +'Then how are we going to get home?' said Cyril, at last. + +'I haven't any idea,' replied the Phoenix, kindly. 'Can I fly out and +get you any little thing?' + +'How could you carry the money to pay for it?' + +'It isn't necessary. Birds always take what they want. It is not +regarded as stealing, except in the case of magpies.' + +The children were glad to find they had been right in supposing this to +be the case, on the day when they had wings, and had enjoyed somebody +else's ripe plums. + +'Yes; let the Phoenix get us something to eat, anyway,' Robert urged--' +('If it will be so kind you mean,' corrected Anthea, in a whisper); 'if +it will be so kind, and we can be thinking while it's gone.' + +So the Phoenix fluttered up through the grey space of the tower and +vanished at the top, and it was not till it had quite gone that Jane +said-- + +'Suppose it never comes back.' + +It was not a pleasant thought, and though Anthea at once said, 'Of +course it will come back; I'm certain it's a bird of its word,' a +further gloom was cast by the idea. For, curiously enough, there was +no door to the tower, and all the windows were far, far too high to be +reached by the most adventurous climber. It was cold, too, and Anthea +shivered. + +'Yes,' said Cyril, 'it's like being at the bottom of a well.' + +The children waited in a sad and hungry silence, and got little stiff +necks with holding their little heads back to look up the inside of the +tall grey tower, to see if the Phoenix were coming. + +At last it came. It looked very big as it fluttered down between the +walls, and as it neared them the children saw that its bigness was +caused by a basket of boiled chestnuts which it carried in one claw. +In the other it held a piece of bread. And in its beak was a very large +pear. The pear was juicy, and as good as a very small drink. When the +meal was over every one felt better, and the question of how to get home +was discussed without any disagreeableness. But no one could think +of any way out of the difficulty, or even out of the tower; for the +Phoenix, though its beak and claws had fortunately been strong enough +to carry food for them, was plainly not equal to flying through the air +with four well-nourished children. + +'We must stay here, I suppose,' said Robert at last, 'and shout out +every now and then, and some one will hear us and bring ropes and +ladders, and rescue us like out of mines; and they'll get up a +subscription to send us home, like castaways.' + +'Yes; but we shan't be home before mother is, and then father'll take +away the carpet and say it's dangerous or something,' said Cyril. + +'I DO wish we hadn't come,' said Jane. + +And every one else said 'Shut up,' except Anthea, who suddenly awoke the +Phoenix and said-- + +'Look here, I believe YOU can help us. Oh, I do wish you would!' + +'I will help you as far as lies in my power,' said the Phoenix, at once. +'What is it you want now?' + +'Why, we want to get home,' said every one. + +'Oh,' said the Phoenix. 'Ah, hum! Yes. Home, you said? Meaning?' + +'Where we live--where we slept last night--where the altar is that your +egg was hatched on.' + +'Oh, there!' said the Phoenix. 'Well, I'll do my best.' It fluttered on +to the carpet and walked up and down for a few minutes in deep thought. +Then it drew itself up proudly. + +'I CAN help you,' it said. 'I am almost sure I can help you. Unless I +am grossly deceived I can help you. You won't mind my leaving you for an +hour or two?' and without waiting for a reply it soared up through the +dimness of the tower into the brightness above. + +'Now,' said Cyril, firmly, 'it said an hour or two. But I've read +about captives and people shut up in dungeons and catacombs and things +awaiting release, and I know each moment is an eternity. Those people +always do something to pass the desperate moments. It's no use our +trying to tame spiders, because we shan't have time.' + +'I HOPE not,' said Jane, doubtfully. + +'But we ought to scratch our names on the stones or something.' + +'I say, talking of stones,' said Robert, 'you see that heap of stones +against the wall over in that corner. Well, I'm certain there's a hole +in the wall there--and I believe it's a door. Yes, look here--the stones +are round like an arch in the wall; and here's the hole--it's all black +inside.' + +He had walked over to the heap as he spoke and climbed up to +it--dislodged the top stone of the heap and uncovered a little dark +space. + +Next moment every one was helping to pull down the heap of stones, and +very soon every one threw off its jacket, for it was warm work. + +'It IS a door,' said Cyril, wiping his face, 'and not a bad thing +either, if--' + +He was going to add 'if anything happens to the Phoenix,' but he didn't +for fear of frightening Jane. He was not an unkind boy when he had +leisure to think of such things. + +The arched hole in the wall grew larger and larger. It was very, very +black, even compared with the sort of twilight at the bottom of the +tower; it grew larger because the children kept pulling off the stones +and throwing them down into another heap. The stones must have been +there a very long time, for they were covered with moss, and some of +them were stuck together by it. So it was fairly hard work, as Robert +pointed out. + +When the hole reached to about halfway between the top of the arch +and the tower, Robert and Cyril let themselves down cautiously on the +inside, and lit matches. How thankful they felt then that they had a +sensible father, who did not forbid them to carry matches, as some boys' +fathers do. The father of Robert and Cyril only insisted on the matches +being of the kind that strike only on the box. + +'It's not a door, it's a sort of tunnel,' Robert cried to the girls, +after the first match had flared up, flickered, and gone out. 'Stand +off--we'll push some more stones down!' + +They did, amid deep excitement. And now the stone heap was almost +gone--and before them the girls saw the dark archway leading to unknown +things. All doubts and fears as to getting home were forgotten in this +thrilling moment. It was like Monte Cristo--it was like-- + +'I say,' cried Anthea, suddenly, 'come out! There's always bad air in +places that have been shut up. It makes your torches go out, and then +you die. It's called fire-damp, I believe. Come out, I tell you.' + +The urgency of her tone actually brought the boys out--and then every +one took up its jacket and fanned the dark arch with it, so as to +make the air fresh inside. When Anthea thought the air inside 'must be +freshened by now,' Cyril led the way into the arch. + +The girls followed, and Robert came last, because Jane refused to tail +the procession lest 'something' should come in after her, and catch at +her from behind. Cyril advanced cautiously, lighting match after match, +and peering before him. + +'It's a vaulting roof,' he said, 'and it's all stone--all right, +Panther, don't keep pulling at my jacket! The air must be all right +because of the matches, silly, and there are--look out--there are steps +down.' + +'Oh, don't let's go any farther,' said Jane, in an agony of reluctance +(a very painful thing, by the way, to be in). 'I'm sure there are +snakes, or dens of lions, or something. Do let's go back, and come some +other time, with candles, and bellows for the fire-damp.' + +'Let me get in front of you, then,' said the stern voice of Robert, from +behind. 'This is exactly the place for buried treasure, and I'm going +on, anyway; you can stay behind if you like.' + +And then, of course, Jane consented to go on. + +So, very slowly and carefully, the children went down the steps--there +were seventeen of them--and at the bottom of the steps were more +passages branching four ways, and a sort of low arch on the right-hand +side made Cyril wonder what it could be, for it was too low to be the +beginning of another passage. + +So he knelt down and lit a match, and stooping very low he peeped in. + +'There's SOMETHING,' he said, and reached out his hand. It touched +something that felt more like a damp bag of marbles than anything else +that Cyril had ever touched. + +'I believe it IS a buried treasure,' he cried. + +And it was; for even as Anthea cried, 'Oh, hurry up, Squirrel--fetch it +out!' Cyril pulled out a rotting canvas bag--about as big as the paper +ones the greengrocer gives you with Barcelona nuts in for sixpence. + +'There's more of it, a lot more,' he said. + +As he pulled the rotten bag gave way, and the gold coins ran and span +and jumped and bumped and chinked and clinked on the floor of the dark +passage. + +I wonder what you would say if you suddenly came upon a buried treasure? +What Cyril said was, 'Oh, bother--I've burnt my fingers!' and as he +spoke he dropped the match. 'AND IT WAS THE LAST!' he added. + +There was a moment of desperate silence. Then Jane began to cry. + +'Don't,' said Anthea, 'don't, Pussy--you'll exhaust the air if you cry. +We can get out all right.' + +'Yes,' said Jane, through her sobs, 'and find the Phoenix has come back +and gone away again--because it thought we'd gone home some other way, +and--Oh, I WISH we hadn't come.' + +Every one stood quite still--only Anthea cuddled Jane up to her and +tried to wipe her eyes in the dark. + +'D-DON'T,' said Jane; 'that's my EAR--I'm not crying with my ears.' + +'Come, let's get on out,' said Robert; but that was not so easy, for no +one could remember exactly which way they had come. It is very difficult +to remember things in the dark, unless you have matches with you, and +then of course it is quite different, even if you don't strike one. + +Every one had come to agree with Jane's constant wish--and despair was +making the darkness blacker than ever, when quite suddenly the floor +seemed to tip up--and a strong sensation of being in a whirling lift +came upon every one. All eyes were closed--one's eyes always are in the +dark, don't you think? When the whirling feeling stopped, Cyril said +'Earthquakes!' and they all opened their eyes. + +They were in their own dingy breakfast-room at home, and oh, how light +and bright and safe and pleasant and altogether delightful it seemed +after that dark underground tunnel! The carpet lay on the floor, looking +as calm as though it had never been for an excursion in its life. On +the mantelpiece stood the Phoenix, waiting with an air of modest yet +sterling worth for the thanks of the children. + +'But how DID you do it?' they asked, when every one had thanked the +Phoenix again and again. + +'Oh, I just went and got a wish from your friend the Psammead.' + +'But how DID you know where to find it?' + +'I found that out from the carpet; these wishing creatures always know +all about each other--they're so clannish; like the Scots, you know--all +related.' + +'But, the carpet can't talk, can it?' + +'No.' + +'Then how--' + +'How did I get the Psammead's address? I tell you I got it from the +carpet.' + +'DID it speak then?' + +'No,' said the Phoenix, thoughtfully, 'it didn't speak, but I gathered +my information from something in its manner. I was always a singularly +observant bird.' + +It was not till after the cold mutton and the jam tart, as well as the +tea and bread-and-butter, that any one found time to regret the golden +treasure which had been left scattered on the floor of the underground +passage, and which, indeed, no one had thought of till now, since the +moment when Cyril burnt his fingers at the flame of the last match. + +'What owls and goats we were!' said Robert. 'Look how we've always +wanted treasure--and now--' + +'Never mind,' said Anthea, trying as usual to make the best of it. +'We'll go back again and get it all, and then we'll give everybody +presents.' + +More than a quarter of an hour passed most agreeably in arranging what +presents should be given to whom, and, when the claims of generosity had +been satisfied, the talk ran for fifty minutes on what they would buy +for themselves. + +It was Cyril who broke in on Robert's almost too technical account of +the motor-car on which he meant to go to and from school-- + +'There!' he said. 'Dry up. It's no good. We can't ever go back. We don't +know where it is.' + +'Don't YOU know?' Jane asked the Phoenix, wistfully. + +'Not in the least,' the Phoenix replied, in a tone of amiable regret. + +'Then we've lost the treasure,' said Cyril. And they had. + +'But we've got the carpet and the Phoenix,' said Anthea. + +'Excuse me,' said the bird, with an air of wounded dignity, 'I do SO +HATE to seem to interfere, but surely you MUST mean the Phoenix and the +carpet?' + + + +CHAPTER 3. THE QUEEN COOK + + +It was on a Saturday that the children made their first glorious journey +on the wishing carpet. Unless you are too young to read at all, you will +know that the next day must have been Sunday. + +Sunday at 18, Camden Terrace, Camden Town, was always a very pretty +day. Father always brought home flowers on Saturday, so that the +breakfast-table was extra beautiful. In November, of course, the flowers +were chrysanthemums, yellow and coppery coloured. Then there were always +sausages on toast for breakfast, and these are rapture, after six days +of Kentish Town Road eggs at fourteen a shilling. + +On this particular Sunday there were fowls for dinner, a kind of food +that is generally kept for birthdays and grand occasions, and there +was an angel pudding, when rice and milk and oranges and white icing do +their best to make you happy. + +After dinner father was very sleepy indeed, because he had been working +hard all the week; but he did not yield to the voice that said, 'Go and +have an hour's rest.' He nursed the Lamb, who had a horrid cough that +cook said was whooping-cough as sure as eggs, and he said-- + +'Come along, kiddies; I've got a ripping book from the library, called +The Golden Age, and I'll read it to you.' + +Mother settled herself on the drawing-room sofa, and said she could +listen quite nicely with her eyes shut. The Lamb snugged into the +'armchair corner' of daddy's arm, and the others got into a happy heap +on the hearth-rug. At first, of course, there were too many feet and +knees and shoulders and elbows, but real comfort was actually settling +down on them, and the Phoenix and the carpet were put away on the back +top shelf of their minds (beautiful things that could be taken out and +played with later), when a surly solid knock came at the drawing-room +door. It opened an angry inch, and the cook's voice said, 'Please, m', +may I speak to you a moment?' + +Mother looked at father with a desperate expression. Then she put her +pretty sparkly Sunday shoes down from the sofa, and stood up in them and +sighed. + +'As good fish in the sea,' said father, cheerfully, and it was not till +much later that the children understood what he meant. + +Mother went out into the passage, which is called 'the hall', where the +umbrella-stand is, and the picture of the 'Monarch of the Glen' in a +yellow shining frame, with brown spots on the Monarch from the damp +in the house before last, and there was cook, very red and damp in the +face, and with a clean apron tied on all crooked over the dirty one that +she had dished up those dear delightful chickens in. She stood there and +she seemed to get redder and damper, and she twisted the corner of her +apron round her fingers, and she said very shortly and fiercely-- + +'If you please ma'am, I should wish to leave at my day month.' Mother +leaned against the hatstand. The children could see her looking pale +through the crack of the door, because she had been very kind to the +cook, and had given her a holiday only the day before, and it seemed so +very unkind of the cook to want to go like this, and on a Sunday too. + +'Why, what's the matter?' mother said. + +'It's them children,' the cook replied, and somehow the children all +felt that they had known it from the first. They did not remember having +done anything extra wrong, but it is so frightfully easy to displease a +cook. 'It's them children: there's that there new carpet in their room, +covered thick with mud, both sides, beastly yellow mud, and sakes alive +knows where they got it. And all that muck to clean up on a Sunday! It's +not my place, and it's not my intentions, so I don't deceive you, ma'am, +and but for them limbs, which they is if ever there was, it's not a bad +place, though I says it, and I wouldn't wish to leave, but--' + +'I'm very sorry,' said mother, gently. 'I will speak to the children. +And you had better think it over, and if you REALLY wish to go, tell me +to-morrow.' + +Next day mother had a quiet talk with cook, and cook said she didn't +mind if she stayed on a bit, just to see. + +But meantime the question of the muddy carpet had been gone into +thoroughly by father and mother. Jane's candid explanation that the +mud had come from the bottom of a foreign tower where there was buried +treasure was received with such chilling disbelief that the others +limited their defence to an expression of sorrow, and of a determination +'not to do it again'. But father said (and mother agreed with him, +because mothers have to agree with fathers, and not because it was her +own idea) that children who coated a carpet on both sides with thick +mud, and when they were asked for an explanation could only talk silly +nonsense--that meant Jane's truthful statement--were not fit to have a +carpet at all, and, indeed, SHOULDN'T have one for a week! + +So the carpet was brushed (with tea-leaves, too) which was the only +comfort Anthea could think of, and folded up and put away in the +cupboard at the top of the stairs, and daddy put the key in his trousers +pocket. 'Till Saturday,' said he. + +'Never mind,' said Anthea, 'we've got the Phoenix.' + +But, as it happened, they hadn't. The Phoenix was nowhere to be found, +and everything had suddenly settled down from the rosy wild beauty of +magic happenings to the common damp brownness of ordinary November life +in Camden Town--and there was the nursery floor all bare boards in +the middle and brown oilcloth round the outside, and the bareness and +yellowness of the middle floor showed up the blackbeetles with terrible +distinctness, when the poor things came out in the evening, as usual, to +try to make friends with the children. But the children never would. + +The Sunday ended in gloom, which even junket for supper in the blue +Dresden bowl could hardly lighten at all. Next day the Lamb's cough +was worse. It certainly seemed very whoopy, and the doctor came in his +brougham carriage. + +Every one tried to bear up under the weight of the sorrow which it was +to know that the wishing carpet was locked up and the Phoenix mislaid. A +good deal of time was spent in looking for the Phoenix. + +'It's a bird of its word,' said Anthea. 'I'm sure it's not deserted us. +But you know it had a most awfully long fly from wherever it was to near +Rochester and back, and I expect the poor thing's feeling tired out and +wants rest. I am sure we may trust it.' + +The others tried to feel sure of this, too, but it was hard. + +No one could be expected to feel very kindly towards the cook, since it +was entirely through her making such a fuss about a little foreign mud +that the carpet had been taken away. + +'She might have told us,' said Jane, 'and Panther and I would have +cleaned it with tea-leaves.' + +'She's a cantankerous cat,' said Robert. + +'I shan't say what I think about her,' said Anthea, primly, 'because it +would be evil speaking, lying, and slandering.' + +'It's not lying to say she's a disagreeable pig, and a beastly +blue-nosed Bozwoz,' said Cyril, who had read The Eyes of Light, and +intended to talk like Tony as soon as he could teach Robert to talk like +Paul. + +And all the children, even Anthea, agreed that even if she wasn't a +blue-nosed Bozwoz, they wished cook had never been born. + +But I ask you to believe that they didn't do all the things on purpose +which so annoyed the cook during the following week, though I daresay +the things would not have happened if the cook had been a favourite. +This is a mystery. Explain it if you can. The things that had happened +were as follows: + +Sunday.--Discovery of foreign mud on both sides of the carpet. + +Monday.--Liquorice put on to boil with aniseed balls in a saucepan. +Anthea did this, because she thought it would be good for the Lamb's +cough. The whole thing forgotten, and bottom of saucepan burned out. It +was the little saucepan lined with white that was kept for the baby's +milk. + +Tuesday.--A dead mouse found in pantry. Fish-slice taken to dig grave +with. By regrettable accident fish-slice broken. Defence: 'The cook +oughtn't to keep dead mice in pantries.' + +Wednesday.--Chopped suet left on kitchen table. Robert added chopped +soap, but he says he thought the suet was soap too. + +Thursday.--Broke the kitchen window by falling against it during a +perfectly fair game of bandits in the area. + +Friday.--Stopped up grating of kitchen sink with putty and filled sink +with water to make a lake to sail paper boats in. Went away and left the +tap running. Kitchen hearthrug and cook's shoes ruined. + +On Saturday the carpet was restored. There had been plenty of time +during the week to decide where it should be asked to go when they did +get it back. + +Mother had gone over to granny's, and had not taken the Lamb because he +had a bad cough, which, cook repeatedly said, was whooping-cough as sure +as eggs is eggs. + +'But we'll take him out, a ducky darling,' said Anthea. 'We'll take +him somewhere where you can't have whooping-cough. Don't be so silly, +Robert. If he DOES talk about it no one'll take any notice. He's always +talking about things he's never seen.' + +So they dressed the Lamb and themselves in out-of-doors clothes, and the +Lamb chuckled and coughed, and laughed and coughed again, poor dear, and +all the chairs and tables were moved off the carpet by the boys, while +Jane nursed the Lamb, and Anthea rushed through the house in one last +wild hunt for the missing Phoenix. + +'It's no use waiting for it,' she said, reappearing breathless in the +breakfast-room. 'But I know it hasn't deserted us. It's a bird of its +word.' + +'Quite so,' said the gentle voice of the Phoenix from beneath the table. + +Every one fell on its knees and looked up, and there was the Phoenix +perched on a crossbar of wood that ran across under the table, and had +once supported a drawer, in the happy days before the drawer had been +used as a boat, and its bottom unfortunately trodden out by Raggett's +Really Reliable School Boots on the feet of Robert. + +'I've been here all the time,' said the Phoenix, yawning politely +behind its claw. 'If you wanted me you should have recited the ode of +invocation; it's seven thousand lines long, and written in very pure and +beautiful Greek.' + +'Couldn't you tell it us in English?' asked Anthea. + +'It's rather long, isn't it?' said Jane, jumping the Lamb on her knee. + +'Couldn't you make a short English version, like Tate and Brady?' + +'Oh, come along, do,' said Robert, holding out his hand. 'Come along, +good old Phoenix.' + +'Good old BEAUTIFUL Phoenix,' it corrected shyly. + +'Good old BEAUTIFUL Phoenix, then. Come along, come along,' said Robert, +impatiently, with his hand still held out. + +The Phoenix fluttered at once on to his wrist. + +'This amiable youth,' it said to the others, 'has miraculously been able +to put the whole meaning of the seven thousand lines of Greek invocation +into one English hexameter--a little misplaced some of the words--but-- + +'Oh, come along, come along, good old beautiful Phoenix!' + +'Not perfect, I admit--but not bad for a boy of his age.' + +'Well, now then,' said Robert, stepping back on to the carpet with the +golden Phoenix on his wrist. + +'You look like the king's falconer,' said Jane, sitting down on the +carpet with the baby on her lap. + +Robert tried to go on looking like it. Cyril and Anthea stood on the +carpet. + +'We shall have to get back before dinner,' said Cyril, 'or cook will +blow the gaff.' + +'She hasn't sneaked since Sunday,' said Anthea. + +'She--' Robert was beginning, when the door burst open and the cook, +fierce and furious, came in like a whirlwind and stood on the corner of +the carpet, with a broken basin in one hand and a threat in the other, +which was clenched. + +'Look 'ere!' she cried, 'my only basin; and what the powers am I to +make the beefsteak and kidney pudding in that your ma ordered for your +dinners? You don't deserve no dinners, so yer don't.' + +'I'm awfully sorry, cook,' said Anthea gently; 'it was my fault, and +I forgot to tell you about it. It got broken when we were telling our +fortunes with melted lead, you know, and I meant to tell you.' + +'Meant to tell me,' replied the cook; she was red with anger, and really +I don't wonder--'meant to tell! Well, _I_ mean to tell, too. I've held +my tongue this week through, because the missus she said to me quiet +like, "We mustn't expect old heads on young shoulders," but now I shan't +hold it no longer. There was the soap you put in our pudding, and me and +Eliza never so much as breathed it to your ma--though well we might--and +the saucepan, and the fish-slice, and--My gracious cats alive! what 'ave +you got that blessed child dressed up in his outdoors for?' + +'We aren't going to take him out,' said Anthea; 'at least--' She stopped +short, for though they weren't going to take him out in the Kentish +Town Road, they certainly intended to take him elsewhere. But not at all +where cook meant when she said 'out'. This confused the truthful Anthea. + +'Out!' said the cook, 'that I'll take care you don't;' and she snatched +the Lamb from the lap of Jane, while Anthea and Robert caught her by the +skirts and apron. 'Look here,' said Cyril, in stern desperation, 'will +you go away, and make your pudding in a pie-dish, or a flower-pot, or a +hot-water can, or something?' + +'Not me,' said the cook, briefly; 'and leave this precious poppet for +you to give his deathercold to.' + +'I warn you,' said Cyril, solemnly. 'Beware, ere yet it be too late.' + +'Late yourself the little popsey-wopsey,' said the cook, with angry +tenderness. 'They shan't take it out, no more they shan't. And--Where +did you get that there yellow fowl?' She pointed to the Phoenix. + +Even Anthea saw that unless the cook lost her situation the loss would +be theirs. + +'I wish,' she said suddenly, 'we were on a sunny southern shore, where +there can't be any whooping-cough.' + +She said it through the frightened howls of the Lamb, and the sturdy +scoldings of the cook, and instantly the giddy-go-round-and-falling-lift +feeling swept over the whole party, and the cook sat down flat on the +carpet, holding the screaming Lamb tight to her stout print-covered +self, and calling on St Bridget to help her. She was an Irishwoman. + +The moment the tipsy-topsy-turvy feeling stopped, the cook opened her +eyes, gave one sounding screech and shut them again, and Anthea took the +opportunity to get the desperately howling Lamb into her own arms. + +'It's all right,' she said; 'own Panther's got you. Look at the trees, +and the sand, and the shells, and the great big tortoises. Oh DEAR, how +hot it is!' + +It certainly was; for the trusty carpet had laid itself out on a +southern shore that was sunny and no mistake, as Robert remarked. The +greenest of green slopes led up to glorious groves where palm-trees and +all the tropical flowers and fruits that you read of in Westward Ho! and +Fair Play were growing in rich profusion. Between the green, green slope +and the blue, blue sea lay a stretch of sand that looked like a carpet +of jewelled cloth of gold, for it was not greyish as our northern sand +is, but yellow and changing--opal-coloured like sunshine and rainbows. +And at the very moment when the wild, whirling, blinding, deafening, +tumbling upside-downness of the carpet-moving stopped, the children had +the happiness of seeing three large live turtles waddle down to the edge +of the sea and disappear in the water. And it was hotter than you can +possibly imagine, unless you think of ovens on a baking-day. + +Every one without an instant's hesitation tore off its +London-in-November outdoor clothes, and Anthea took off the Lamb's +highwayman blue coat and his three-cornered hat, and then his jersey, +and then the Lamb himself suddenly slipped out of his little blue tight +breeches and stood up happy and hot in his little white shirt. + +'I'm sure it's much warmer than the seaside in the summer,' said Anthea. +'Mother always lets us go barefoot then.' + +So the Lamb's shoes and socks and gaiters came off, and he stood digging +his happy naked pink toes into the golden smooth sand. + +'I'm a little white duck-dickie,' said he--'a little white duck-dickie +what swims,' and splashed quacking into a sandy pool. + +'Let him,' said Anthea; 'it can't hurt him. Oh, how hot it is!' + +The cook suddenly opened her eyes and screamed, shut them, screamed +again, opened her eyes once more and said-- + +'Why, drat my cats alive, what's all this? It's a dream, I expect. + +Well, it's the best I ever dreamed. I'll look it up in the dream-book +to-morrow. Seaside and trees and a carpet to sit on. I never did!' + +'Look here,' said Cyril, 'it isn't a dream; it's real.' + +'Ho yes!' said the cook; 'they always says that in dreams.' + +'It's REAL, I tell you,' Robert said, stamping his foot. 'I'm not going +to tell you how it's done, because that's our secret.' He winked heavily +at each of the others in turn. 'But you wouldn't go away and make that +pudding, so we HAD to bring you, and I hope you like it.' + +'I do that, and no mistake,' said the cook unexpectedly; 'and it being a +dream it don't matter what I say; and I WILL say, if it's my last word, +that of all the aggravating little varmints--' 'Calm yourself, my good +woman,' said the Phoenix. + +'Good woman, indeed,' said the cook; 'good woman yourself' Then she +saw who it was that had spoken. 'Well, if I ever,' said she; 'this is +something like a dream! Yellow fowls a-talking and all! I've heard of +such, but never did I think to see the day.' + +'Well, then,' said Cyril, impatiently, 'sit here and see the day now. +It's a jolly fine day. Here, you others--a council!' They walked along +the shore till they were out of earshot of the cook, who still sat +gazing about her with a happy, dreamy, vacant smile. + +'Look here,' said Cyril, 'we must roll the carpet up and hide it, so +that we can get at it at any moment. The Lamb can be getting rid of +his whooping-cough all the morning, and we can look about; and if the +savages on this island are cannibals, we'll hook it, and take her back. +And if not, we'll LEAVE HER HERE.' + +'Is that being kind to servants and animals, like the clergyman said?' +asked Jane. + +'Nor she isn't kind,' retorted Cyril. + +'Well--anyway,' said Anthea, 'the safest thing is to leave the carpet +there with her sitting on it. Perhaps it'll be a lesson to her, and +anyway, if she thinks it's a dream it won't matter what she says when +she gets home.' + +So the extra coats and hats and mufflers were piled on the carpet. Cyril +shouldered the well and happy Lamb, the Phoenix perched on Robert's +wrist, and 'the party of explorers prepared to enter the interior'. + +The grassy slope was smooth, but under the trees there were tangled +creepers with bright, strange-shaped flowers, and it was not easy to +walk. + +'We ought to have an explorer's axe,' said Robert. 'I shall ask father +to give me one for Christmas.' + +There were curtains of creepers with scented blossoms hanging from the +trees, and brilliant birds darted about quite close to their faces. + +'Now, tell me honestly,' said the Phoenix, 'are there any birds here +handsomer than I am? Don't be afraid of hurting my feelings--I'm a +modest bird, I hope.' + +'Not one of them,' said Robert, with conviction, 'is a patch upon you!' + +'I was never a vain bird,' said the Phoenix, 'but I own that you confirm +my own impression. I will take a flight.' It circled in the air for a +moment, and, returning to Robert's wrist, went on, 'There is a path to +the left.' + +And there was. So now the children went on through the wood more quickly +and comfortably, the girls picking flowers and the Lamb inviting +the 'pretty dickies' to observe that he himself was a 'little white +real-water-wet duck!' + +And all this time he hadn't whooping-coughed once. + +The path turned and twisted, and, always threading their way amid a +tangle of flowers, the children suddenly passed a corner and found +themselves in a forest clearing, where there were a lot of pointed +huts--the huts, as they knew at once, of SAVAGES. + +The boldest heart beat more quickly. Suppose they WERE cannibals. It was +a long way back to the carpet. + +'Hadn't we better go back?' said Jane. 'Go NOW,' she said, and her voice +trembled a little. 'Suppose they eat us.' + +'Nonsense, Pussy,' said Cyril, firmly. 'Look, there's a goat tied up. +That shows they don't eat PEOPLE.' + +'Let's go on and say we're missionaries,' Robert suggested. + +'I shouldn't advise THAT,' said the Phoenix, very earnestly. + +'Why not?' + +'Well, for one thing, it isn't true,' replied the golden bird. + +It was while they stood hesitating on the edge of the clearing that +a tall man suddenly came out of one of the huts. He had hardly any +clothes, and his body all over was a dark and beautiful coppery +colour--just like the chrysanthemums father had brought home on +Saturday. In his hand he held a spear. The whites of his eyes and the +white of his teeth were the only light things about him, except that +where the sun shone on his shiny brown body it looked white, too. If +you will look carefully at the next shiny savage you meet with next to +nothing on, you will see at once--if the sun happens to be shining at +the time--that I am right about this. + +The savage looked at the children. Concealment was impossible. He +uttered a shout that was more like 'Oo goggery bag-wag' than anything +else the children had ever heard, and at once brown coppery people leapt +out of every hut, and swarmed like ants about the clearing. There was +no time for discussion, and no one wanted to discuss anything, anyhow. +Whether these coppery people were cannibals or not now seemed to matter +very little. + +Without an instant's hesitation the four children turned and ran back +along the forest path; the only pause was Anthea's. She stood back to +let Cyril pass, because he was carrying the Lamb, who screamed with +delight. (He had not whooping-coughed a single once since the carpet +landed him on the island.) + +'Gee-up, Squirrel; gee-gee,' he shouted, and Cyril did gee-up. The path +was a shorter cut to the beach than the creeper-covered way by which +they had come, and almost directly they saw through the trees the +shining blue-and-gold-and-opal of sand and sea. + +'Stick to it,' cried Cyril, breathlessly. + +They did stick to it; they tore down the sands--they could hear behind +them as they ran the patter of feet which they knew, too well, were +copper-coloured. + +The sands were golden and opal-coloured--and BARE. There were wreaths of +tropic seaweed, there were rich tropic shells of the kind you would not +buy in the Kentish Town Road under at least fifteen pence a pair. +There were turtles basking lumpily on the water's edge--but no cook, no +clothes, and no carpet. + +'On, on! Into the sea!' gasped Cyril. 'They MUST hate water. +I've--heard--savages always--dirty.' + +Their feet were splashing in the warm shallows before his breathless +words were ended. The calm baby-waves were easy to go through. It is +warm work running for your life in the tropics, and the coolness of the +water was delicious. They were up to their arm-pits now, and Jane was up +to her chin. + +'Look!' said the Phoenix. 'What are they pointing at?' + +The children turned; and there, a little to the west was a head--a head +they knew, with a crooked cap upon it. It was the head of the cook. + +For some reason or other the savages had stopped at the water's edge +and were all talking at the top of their voices, and all were pointing +copper-coloured fingers, stiff with interest and excitement, at the head +of the cook. + +The children hurried towards her as quickly as the water would let them. + +'What on earth did you come out here for?' Robert shouted; 'and where on +earth's the carpet?' + +'It's not on earth, bless you,' replied the cook, happily; 'it's UNDER +ME--in the water. I got a bit warm setting there in the sun, and I just +says, "I wish I was in a cold bath"--just like that--and next minute +here I was! It's all part of the dream.' + +Every one at once saw how extremely fortunate it was that the carpet had +had the sense to take the cook to the nearest and largest bath--the sea, +and how terrible it would have been if the carpet had taken itself and +her to the stuffy little bath-room of the house in Camden Town! + +'Excuse me,' said the Phoenix's soft voice, breaking in on the general +sigh of relief, 'but I think these brown people want your cook.' + +'To--to eat?' whispered Jane, as well as she could through the water +which the plunging Lamb was dashing in her face with happy fat hands and +feet. + +'Hardly,' rejoined the bird. 'Who wants cooks to EAT? Cooks are ENGAGED, +not eaten. They wish to engage her.' + +'How can you understand what they say?' asked Cyril, doubtfully. + +'It's as easy as kissing your claw,' replied the bird. 'I speak and +understand ALL languages, even that of your cook, which is difficult and +unpleasing. It's quite easy, when you know how it's done. It just comes +to you. I should advise you to beach the carpet and land the cargo--the +cook, I mean. You can take my word for it, the copper-coloured ones will +not harm you now.' + +It is impossible not to take the word of a Phoenix when it tells you +to. So the children at once got hold of the corners of the carpet, +and, pulling it from under the cook, towed it slowly in through the +shallowing water, and at last spread it on the sand. The cook, who had +followed, instantly sat down on it, and at once the copper-coloured +natives, now strangely humble, formed a ring round the carpet, and fell +on their faces on the rainbow-and-gold sand. The tallest savage spoke +in this position, which must have been very awkward for him; and Jane +noticed that it took him quite a long time to get the sand out of his +mouth afterwards. + +'He says,' the Phoenix remarked after some time, 'that they wish to +engage your cook permanently.' + +'Without a character?' asked Anthea, who had heard her mother speak of +such things. + +'They do not wish to engage her as cook, but as queen; and queens need +not have characters.' + +There was a breathless pause. + +'WELL,' said Cyril, 'of all the choices! But there's no accounting for +tastes.' + +Every one laughed at the idea of the cook's being engaged as queen; they +could not help it. + +'I do not advise laughter,' warned the Phoenix, ruffling out his golden +feathers, which were extremely wet. 'And it's not their own choice. It +seems that there is an ancient prophecy of this copper-coloured tribe +that a great queen should some day arise out of the sea with a white +crown on her head, and--and--well, you see! There's the crown!' + +It pointed its claw at cook's cap; and a very dirty cap it was, because +it was the end of the week. + +'That's the white crown,' it said; 'at least, it's nearly white--very +white indeed compared to the colour THEY are--and anyway, it's quite +white enough.' + +Cyril addressed the cook. 'Look here!' said he, 'these brown people want +you to be their queen. They're only savages, and they don't know any +better. Now would you really like to stay? or, if you'll promise not to +be so jolly aggravating at home, and not to tell any one a word about +to-day, we'll take you back to Camden Town.' + +'No, you don't,' said the cook, in firm, undoubting tones. 'I've always +wanted to be the Queen, God bless her! and I always thought what a good +one I should make; and now I'm going to. IF it's only in a dream, it's +well worth while. And I don't go back to that nasty underground kitchen, +and me blamed for everything; that I don't, not till the dream's +finished and I wake up with that nasty bell a rang-tanging in my +ears--so I tell you.' + +'Are you SURE,' Anthea anxiously asked the Phoenix, 'that she will be +quite safe here?' + +'She will find the nest of a queen a very precious and soft thing,' said +the bird, solemnly. + +'There--you hear,' said Cyril. 'You're in for a precious soft thing, +so mind you're a good queen, cook. It's more than you'd any right to +expect, but long may you reign.' + +Some of the cook's copper-coloured subjects now advanced from the forest +with long garlands of beautiful flowers, white and sweet-scented, and +hung them respectfully round the neck of their new sovereign. + +'What! all them lovely bokays for me!' exclaimed the enraptured cook. +'Well, this here is something LIKE a dream, I must say.' + +She sat up very straight on the carpet, and the copper-coloured ones, +themselves wreathed in garlands of the gayest flowers, madly stuck +parrot feathers in their hair and began to dance. It was a dance such as +you have never seen; it made the children feel almost sure that the +cook was right, and that they were all in a dream. Small, strange-shaped +drums were beaten, odd-sounding songs were sung, and the dance got +faster and faster and odder and odder, till at last all the dancers fell +on the sand tired out. + +The new queen, with her white crown-cap all on one side, clapped wildly. + +'Brayvo!' she cried, 'brayvo! It's better than the Albert Edward +Music-hall in the Kentish Town Road. Go it again!' + +But the Phoenix would not translate this request into the +copper-coloured language; and when the savages had recovered their +breath, they implored their queen to leave her white escort and come +with them to their huts. + +'The finest shall be yours, O queen,' said they. + +'Well--so long!' said the cook, getting heavily on to her feet, when the +Phoenix had translated this request. 'No more kitchens and attics for +me, thank you. I'm off to my royal palace, I am; and I only wish this +here dream would keep on for ever and ever.' + +She picked up the ends of the garlands that trailed round her feet, +and the children had one last glimpse of her striped stockings and worn +elastic-side boots before she disappeared into the shadow of the forest, +surrounded by her dusky retainers, singing songs of rejoicing as they +went. + +'WELL!' said Cyril, 'I suppose she's all right, but they don't seem to +count us for much, one way or the other.' + +'Oh,' said the Phoenix, 'they think you're merely dreams. The prophecy +said that the queen would arise from the waves with a white crown and +surrounded by white dream-children. That's about what they think YOU +are!' + +'And what about dinner?' said Robert, abruptly. + +'There won't be any dinner, with no cook and no pudding-basin,' Anthea +reminded him; 'but there's always bread-and-butter.' + +'Let's get home,' said Cyril. + +The Lamb was furiously unwishful to be dressed in his warm clothes +again, but Anthea and Jane managed it, by force disguised as coaxing, +and he never once whooping-coughed. + +Then every one put on its own warm things and took its place on the +carpet. + +A sound of uncouth singing still came from beyond the trees where the +copper-coloured natives were crooning songs of admiration and respect +to their white-crowned queen. Then Anthea said 'Home,' just as duchesses +and other people do to their coachmen, and the intelligent carpet in +one whirling moment laid itself down in its proper place on the nursery +floor. And at that very moment Eliza opened the door and said-- + +'Cook's gone! I can't find her anywhere, and there's no dinner ready. +She hasn't taken her box nor yet her outdoor things. She just ran out to +see the time, I shouldn't wonder--the kitchen clock never did give her +satisfaction--and she's got run over or fell down in a fit as likely +as not. You'll have to put up with the cold bacon for your dinners; and +what on earth you've got your outdoor things on for I don't know. +And then I'll slip out and see if they know anything about her at the +police-station.' + +But nobody ever knew anything about the cook any more, except the +children, and, later, one other person. + + +Mother was so upset at losing the cook, and so anxious about her, that +Anthea felt most miserable, as though she had done something very wrong +indeed. She woke several times in the night, and at last decided that +she would ask the Phoenix to let her tell her mother all about it. But +there was no opportunity to do this next day, because the Phoenix, as +usual, had gone to sleep in some out-of-the-way spot, after asking, as a +special favour, not to be disturbed for twenty-four hours. + +The Lamb never whooping-coughed once all that Sunday, and mother and +father said what good medicine it was that the doctor had given him. But +the children knew that it was the southern shore where you can't have +whooping-cough that had cured him. The Lamb babbled of coloured sand +and water, but no one took any notice of that. He often talked of things +that hadn't happened. + +It was on Monday morning, very early indeed, that Anthea woke and +suddenly made up her mind. She crept downstairs in her night-gown (it +was very chilly), sat down on the carpet, and with a beating heart +wished herself on the sunny shore where you can't have whooping-cough, +and next moment there she was. + +The sand was splendidly warm. She could feel it at once, even through +the carpet. She folded the carpet, and put it over her shoulders like +a shawl, for she was determined not to be parted from it for a single +instant, no matter how hot it might be to wear. + +Then trembling a little, and trying to keep up her courage by saying +over and over, 'It is my DUTY, it IS my duty,' she went up the forest +path. + +'Well, here you are again,' said the cook, directly she saw Anthea. + +'This dream does keep on!' + +The cook was dressed in a white robe; she had no shoes and stockings +and no cap and she was sitting under a screen of palm-leaves, for it was +afternoon in the island, and blazing hot. She wore a flower wreath +on her hair, and copper-coloured boys were fanning her with peacock's +feathers. + +'They've got the cap put away,' she said. 'They seem to think a lot of +it. Never saw one before, I expect.' + +'Are you happy?' asked Anthea, panting; the sight of the cook as queen +quite took her breath away. + +'I believe you, my dear,' said the cook, heartily. 'Nothing to do unless +you want to. But I'm getting rested now. Tomorrow I'm going to start +cleaning out my hut, if the dream keeps on, and I shall teach them +cooking; they burns everything to a cinder now unless they eats it raw.' + +'But can you talk to them?' + +'Lor' love a duck, yes!' the happy cook-queen replied; 'it's quite easy +to pick up. I always thought I should be quick at foreign languages. +I've taught them to understand "dinner," and "I want a drink," and "You +leave me be," already.' + +'Then you don't want anything?' Anthea asked earnestly and anxiously. + +'Not me, miss; except if you'd only go away. I'm afraid of me waking +up with that bell a-going if you keep on stopping here a-talking to me. +Long as this here dream keeps up I'm as happy as a queen.' + +'Goodbye, then,' said Anthea, gaily, for her conscience was clear now. + +She hurried into the wood, threw herself on the ground, and said +'Home'--and there she was, rolled in the carpet on the nursery floor. + +'SHE'S all right, anyhow,' said Anthea, and went back to bed. 'I'm glad +somebody's pleased. But mother will never believe me when I tell her.' + +The story is indeed a little difficult to believe. Still, you might try. + + + +CHAPTER 4. TWO BAZAARS + + +Mother was really a great dear. She was pretty and she was loving, and +most frightfully good when you were ill, and always kind, and almost +always just. That is, she was just when she understood things. But +of course she did not always understand things. No one understands +everything, and mothers are not angels, though a good many of them come +pretty near it. The children knew that mother always WANTED to do what +was best for them, even if she was not clever enough to know exactly +what was the best. That was why all of them, but much more particularly +Anthea, felt rather uncomfortable at keeping the great secret from her +of the wishing carpet and the Phoenix. And Anthea, whose inside mind was +made so that she was able to be much more uncomfortable than the others, +had decided that she MUST tell her mother the truth, however little +likely it was that her mother would believe it. + +'Then I shall have done what's right,' said she to the Phoenix; 'and if +she doesn't believe me it won't be my fault--will it?' + +'Not in the least,' said the golden bird. 'And she won't, so you're +quite safe.' + +Anthea chose a time when she was doing her home-lessons--they were +Algebra and Latin, German, English, and Euclid--and she asked her mother +whether she might come and do them in the drawing-room--'so as to be +quiet,' she said to her mother; and to herself she said, 'And that's not +the real reason. I hope I shan't grow up a LIAR.' + +Mother said, 'Of course, dearie,' and Anthea started swimming through +a sea of x's and y's and z's. Mother was sitting at the mahogany bureau +writing letters. + +'Mother dear,' said Anthea. + +'Yes, love-a-duck,' said mother. + +'About cook,' said Anthea. '_I_ know where she is.' + +'Do you, dear?' said mother. 'Well, I wouldn't take her back after the +way she has behaved.' + +'It's not her fault,' said Anthea. 'May I tell you about it from the +beginning?' + +Mother laid down her pen, and her nice face had a resigned expression. +As you know, a resigned expression always makes you want not to tell +anybody anything. + +'It's like this,' said Anthea, in a hurry: 'that egg, you know, that +came in the carpet; we put it in the fire and it hatched into the +Phoenix, and the carpet was a wishing carpet--and--' + +'A very nice game, darling,' said mother, taking up her pen. 'Now do +be quiet. I've got a lot of letters to write. I'm going to Bournemouth +to-morrow with the Lamb--and there's that bazaar.' + +Anthea went back to x y z, and mother's pen scratched busily. + +'But, mother,' said Anthea, when mother put down the pen to lick an +envelope, 'the carpet takes us wherever we like--and--' + +'I wish it would take you where you could get a few nice Eastern things +for my bazaar,' said mother. 'I promised them, and I've no time to go to +Liberty's now.' + +'It shall,' said Anthea, 'but, mother--' + +'Well, dear,' said mother, a little impatiently, for she had taken up +her pen again. + +'The carpet took us to a place where you couldn't have whooping-cough, +and the Lamb hasn't whooped since, and we took cook because she was +so tiresome, and then she would stay and be queen of the savages. They +thought her cap was a crown, and--' + +'Darling one,' said mother, 'you know I love to hear the things you make +up--but I am most awfully busy.' + +'But it's true,' said Anthea, desperately. + +'You shouldn't say that, my sweet,' said mother, gently. And then Anthea +knew it was hopeless. + +'Are you going away for long?' asked Anthea. + +'I've got a cold,' said mother, 'and daddy's anxious about it, and the +Lamb's cough.' + +'He hasn't coughed since Saturday,' the Lamb's eldest sister +interrupted. + +'I wish I could think so,' mother replied. 'And daddy's got to go to +Scotland. I do hope you'll be good children.' + +'We will, we will,' said Anthea, fervently. 'When's the bazaar?' + +'On Saturday,' said mother, 'at the schools. Oh, don't talk any more, +there's a treasure! My head's going round, and I've forgotten how to +spell whooping-cough.' + + +Mother and the Lamb went away, and father went away, and there was a new +cook who looked so like a frightened rabbit that no one had the heart to +do anything to frighten her any more than seemed natural to her. + +The Phoenix begged to be excused. It said it wanted a week's rest, and +asked that it might not be disturbed. And it hid its golden gleaming +self, and nobody could find it. + +So that when Wednesday afternoon brought an unexpected holiday, and +every one decided to go somewhere on the carpet, the journey had to +be undertaken without the Phoenix. They were debarred from any carpet +excursions in the evening by a sudden promise to mother, exacted in the +agitation of parting, that they would not be out after six at night, +except on Saturday, when they were to go to the bazaar, and were pledged +to put on their best clothes, to wash themselves to the uttermost, and +to clean their nails--not with scissors, which are scratchy and bad, +but with flat-sharpened ends of wooden matches, which do no harm to any +one's nails. + +'Let's go and see the Lamb,' said Jane. + +But every one was agreed that if they appeared suddenly in Bournemouth +it would frighten mother out of her wits, if not into a fit. So they +sat on the carpet, and thought and thought and thought till they almost +began to squint. + +'Look here,' said Cyril, 'I know. Please carpet, take us somewhere where +we can see the Lamb and mother and no one can see us.' + +'Except the Lamb,' said Jane, quickly. + +And the next moment they found themselves recovering from the +upside-down movement--and there they were sitting on the carpet, and +the carpet was laid out over another thick soft carpet of brown +pine-needles. There were green pine-trees overhead, and a swift clear +little stream was running as fast as ever it could between steep +banks--and there, sitting on the pine-needle carpet, was mother, without +her hat; and the sun was shining brightly, although it was November--and +there was the Lamb, as jolly as jolly and not whooping at all. + +'The carpet's deceived us,' said Robert, gloomily; 'mother will see us +directly she turns her head.' + +But the faithful carpet had not deceived them. + +Mother turned her dear head and looked straight at them, and DID NOT SEE +THEM! + +'We're invisible,' Cyril whispered: 'what awful larks!' + +But to the girls it was not larks at all. It was horrible to have mother +looking straight at them, and her face keeping the same, just as though +they weren't there. + +'I don't like it,' said Jane. 'Mother never looked at us like that +before. Just as if she didn't love us--as if we were somebody else's +children, and not very nice ones either--as if she didn't care whether +she saw us or not.' + +'It is horrid,' said Anthea, almost in tears. + +But at this moment the Lamb saw them, and plunged towards the carpet, +shrieking, 'Panty, own Panty--an' Pussy, an' Squiggle--an' Bobs, oh, +oh!' + +Anthea caught him and kissed him, so did Jane; they could not help +it--he looked such a darling, with his blue three-cornered hat all on +one side, and his precious face all dirty--quite in the old familiar +way. + +'I love you, Panty; I love you--and you, and you, and you,' cried the +Lamb. + +It was a delicious moment. Even the boys thumped their baby brother +joyously on the back. + +Then Anthea glanced at mother--and mother's face was a pale sea-green +colour, and she was staring at the Lamb as if she thought he had gone +mad. And, indeed, that was exactly what she did think. + +'My Lamb, my precious! Come to mother,' she cried, and jumped up and ran +to the baby. + +She was so quick that the invisible children had to leap back, or she +would have felt them; and to feel what you can't see is the worst sort +of ghost-feeling. Mother picked up the Lamb and hurried away from the +pinewood. + +'Let's go home,' said Jane, after a miserable silence. 'It feels just +exactly as if mother didn't love us.' + +But they couldn't bear to go home till they had seen mother meet another +lady, and knew that she was safe. You cannot leave your mother to go +green in the face in a distant pinewood, far from all human aid, and +then go home on your wishing carpet as though nothing had happened. + +When mother seemed safe the children returned to the carpet, and said +'Home'--and home they went. + +'I don't care about being invisible myself,' said Cyril, 'at least, not +with my own family. It would be different if you were a prince, or a +bandit, or a burglar.' + +And now the thoughts of all four dwelt fondly on the dear greenish face +of mother. + +'I wish she hadn't gone away,' said Jane; 'the house is simply beastly +without her.' + +'I think we ought to do what she said,' Anthea put in. 'I saw something +in a book the other day about the wishes of the departed being sacred.' + +'That means when they've departed farther off,' said Cyril. 'India's +coral or Greenland's icy, don't you know; not Bournemouth. Besides, we +don't know what her wishes are.' + +'She SAID'--Anthea was very much inclined to cry--'she said, "Get Indian +things for my bazaar;" but I know she thought we couldn't, and it was +only play.' + +'Let's get them all the same,' said Robert. 'We'll go the first thing on +Saturday morning.' + +And on Saturday morning, the first thing, they went. + +There was no finding the Phoenix, so they sat on the beautiful wishing +carpet, and said-- + +'We want Indian things for mother's bazaar. Will you please take us +where people will give us heaps of Indian things?' + +The docile carpet swirled their senses away, and restored them on the +outskirts of a gleaming white Indian town. They knew it was Indian at +once, by the shape of the domes and roofs; and besides, a man went by on +an elephant, and two English soldiers went along the road, talking like +in Mr Kipling's books--so after that no one could have any doubt as to +where they were. They rolled up the carpet and Robert carried it, and +they walked bodily into the town. + +It was very warm, and once more they had to take off their +London-in-November coats, and carry them on their arms. + +The streets were narrow and strange, and the clothes of the people in +the streets were stranger and the talk of the people was strangest of +all. + +'I can't understand a word,' said Cyril. 'How on earth are we to ask for +things for our bazaar?' + +'And they're poor people, too,' said Jane; 'I'm sure they are. What we +want is a rajah or something.' + +Robert was beginning to unroll the carpet, but the others stopped him, +imploring him not to waste a wish. + +'We asked the carpet to take us where we could get Indian things for +bazaars,' said Anthea, 'and it will.' + +Her faith was justified. + +Just as she finished speaking a very brown gentleman in a turban came +up to them and bowed deeply. He spoke, and they thrilled to the sound of +English words. + +'My ranee, she think you very nice childs. She asks do you lose +yourselves, and do you desire to sell carpet? She see you from her +palkee. You come see her--yes?' + +They followed the stranger, who seemed to have a great many more teeth +in his smile than are usual, and he led them through crooked streets +to the ranee's palace. I am not going to describe the ranee's palace, +because I really have never seen the palace of a ranee, and Mr Kipling +has. So you can read about it in his books. But I know exactly what +happened there. + +The old ranee sat on a low-cushioned seat, and there were a lot of other +ladies with her--all in trousers and veils, and sparkling with tinsel +and gold and jewels. And the brown, turbaned gentleman stood behind a +sort of carved screen, and interpreted what the children said and what +the queen said. And when the queen asked to buy the carpet, the children +said 'No.' + +'Why?' asked the ranee. + +And Jane briefly said why, and the interpreter interpreted. The queen +spoke, and then the interpreter said-- + +'My mistress says it is a good story, and you tell it all through +without thought of time.' + +And they had to. It made a long story, especially as it had all to be +told twice--once by Cyril and once by the interpreter. Cyril rather +enjoyed himself. He warmed to his work, and told the tale of the Phoenix +and the Carpet, and the Lone Tower, and the Queen-Cook, in language that +grew insensibly more and more Arabian Nightsy, and the ranee and her +ladies listened to the interpreter, and rolled about on their fat +cushions with laughter. + +When the story was ended she spoke, and the interpreter explained that +she had said, 'Little one, thou art a heaven-born teller of tales,' and +she threw him a string of turquoises from round her neck. + +'OH, how lovely!' cried Jane and Anthea. + +Cyril bowed several times, and then cleared his throat and said-- + +'Thank her very, very much; but I would much rather she gave me some of +the cheap things in the bazaar. Tell her I want them to sell again, and +give the money to buy clothes for poor people who haven't any.' + +'Tell him he has my leave to sell my gift and clothe the naked with its +price,' said the queen, when this was translated. + +But Cyril said very firmly, 'No, thank you. The things have got to be +sold to-day at our bazaar, and no one would buy a turquoise necklace at +an English bazaar. They'd think it was sham, or else they'd want to know +where we got it.' + +So then the queen sent out for little pretty things, and her servants +piled the carpet with them. + +'I must needs lend you an elephant to carry them away,' she said, +laughing. + +But Anthea said, 'If the queen will lend us a comb and let us wash our +hands and faces, she shall see a magic thing. We and the carpet and all +these brass trays and pots and carved things and stuffs and things will +just vanish away like smoke.' + +The queen clapped her hands at this idea, and lent the children a +sandal-wood comb inlaid with ivory lotus-flowers. And they washed their +faces and hands in silver basins. Then Cyril made a very polite farewell +speech, and quite suddenly he ended with the words-- + +'And I wish we were at the bazaar at our schools.' + +And of course they were. And the queen and her ladies were left with +their mouths open, gazing at the bare space on the inlaid marble floor +where the carpet and the children had been. + +'That is magic, if ever magic was!' said the queen, delighted with the +incident; which, indeed, has given the ladies of that court something to +talk about on wet days ever since. + +Cyril's stories had taken some time, so had the meal of strange sweet +foods that they had had while the little pretty things were being +bought, and the gas in the schoolroom was already lighted. Outside, the +winter dusk was stealing down among the Camden Town houses. + +'I'm glad we got washed in India,' said Cyril. 'We should have been +awfully late if we'd had to go home and scrub.' + +'Besides,' Robert said, 'it's much warmer washing in India. I shouldn't +mind it so much if we lived there.' + +The thoughtful carpet had dumped the children down in a dusky space +behind the point where the corners of two stalls met. The floor was +littered with string and brown paper, and baskets and boxes were heaped +along the wall. + +The children crept out under a stall covered with all sorts of +table-covers and mats and things, embroidered beautifully by idle +ladies with no real work to do. They got out at the end, displacing a +sideboard-cloth adorned with a tasteful pattern of blue geraniums. The +girls got out unobserved, so did Cyril; but Robert, as he cautiously +emerged, was actually walked on by Mrs Biddle, who kept the stall. Her +large, solid foot stood firmly on the small, solid hand of Robert and +who can blame Robert if he DID yell a little? + +A crowd instantly collected. Yells are very unusual at bazaars, and +every one was intensely interested. It was several seconds before the +three free children could make Mrs Biddle understand that what she +was walking on was not a schoolroom floor, or even, as she presently +supposed, a dropped pin-cushion, but the living hand of a suffering +child. When she became aware that she really had hurt him, she grew very +angry indeed. When people have hurt other people by accident, the one +who does the hurting is always much the angriest. I wonder why. + +'I'm very sorry, I'm sure,' said Mrs Biddle; but she spoke more in anger +than in sorrow. 'Come out! whatever do you mean by creeping about under +the stalls, like earwigs?' + +'We were looking at the things in the corner.' + +'Such nasty, prying ways,' said Mrs Biddle, 'will never make you +successful in life. There's nothing there but packing and dust.' + +'Oh, isn't there!' said Jane. 'That's all you know.' + +'Little girl, don't be rude,' said Mrs Biddle, flushing violet. + +'She doesn't mean to be; but there ARE some nice things there, all the +same,' said Cyril; who suddenly felt how impossible it was to inform the +listening crowd that all the treasures piled on the carpet were mother's +contributions to the bazaar. No one would believe it; and if they did, +and wrote to thank mother, she would think--well, goodness only knew +what she would think. The other three children felt the same. + +'I should like to see them,' said a very nice lady, whose friends +had disappointed her, and who hoped that these might be belated +contributions to her poorly furnished stall. + +She looked inquiringly at Robert, who said, 'With pleasure, don't +mention it,' and dived back under Mrs Biddle's stall. + +'I wonder you encourage such behaviour,' said Mrs Biddle. 'I always +speak my mind, as you know, Miss Peasmarsh; and, I must say, I am +surprised.' She turned to the crowd. 'There is no entertainment here,' +she said sternly. 'A very naughty little boy has accidentally hurt +himself, but only slightly. Will you please disperse? It will only +encourage him in naughtiness if he finds himself the centre of +attraction.' + +The crowd slowly dispersed. Anthea, speechless with fury, heard a nice +curate say, 'Poor little beggar!' and loved the curate at once and for +ever. + +Then Robert wriggled out from under the stall with some Benares brass +and some inlaid sandalwood boxes. + +'Liberty!' cried Miss Peasmarsh. 'Then Charles has not forgotten, after +all.' + +'Excuse me,' said Mrs Biddle, with fierce politeness, 'these objects are +deposited behind MY stall. Some unknown donor who does good by stealth, +and would blush if he could hear you claim the things. Of course they +are for me.' + +'My stall touches yours at the corner,' said poor Miss Peasmarsh, +timidly, 'and my cousin did promise--' + +The children sidled away from the unequal contest and mingled with +the crowd. Their feelings were too deep for words--till at last Robert +said-- + +'That stiff-starched PIG!' + +'And after all our trouble! I'm hoarse with gassing to that trousered +lady in India.' + +'The pig-lady's very, very nasty,' said Jane. + +It was Anthea who said, in a hurried undertone, 'She isn't very nice, +and Miss Peasmarsh is pretty and nice too. Who's got a pencil?' + +It was a long crawl, under three stalls, but Anthea did it. A large +piece of pale blue paper lay among the rubbish in the corner. + +She folded it to a square and wrote upon it, licking the pencil at every +word to make it mark quite blackly: 'All these Indian things are for +pretty, nice Miss Peasmarsh's stall.' She thought of adding, 'There is +nothing for Mrs Biddle;' but she saw that this might lead to suspicion, +so she wrote hastily: 'From an unknown donna,' and crept back among the +boards and trestles to join the others. + +So that when Mrs Biddle appealed to the bazaar committee, and the corner +of the stall was lifted and shifted, so that stout clergymen and heavy +ladies could get to the corner without creeping under stalls, the blue +paper was discovered, and all the splendid, shining Indian things were +given over to Miss Peasmarsh, and she sold them all, and got thirty-five +pounds for them. + +'I don't understand about that blue paper,' said Mrs Biddle. 'It looks +to me like the work of a lunatic. And saying you were nice and pretty! +It's not the work of a sane person.' + +Anthea and Jane begged Miss Peasmarsh to let them help her to sell the +things, because it was their brother who had announced the good news +that the things had come. Miss Peasmarsh was very willing, for now her +stall, that had been SO neglected, was surrounded by people who wanted +to buy, and she was glad to be helped. The children noted that Mrs +Biddle had not more to do in the way of selling than she could manage +quite well. I hope they were not glad--for you should forgive your +enemies, even if they walk on your hands and then say it is all your +naughty fault. But I am afraid they were not so sorry as they ought to +have been. + +It took some time to arrange the things on the stall. The carpet was +spread over it, and the dark colours showed up the brass and silver and +ivory things. It was a happy and busy afternoon, and when Miss Peasmarsh +and the girls had sold every single one of the little pretty things from +the Indian bazaar, far, far away, Anthea and Jane went off with the +boys to fish in the fishpond, and dive into the bran-pie, and hear the +cardboard band, and the phonograph, and the chorus of singing birds that +was done behind a screen with glass tubes and glasses of water. + +They had a beautiful tea, suddenly presented to them by the nice curate, +and Miss Peasmarsh joined them before they had had more than three cakes +each. It was a merry party, and the curate was extremely pleasant to +every one, 'even to Miss Peasmarsh,' as Jane said afterwards. + +'We ought to get back to the stall,' said Anthea, when no one could +possibly eat any more, and the curate was talking in a low voice to Miss +Peas marsh about 'after Easter'. + +'There's nothing to go back for,' said Miss Peasmarsh gaily; 'thanks to +you dear children we've sold everything.' + +'There--there's the carpet,' said Cyril. + +'Oh,' said Miss Peasmarsh, radiantly, 'don't bother about the carpet. +I've sold even that. Mrs Biddle gave me ten shillings for it. She said +it would do for her servant's bedroom.' + +'Why,' said Jane, 'her servants don't HAVE carpets. We had cook from +her, and she told us so.' + +'No scandal about Queen Elizabeth, if YOU please,' said the curate, +cheerfully; and Miss Peasmarsh laughed, and looked at him as though she +had never dreamed that any one COULD be so amusing. But the others were +struck dumb. How could they say, 'The carpet is ours!' For who brings +carpets to bazaars? + +The children were now thoroughly wretched. But I am glad to say that +their wretchedness did not make them forget their manners, as it does +sometimes, even with grown-up people, who ought to know ever so much +better. + +They said, 'Thank you very much for the jolly tea,' and 'Thanks for +being so jolly,' and 'Thanks awfully for giving us such a jolly time;' +for the curate had stood fish-ponds, and bran-pies, and phonographs, and +the chorus of singing birds, and had stood them like a man. The girls +hugged Miss Peasmarsh, and as they went away they heard the curate say-- + +'Jolly little kids, yes, but what about--you will let it be directly +after Easter. Ah, do say you will--' + +And Jane ran back and said, before Anthea could drag her away, 'What are +you going to do after Easter?' + +Miss Peasmarsh smiled and looked very pretty indeed. And the curate +said-- + +'I hope I am going to take a trip to the Fortunate Islands.' + +'I wish we could take you on the wishing carpet,' said Jane. + +'Thank you,' said the curate, 'but I'm afraid I can't wait for that. I +must go to the Fortunate Islands before they make me a bishop. I should +have no time afterwards.' + +'I've always thought I should marry a bishop,' said Jane: 'his aprons +would come in so useful. Wouldn't YOU like to marry a bishop, Miss +Peasmarsh?' + +It was then that they dragged her away. + +As it was Robert's hand that Mrs Biddle had walked on, it was decided +that he had better not recall the incident to her mind, and so make +her angry again. Anthea and Jane had helped to sell things at the rival +stall, so they were not likely to be popular. + +A hasty council of four decided that Mrs Biddle would hate Cyril less +than she would hate the others, so the others mingled with the crowd, +and it was he who said to her-- + +'Mrs Biddle, WE meant to have that carpet. Would you sell it to us? We +would give you--' + +'Certainly not,' said Mrs Biddle. 'Go away, little boy.' + +There was that in her tone which showed Cyril, all too plainly, the +hopelessness of persuasion. He found the others and said-- + +'It's no use; she's like a lioness robbed of its puppies. We must watch +where it goes--and--Anthea, I don't care what you say. It's our own +carpet. It wouldn't be burglary. It would be a sort of forlorn hope +rescue party--heroic and daring and dashing, and not wrong at all.' + +The children still wandered among the gay crowd--but there was no +pleasure there for them any more. The chorus of singing birds sounded +just like glass tubes being blown through water, and the phonograph +simply made a horrid noise, so that you could hardly hear yourself +speak. And the people were buying things they couldn't possibly want, +and it all seemed very stupid. And Mrs Biddle had bought the wishing +carpet for ten shillings. And the whole of life was sad and grey and +dusty, and smelt of slight gas escapes, and hot people, and cake and +crumbs, and all the children were very tired indeed. + +They found a corner within sight of the carpet, and there they waited +miserably, till it was far beyond their proper bedtime. And when it was +ten the people who had bought things went away, but the people who had +been selling stayed to count up their money. + +'And to jaw about it,' said Robert. 'I'll never go to another bazaar as +long as ever I live. My hand is swollen as big as a pudding. I expect +the nails in her horrible boots were poisoned.' + +Just then some one who seemed to have a right to interfere said-- + +'Everything is over now; you had better go home.' + +So they went. And then they waited on the pavement under the gas lamp, +where ragged children had been standing all the evening to listen to +the band, and their feet slipped about in the greasy mud till Mrs Biddle +came out and was driven away in a cab with the many things she hadn't +sold, and the few things she had bought--among others the carpet. The +other stall-holders left their things at the school till Monday morning, +but Mrs Biddle was afraid some one would steal some of them, so she took +them in a cab. + +The children, now too desperate to care for mud or appearances, hung +on behind the cab till it reached Mrs Biddle's house. When she and the +carpet had gone in and the door was shut Anthea said-- + +'Don't let's burgle--I mean do daring and dashing rescue acts--till +we've given her a chance. Let's ring and ask to see her.' + +The others hated to do this, but at last they agreed, on condition that +Anthea would not make any silly fuss about the burglary afterwards, if +it really had to come to that. + +So they knocked and rang, and a scared-looking parlourmaid opened the +front door. While they were asking for Mrs Biddle they saw her. She was +in the dining-room, and she had already pushed back the table and spread +out the carpet to see how it looked on the floor. + +'I knew she didn't want it for her servants' bedroom,' Jane muttered. + +Anthea walked straight past the uncomfortable parlourmaid, and the +others followed her. Mrs Biddle had her back to them, and was smoothing +down the carpet with the same boot that had trampled on the hand +of Robert. So that they were all in the room, and Cyril, with great +presence of mind, had shut the room door before she saw them. + +'Who is it, Jane?' she asked in a sour voice; and then turning suddenly, +she saw who it was. Once more her face grew violet--a deep, dark violet. +'You wicked daring little things!' she cried, 'how dare you come here? +At this time of night, too. Be off, or I'll send for the police.' + +'Don't be angry,' said Anthea, soothingly, 'we only wanted to ask you +to let us have the carpet. We have quite twelve shillings between us, +and--' + +'How DARE you?' cried Mrs Biddle, and her voice shook with angriness. + +'You do look horrid,' said Jane suddenly. + +Mrs Biddle actually stamped that booted foot of hers. 'You rude, +barefaced child!' she said. + +Anthea almost shook Jane; but Jane pushed forward in spite of her. + +'It really IS our nursery carpet,' she said, 'you ask ANY ONE if it +isn't.' + +'Let's wish ourselves home,' said Cyril in a whisper. + +'No go,' Robert whispered back, 'she'd be there too, and raving mad as +likely as not. Horrid thing, I hate her!' + +'I wish Mrs Biddle was in an angelic good temper,' cried Anthea, +suddenly. 'It's worth trying,' she said to herself. + +Mrs Biddle's face grew from purple to violet, and from violet to mauve, +and from mauve to pink. Then she smiled quite a jolly smile. + +'Why, so I am!' she said, 'what a funny idea! Why shouldn't I be in a +good temper, my dears.' + +Once more the carpet had done its work, and not on Mrs Biddle alone. The +children felt suddenly good and happy. + +'You're a jolly good sort,' said Cyril. 'I see that now. I'm sorry we +vexed you at the bazaar to-day.' + +'Not another word,' said the changed Mrs Biddle. 'Of course you shall +have the carpet, my dears, if you've taken such a fancy to it. No, no; I +won't have more than the ten shillings I paid.' + +'It does seem hard to ask you for it after you bought it at the bazaar,' +said Anthea; 'but it really IS our nursery carpet. It got to the bazaar +by mistake, with some other things.' + +'Did it really, now? How vexing!' said Mrs Biddle, kindly. 'Well, my +dears, I can very well give the extra ten shillings; so you take your +carpet and we'll say no more about it. Have a piece of cake before you +go! I'm so sorry I stepped on your hand, my boy. Is it all right now?' + +'Yes, thank you,' said Robert. 'I say, you ARE good.' + +'Not at all,' said Mrs Biddle, heartily. 'I'm delighted to be able to +give any little pleasure to you dear children.' + +And she helped them to roll up the carpet, and the boys carried it away +between them. + +'You ARE a dear,' said Anthea, and she and Mrs Biddle kissed each other +heartily. + + +'WELL!' said Cyril as they went along the street. + +'Yes,' said Robert, 'and the odd part is that you feel just as if it +was REAL--her being so jolly, I mean--and not only the carpet making her +nice.' + +'Perhaps it IS real,' said Anthea, 'only it was covered up with +crossness and tiredness and things, and the carpet took them away.' + +'I hope it'll keep them away,' said Jane; 'she isn't ugly at all when +she laughs.' + +The carpet has done many wonders in its day; but the case of Mrs +Biddle is, I think, the most wonderful. For from that day she was never +anything like so disagreeable as she was before, and she sent a lovely +silver tea-pot and a kind letter to Miss Peasmarsh when the pretty lady +married the nice curate; just after Easter it was, and they went to +Italy for their honeymoon. + + + +CHAPTER 5. THE TEMPLE + + +'I wish we could find the Phoenix,' said Jane. 'It's much better company +than the carpet.' + +'Beastly ungrateful, little kids are,' said Cyril. + +'No, I'm not; only the carpet never says anything, and it's so helpless. +It doesn't seem able to take care of itself. It gets sold, and taken +into the sea, and things like that. You wouldn't catch the Phoenix +getting sold.' + +It was two days after the bazaar. Every one was a little cross--some +days are like that, usually Mondays, by the way. And this was a Monday. + +'I shouldn't wonder if your precious Phoenix had gone off for good,' +said Cyril; 'and I don't know that I blame it. Look at the weather!' + +'It's not worth looking at,' said Robert. And indeed it wasn't. + +'The Phoenix hasn't gone--I'm sure it hasn't,' said Anthea. 'I'll have +another look for it.' + +Anthea looked under tables and chairs, and in boxes and baskets, in +mother's work-bag and father's portmanteau, but still the Phoenix showed +not so much as the tip of one shining feather. + +Then suddenly Robert remembered how the whole of the Greek invocation +song of seven thousand lines had been condensed by him into one English +hexameter, so he stood on the carpet and chanted-- + + 'Oh, come along, come along, you good old beautiful Phoenix,' + +and almost at once there was a rustle of wings down the kitchen stairs, +and the Phoenix sailed in on wide gold wings. + +'Where on earth HAVE you been?' asked Anthea. 'I've looked everywhere +for you.' + +'Not EVERYWHERE,' replied the bird, 'because you did not look in the +place where I was. Confess that that hallowed spot was overlooked by +you.' + +'WHAT hallowed spot?' asked Cyril, a little impatiently, for time was +hastening on, and the wishing carpet still idle. + +'The spot,' said the Phoenix, 'which I hallowed by my golden presence +was the Lutron.' + +'The WHAT?' + +'The bath--the place of washing.' + +'I'm sure you weren't,' said Jane. 'I looked there three times and moved +all the towels.' + +'I was concealed,' said the Phoenix, 'on the summit of a metal +column--enchanted, I should judge, for it felt warm to my golden toes, +as though the glorious sun of the desert shone ever upon it.' + +'Oh, you mean the cylinder,' said Cyril: 'it HAS rather a comforting +feel, this weather. And now where shall we go?' + +And then, of course, the usual discussion broke out as to where they +should go and what they should do. And naturally, every one wanted to do +something that the others did not care about. + +'I am the eldest,' Cyril remarked, 'let's go to the North Pole.' + +'This weather! Likely!' Robert rejoined. 'Let's go to the Equator.' + +'I think the diamond mines of Golconda would be nice,' said Anthea; +'don't you agree, Jane?' + +'No, I don't,' retorted Jane, 'I don't agree with you. I don't agree +with anybody.' + +The Phoenix raised a warning claw. + +'If you cannot agree among yourselves, I fear I shall have to leave +you,' it said. + +'Well, where shall we go? You decide!' said all. + +'If I were you,' said the bird, thoughtfully, 'I should give the carpet +a rest. Besides, you'll lose the use of your legs if you go everywhere +by carpet. Can't you take me out and explain your ugly city to me?' + +'We will if it clears up,' said Robert, without enthusiasm. 'Just look +at the rain. And why should we give the carpet a rest?' + +'Are you greedy and grasping, and heartless and selfish?' asked the +bird, sharply. + +'NO!' said Robert, with indignation. + +'Well then!' said the Phoenix. 'And as to the rain--well, I am not fond +of rain myself. If the sun knew _I_ was here--he's very fond of shining +on me because I look so bright and golden. He always says I repay a +little attention. Haven't you some form of words suitable for use in wet +weather?' + +'There's "Rain, rain, go away,"' said Anthea; 'but it never DOES go.' + +'Perhaps you don't say the invocation properly,' said the bird. + + 'Rain, rain, go away, + Come again another day, + Little baby wants to play,' + +said Anthea. + +'That's quite wrong; and if you say it in that sort of dull way, I can +quite understand the rain not taking any notice. You should open the +window and shout as loud as you can-- + + 'Rain, rain, go away, + Come again another day; + Now we want the sun, and so, + Pretty rain, be kind and go! + +'You should always speak politely to people when you want them to do +things, and especially when it's going away that you want them to do. +And to-day you might add-- + + 'Shine, great sun, the lovely Phoe- + Nix is here, and wants to be + Shone on, splendid sun, by thee!' + +'That's poetry!' said Cyril, decidedly. + +'It's like it,' said the more cautious Robert. + +'I was obliged to put in "lovely",' said the Phoenix, modestly, 'to make +the line long enough.' + +'There are plenty of nasty words just that length,' said Jane; but every +one else said 'Hush!' And then they opened the window and shouted the +seven lines as loud as they could, and the Phoenix said all the words +with them, except 'lovely', and when they came to that it looked down +and coughed bashfully. + +The rain hesitated a moment and then went away. + +'There's true politeness,' said the Phoenix, and the next moment it was +perched on the window-ledge, opening and shutting its radiant wings and +flapping out its golden feathers in such a flood of glorious sunshine as +you sometimes have at sunset in autumn time. People said afterwards that +there had not been such sunshine in December for years and years and +years. + +'And now,' said the bird, 'we will go out into the city, and you shall +take me to see one of my temples.' + +'Your temples?' + +'I gather from the carpet that I have many temples in this land.' + +'I don't see how you CAN find anything out from it,' said Jane: 'it +never speaks.' + +'All the same, you can pick up things from a carpet,' said the bird; +'I've seen YOU do it. And I have picked up several pieces of information +in this way. That papyrus on which you showed me my picture--I +understand that it bears on it the name of the street of your city in +which my finest temple stands, with my image graved in stone and in +metal over against its portal.' + +'You mean the fire insurance office,' said Robert. 'It's not really a +temple, and they don't--' + +'Excuse me,' said the Phoenix, coldly, 'you are wholly misinformed. It +IS a temple, and they do.' + +'Don't let's waste the sunshine,' said Anthea; 'we might argue as we go +along, to save time.' + +So the Phoenix consented to make itself a nest in the breast of Robert's +Norfolk jacket, and they all went out into the splendid sunshine. The +best way to the temple of the Phoenix seemed to be to take the tram, and +on the top of it the children talked, while the Phoenix now and then +put out a wary beak, cocked a cautious eye, and contradicted what the +children were saying. + +It was a delicious ride, and the children felt how lucky they were to +have had the money to pay for it. They went with the tram as far as it +went, and when it did not go any farther they stopped too, and got off. +The tram stops at the end of the Gray's Inn Road, and it was Cyril +who thought that one might well find a short cut to the Phoenix Office +through the little streets and courts that lie tightly packed between +Fetter Lane and Ludgate Circus. Of course, he was quite mistaken, as +Robert told him at the time, and afterwards Robert did not forbear to +remind his brother how he had said so. The streets there were small +and stuffy and ugly, and crowded with printers' boys and binders' girls +coming out from work; and these stared so hard at the pretty red coats +and caps of the sisters that they wished they had gone some other way. +And the printers and binders made very personal remarks, advising Jane +to get her hair cut, and inquiring where Anthea had bought that hat. +Jane and Anthea scorned to reply, and Cyril and Robert found that they +were hardly a match for the rough crowd. They could think of nothing +nasty enough to say. They turned a corner sharply, and then Anthea +pulled Jane into an archway, and then inside a door; Cyril and Robert +quickly followed, and the jeering crowd passed by without seein them. + +Anthea drew a long breath. + +'How awful!' she said. 'I didn't know there were such people, except in +books.' + +'It was a bit thick; but it's partly you girls' fault, coming out in +those flashy coats.' + +'We thought we ought to, when we were going out with the Phoenix,' said +Jane; and the bird said, 'Quite right, too'--and incautiously put out +his head to give her a wink of encouragement. + +And at the same instant a dirty hand reached through the grim balustrade +of the staircase beside them and clutched the Phoenix, and a hoarse +voice said-- + +'I say, Urb, blowed if this ain't our Poll parrot what we lost. Thank +you very much, lidy, for bringin' 'im home to roost.' + +The four turned swiftly. Two large and ragged boys were crouched amid +the dark shadows of the stairs. They were much larger than Robert and +Cyril, and one of them had snatched the Phoenix away and was holding it +high above their heads. + +'Give me that bird,' said Cyril, sternly: 'it's ours.' + +'Good arternoon, and thankin' you,' the boy went on, with maddening +mockery. 'Sorry I can't give yer tuppence for yer trouble--but I've +'ad to spend my fortune advertising for my vallyable bird in all the +newspapers. You can call for the reward next year.' + +'Look out, Ike,' said his friend, a little anxiously; 'it 'ave a beak on +it.' + +'It's other parties as'll have the Beak on to 'em presently,' said Ike, +darkly, 'if they come a-trying to lay claims on my Poll parrot. You just +shut up, Urb. Now then, you four little gells, get out er this.' + +'Little girls!' cried Robert. 'I'll little girl you!' + +He sprang up three stairs and hit out. + +There was a squawk--the most bird-like noise any one had ever heard +from the Phoenix--and a fluttering, and a laugh in the darkness, and Ike +said-- + +'There now, you've been and gone and strook my Poll parrot right in the +fevvers--strook 'im something crool, you 'ave.' + +Robert stamped with fury. Cyril felt himself growing pale with rage, +and with the effort of screwing up his brain to make it clever enough to +think of some way of being even with those boys. Anthea and Jane were as +angry as the boys, but it made them want to cry. Yet it was Anthea who +said-- + +'Do, PLEASE, let us have the bird.' + +'Dew, PLEASE, get along and leave us an' our bird alone.' + +'If you don't,' said Anthea, 'I shall fetch the police.' + +'You better!' said he who was named Urb. 'Say, Ike, you twist the +bloomin' pigeon's neck; he ain't worth tuppence.' + +'Oh, no,' cried Jane, 'don't hurt it. Oh, don't; it is such a pet.' + +'I won't hurt it,' said Ike; 'I'm 'shamed of you, Urb, for to think of +such a thing. Arf a shiner, miss, and the bird is yours for life.' + +'Half a WHAT?' asked Anthea. + +'Arf a shiner, quid, thick 'un--half a sov, then.' + +'I haven't got it--and, besides, it's OUR bird,' said Anthea. + +'Oh, don't talk to him,' said Cyril and then Jane said suddenly-- + +'Phoenix--dear Phoenix, we can't do anything. YOU must manage it.' + +'With pleasure,' said the Phoenix--and Ike nearly dropped it in his +amazement. + +'I say, it do talk, suthin' like,' said he. + +'Youths,' said the Phoenix, 'sons of misfortune, hear my words.' + +'My eyes!' said Ike. + +'Look out, Ike,' said Urb, 'you'll throttle the joker--and I see at +wunst 'e was wuth 'is weight in flimsies.'00 + +'Hearken, O Eikonoclastes, despiser of sacred images--and thou, Urbanus, +dweller in the sordid city. Forbear this adventure lest a worse thing +befall.' + +'Luv' us!' said Ike, 'ain't it been taught its schoolin' just!' + +'Restore me to my young acolytes and escape unscathed. Retain me--and--' + +'They must ha' got all this up, case the Polly got pinched,' said Ike. +'Lor' lumme, the artfulness of them young uns!' + +'I say, slosh 'em in the geseech and get clear off with the swag's wot I +say,' urged Herbert. + +'Right O,' said Isaac. + +'Forbear,' repeated the Phoenix, sternly. 'Who pinched the click off of +the old bloke in Aldermanbury?' it added, in a changed tone. + +'Who sneaked the nose-rag out of the young gell's 'and in Bell Court? +Who--' + +'Stow it,' said Ike. 'You! ugh! yah!--leave go of me. Bash him off, Urb; +'e'll have my bloomin' eyes outer my ed.' + +There were howls, a scuffle, a flutter; Ike and Urb fled up the stairs, +and the Phoenix swept out through the doorway. The children followed and +the Phoenix settled on Robert, 'like a butterfly on a rose,' as Anthea +said afterwards, and wriggled into the breast of his Norfolk jacket, +'like an eel into mud,' as Cyril later said. + +'Why ever didn't you burn him? You could have, couldn't you?' asked +Robert, when the hurried flight through the narrow courts had ended in +the safe wideness of Farringdon Street. + +'I could have, of course,' said the bird, 'but I didn't think it would +be dignified to allow myself to get warm about a little thing like that. +The Fates, after all, have not been illiberal to me. I have a good many +friends among the London sparrows, and I have a beak and claws.' + +These happenings had somewhat shaken the adventurous temper of the +children, and the Phoenix had to exert its golden self to hearten them +up. + +Presently the children came to a great house in Lombard Street, and +there, on each side of the door, was the image of the Phoenix carved in +stone, and set forth on shining brass were the words-- + + PHOENIX FIRE OFFICE + + +'One moment,' said the bird. 'Fire? For altars, I suppose?' + +'_I_ don't know,' said Robert; he was beginning to feel shy, and that +always made him rather cross. + +'Oh, yes, you do,' Cyril contradicted. 'When people's houses are burnt +down the Phoenix gives them new houses. Father told me; I asked him.' + +'The house, then, like the Phoenix, rises from its ashes? Well have my +priests dealt with the sons of men!' + +'The sons of men pay, you know,' said Anthea; 'but it's only a little +every year.' + +'That is to maintain my priests,' said the bird, 'who, in the hour of +affliction, heal sorrows and rebuild houses. Lead on; inquire for the +High Priest. I will not break upon them too suddenly in all my glory. +Noble and honour-deserving are they who make as nought the evil deeds of +the lame-footed and unpleasing Hephaestus.' + +'I don't know what you're talking about, and I wish you wouldn't muddle +us with new names. Fire just happens. Nobody does it--not as a deed, +you know,' Cyril explained. 'If they did the Phoenix wouldn't help them, +because its a crime to set fire to things. Arsenic, or something they +call it, because it's as bad as poisoning people. The Phoenix wouldn't +help THEM--father told me it wouldn't.' + +'My priests do well,' said the Phoenix. 'Lead on.' + +'I don't know what to say,' said Cyril; and the Others said the same. + +'Ask for the High Priest,' said the Phoenix. 'Say that you have a +secret to unfold that concerns my worship, and he will lead you to the +innermost sanctuary.' + +So the children went in, all four of them, though they didn't like it, +and stood in a large and beautiful hall adorned with Doulton tiles, +like a large and beautiful bath with no water in it, and stately pillars +supporting the roof. An unpleasing representation of the Phoenix in +brown pottery disfigured one wall. There were counters and desks of +mahogany and brass, and clerks bent over the desks and walked behind the +counters. There was a great clock over an inner doorway. + +'Inquire for the High Priest,' whispered the Phoenix. + +An attentive clerk in decent black, who controlled his mouth but not his +eyebrows, now came towards them. He leaned forward on the counter, and +the children thought he was going to say, 'What can I have the pleasure +of showing you?' like in a draper's; instead of which the young man +said-- + +'And what do YOU want?' + +'We want to see the High Priest.' + +'Get along with you,' said the young man. + +An elder man, also decent in black coat, advanced. + +'Perhaps it's Mr Blank' (not for worlds would I give the name). 'He's a +Masonic High Priest, you know.' + +A porter was sent away to look for Mr Asterisk (I cannot give his name), +and the children were left there to look on and be looked on by all +the gentlemen at the mahogany desks. Anthea and Jane thought that they +looked kind. The boys thought they stared, and that it was like their +cheek. + +The porter returned with the news that Mr Dot Dash Dot (I dare not +reveal his name) was out, but that Mr-- + +Here a really delightful gentleman appeared. He had a beard and a kind +and merry eye, and each one of the four knew at once that this was a man +who had kiddies of his own and could understand what you were talking +about. Yet it was a difficult thing to explain. + +'What is it?' he asked. 'Mr'--he named the name which I will never +reveal--'is out. Can I do anything?' + +'Inner sanctuary,' murmured the Phoenix. + +'I beg your pardon,' said the nice gentleman, who thought it was Robert +who had spoken. + +'We have something to tell you,' said Cyril, 'but'--he glanced at the +porter, who was lingering much nearer than he need have done--'this is a +very public place.' + +The nice gentleman laughed. + +'Come upstairs then,' he said, and led the way up a wide and beautiful +staircase. Anthea says the stairs were of white marble, but I am not +sure. On the corner-post of the stairs, at the top, was a beautiful +image of the Phoenix in dark metal, and on the wall at each side was a +flat sort of image of it. + +The nice gentleman led them into a room where the chairs, and even the +tables, were covered with reddish leather. He looked at the children +inquiringly. + +'Don't be frightened,' he said; 'tell me exactly what you want.' + +'May I shut the door?' asked Cyril. + +The gentleman looked surprised, but he shut the door. + +'Now,' said Cyril, firmly, 'I know you'll be awfully surprised, and +you'll think it's not true and we are lunatics; but we aren't, and it +is. Robert's got something inside his Norfolk--that's Robert, he's my +young brother. Now don't be upset and have a fit or anything sir. Of +course, I know when you called your shop the "Phoenix" you never thought +there was one; but there is--and Robert's got it buttoned up against his +chest!' + +'If it's an old curio in the form of a Phoenix, I dare say the Board--' +said the nice gentleman, as Robert began to fumble with his buttons. + +'It's old enough,' said Anthea, 'going by what it says, but--' + +'My goodness gracious!' said the gentleman, as the Phoenix, with one +last wriggle that melted into a flutter, got out of its nest in the +breast of Robert and stood up on the leather-covered table. + +'What an extraordinarily fine bird!' he went on. 'I don't think I ever +saw one just like it.' + +'I should think not,' said the Phoenix, with pardonable pride. And the +gentleman jumped. + +'Oh, it's been taught to speak! Some sort of parrot, perhaps?' + +'I am,' said the bird, simply, 'the Head of your House, and I have come +to my temple to receive your homage. I am no parrot'--its beak curved +scornfully--'I am the one and only Phoenix, and I demand the homage of +my High Priest.' + +'In the absence of our manager,' the gentleman began, exactly as though +he were addressing a valued customer--'in the absence of our manager, I +might perhaps be able--What am I saying?' He turned pale, and passed +his hand across his brow. 'My dears,' he said, 'the weather is unusually +warm for the time of year, and I don't feel quite myself. Do you know, +for a moment I really thought that that remarkable bird of yours had +spoken and said it was the Phoenix, and, what's more, that I'd believed +it.' + +'So it did, sir,' said Cyril, 'and so did you.' + +'It really--Allow me.' + +A bell was rung. The porter appeared. + +'Mackenzie,' said the gentleman, 'you see that golden bird?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +The other breathed a sigh of relief. + +'It IS real, then?' + +'Yes, sir, of course, sir. You take it in your hand, sir,' said the +porter, sympathetically, and reached out his hand to the Phoenix, who +shrank back on toes curved with agitated indignation. + +'Forbear!' it cried; 'how dare you seek to lay hands on me?' + +The porter saluted. + +'Beg pardon, sir,' he said, 'I thought you was a bird.' + +'I AM a bird--THE bird--the Phoenix.' + +'Of course you are, sir,' said the porter. 'I see that the first minute, +directly I got my breath, sir.' + +'That will do,' said the gentleman. 'Ask Mr Wilson and Mr Sterry to step +up here for a moment, please.' + +Mr Sterry and Mr Wilson were in their turn overcome by +amazement--quickly followed by conviction. To the surprise of the +children every one in the office took the Phoenix at its word, and after +the first shock of surprise it seemed to be perfectly natural to every +one that the Phoenix should be alive, and that, passing through London, +it should call at its temple. + +'We ought to have some sort of ceremony,' said the nicest +gentleman, anxiously. 'There isn't time to summon the directors and +shareholders--we might do that tomorrow, perhaps. Yes, the board-room +would be best. I shouldn't like it to feel we hadn't done everything in +our power to show our appreciation of its condescension in looking in on +us in this friendly way.' + +The children could hardly believe their ears, for they had never thought +that any one but themselves would believe in the Phoenix. And yet every +one did; all the men in the office were brought in by twos and threes, +and the moment the Phoenix opened its beak it convinced the cleverest +of them, as well as those who were not so clever. Cyril wondered how the +story would look in the papers next day. He seemed to see the posters in +the streets: + + PHOENIX FIRE OFFICE + THE PHOENIX AT ITS TEMPLE + MEETING TO WELCOME IT + DELIGHT OF THE MANAGER AND EVERYBODY. + +'Excuse our leaving you a moment,' said the nice gentleman, and he went +away with the others; and through the half-closed door the children +could hear the sound of many boots on stairs, the hum of excited voices +explaining, suggesting, arguing, the thumpy drag of heavy furniture +being moved about. + +The Phoenix strutted up and down the leather-covered table, looking over +its shoulder at its pretty back. + +'You see what a convincing manner I have,' it said proudly. + +And now a new gentleman came in and said, bowing low-- + +'Everything is prepared--we have done our best at so short a notice; the +meeting--the ceremony--will be in the board-room. Will the Honourable +Phoenix walk--it is only a few steps--or would it like to be--would it +like some sort of conveyance?' + +'My Robert will bear me to the board-room, if that be the unlovely name +of my temple's inmost court,' replied the bird. + +So they all followed the gentleman. There was a big table in the +board-room, but it had been pushed right up under the long windows at +one side, and chairs were arranged in rows across the room--like those +you have at schools when there is a magic lantern on 'Our Eastern +Empire', or on 'The Way We Do in the Navy'. The doors were of carved +wood, very beautiful, with a carved Phoenix above. Anthea noticed that +the chairs in the front rows were of the kind that her mother so loved +to ask the price of in old furniture shops, and never could buy, because +the price was always nearly twenty pounds each. On the mantelpiece were +some heavy bronze candlesticks and a clock, and on the top of the clock +was another image of the Phoenix. + +'Remove that effigy,' said the Phoenix to the gentlemen who were there, +and it was hastily taken down. Then the Phoenix fluttered to the middle +of the mantelpiece and stood there, looking more golden than ever. Then +every one in the house and the office came in--from the cashier to the +women who cooked the clerks' dinners in the beautiful kitchen at the top +of the house. And every one bowed to the Phoenix and then sat down in a +chair. + +'Gentlemen,' said the nicest gentleman, 'we have met here today--' + +The Phoenix was turning its golden beak from side to side. + +'I don't notice any incense,' it said, with an injured sniff. A hurried +consultation ended in plates being fetched from the kitchen. Brown +sugar, sealing-wax, and tobacco were placed on these, and something from +a square bottle was poured over it all. Then a match was applied. It was +the only incense that was handy in the Phoenix office, and it certainly +burned very briskly and smoked a great deal. + +'We have met here today,' said the gentleman again, 'on an occasion +unparalleled in the annals of this office. Our respected Phoenix--' + +'Head of the House,' said the Phoenix, in a hollow voice. + +'I was coming to that. Our respected Phoenix, the Head of this ancient +House, has at length done us the honour to come among us. I think I may +say, gentlemen, that we are not insensible to this honour, and that we +welcome with no uncertain voice one whom we have so long desired to see +in our midst.' + +Several of the younger clerks thought of saying 'Hear, hear,' but they +feared it might seem disrespectful to the bird. + +'I will not take up your time,' the speaker went on, 'by recapitulating +the advantages to be derived from a proper use of our system of fire +insurance. I know, and you know, gentlemen, that our aim has ever been +to be worthy of that eminent bird whose name we bear, and who now adorns +our mantelpiece with his presence. Three cheers, gentlemen, for the +winged Head of the House!' + +The cheers rose, deafening. When they had died away the Phoenix was +asked to say a few words. + +It expressed in graceful phrases the pleasure it felt in finding itself +at last in its own temple. + +'And,' it went on, 'You must not think me wanting in appreciation of +your very hearty and cordial reception when I ask that an ode may be +recited or a choric song sung. It is what I have always been accustomed +to.' + +The four children, dumb witnesses of this wonderful scene, glanced a +little nervously across the foam of white faces above the sea of black +coats. It seemed to them that the Phoenix was really asking a little too +much. + +'Time presses,' said the Phoenix, 'and the original ode of invocation is +long, as well as being Greek; and, besides, it's no use invoking me when +here I am; but is there not a song in your own tongue for a great day +such as this?' + +Absently the manager began to sing, and one by one the rest joined-- + + 'Absolute security! + No liability! + All kinds of property + insured against fire. + Terms most favourable, + Expenses reasonable, + Moderate rates for annual + Insurance.' + +'That one is NOT my favourite,' interrupted the Phoenix, 'and I think +you've forgotten part of it.' + +The manager hastily began another-- + + 'O Golden Phoenix, fairest bird, + The whole great world has often heard + Of all the splendid things we do, + Great Phoenix, just to honour you.' + +'That's better,' said the bird. And every one sang-- + + 'Class one, for private dwelling-house, + For household goods and shops allows; + Provided these are built of brick + Or stone, and tiled and slated thick.' + +'Try another verse,' said the Phoenix, 'further on.' + +And again arose the voices of all the clerks and employees and managers +and secretaries and cooks-- + + 'In Scotland our insurance yields + The price of burnt-up stacks in fields.' + +'Skip that verse,' said the Phoenix. + + 'Thatched dwellings and their whole contents + We deal with--also with their rents; + Oh, glorious Phoenix, look and see + That these are dealt with in class three. + + 'The glories of your temple throng + Too thick to go in any song; + And we attend, O good and wise, + To "days of grace" and merchandise. + + 'When people's homes are burned away + They never have a cent to pay + If they have done as all should do, + O Phoenix, and have honoured you. + + 'So let us raise our voice and sing + The praises of the Phoenix King. + In classes one and two and three, + Oh, trust to him, for kind is he!' + +'I'm sure YOU'RE very kind,' said the Phoenix; 'and now we must be +going. An thank you very much for a very pleasant time. May you all +prosper as you deserve to do, for I am sure a nicer, pleasanter-spoken +lot of temple attendants I have never met, and never wish to meet. I +wish you all good-day!' + +It fluttered to the wrist of Robert and drew the four children from the +room. The whole of the office staff followed down the wide stairs and +filed into their accustomed places, and the two most important officials +stood on the steps bowing till Robert had buttoned the golden bird in +his Norfolk bosom, and it and he and the three other children were lost +in the crowd. + +The two most important gentlemen looked at each other earnestly and +strangely for a moment, and then retreated to those sacred inner rooms, +where they toil without ceasing for the good of the House. + +And the moment they were all in their places--managers, secretaries, +clerks, and porters--they all started, and each looked cautiously round +to see if any one was looking at him. For each thought that he had +fallen asleep for a few minutes, and had dreamed a very odd dream about +the Phoenix and the board-room. And, of course, no one mentioned it +to any one else, because going to sleep at your office is a thing you +simply MUST NOT do. + +The extraordinary confusion of the board-room, with the remains of the +incense in the plates, would have shown them at once that the visit of +the Phoenix had been no dream, but a radiant reality, but no one went +into the board-room again that day; and next day, before the office +was opened, it was all cleaned and put nice and tidy by a lady whose +business asking questions was not part of. That is why Cyril read +the papers in vain on the next day and the day after that; because no +sensible person thinks his dreams worth putting in the paper, and no one +will ever own that he has been asleep in the daytime. + +The Phoenix was very pleased, but it decided to write an ode for itself. +It thought the ones it had heard at its temple had been too hastily +composed. Its own ode began-- + + 'For beauty and for modest worth + The Phoenix has not its equal on earth.' + +And when the children went to bed that night it was still trying to cut +down the last line to the proper length without taking out any of what +it wanted to say. + +That is what makes poetry so difficult. + + + +CHAPTER 6. DOING GOOD + + +'We shan't be able to go anywhere on the carpet for a whole week, +though,' said Robert. + +'And I'm glad of it,' said Jane, unexpectedly. + +'Glad?' said Cyril; 'GLAD?' + +It was breakfast-time, and mother's letter, telling them how they were +all going for Christmas to their aunt's at Lyndhurst, and how father and +mother would meet them there, having been read by every one, lay on the +table, drinking hot bacon-fat with one corner and eating marmalade with +the other. + +'Yes, glad,' said Jane. 'I don't want any more things to happen +just now. I feel like you do when you've been to three parties in a +week--like we did at granny's once--and extras in between, toys and +chocs and things like that. I want everything to be just real, and no +fancy things happening at all.' 'I don't like being obliged to keep +things from mother,' said Anthea. 'I don't know why, but it makes me +feel selfish and mean.' + +'If we could only get the mater to believe it, we might take her to the +jolliest places,' said Cyril, thoughtfully. 'As it is, we've just got to +be selfish and mean--if it is that--but I don't feel it is.' + +'I KNOW it isn't, but I FEEL it is,' said Anthea, 'and that's just as +bad.' + +'It's worse,' said Robert; 'if you knew it and didn't feel it, it +wouldn't matter so much.' + +'That's being a hardened criminal, father says,' put in Cyril, and he +picked up mother's letter and wiped its corners with his handkerchief, +to whose colour a trifle of bacon-fat and marmalade made but little +difference. + +'We're going to-morrow, anyhow,' said Robert. 'Don't,' he added, with +a good-boy expression on his face--'don't let's be ungrateful for our +blessings; don't let's waste the day in saying how horrid it is to keep +secrets from mother, when we all know Anthea tried all she knew to give +her the secret, and she wouldn't take it. Let's get on the carpet and +have a jolly good wish. You'll have time enough to repent of things all +next week.' + +'Yes,' said Cyril, 'let's. It's not really wrong.' + +'Well, look here,' said Anthea. 'You know there's something about +Christmas that makes you want to be good--however little you wish it at +other times. Couldn't we wish the carpet to take us somewhere where we +should have the chance to do some good and kind action? It would be an +adventure just the same,' she pleaded. + +'I don't mind,' said Cyril. 'We shan't know where we're going, and +that'll be exciting. No one knows what'll happen. We'd best put on our +outers in case--' + +'We might rescue a traveller buried in the snow, like St Bernard dogs, +with barrels round our necks,' said Jane, beginning to be interested. + +'Or we might arrive just in time to witness a will being signed--more +tea, please,' said Robert, 'and we should see the old man hide it away +in the secret cupboard; and then, after long years, when the rightful +heir was in despair, we should lead him to the hidden panel and--' + +'Yes,' interrupted Anthea; 'or we might be taken to some freezing garret +in a German town, where a poor little pale, sick child--' + +'We haven't any German money,' interrupted Cyril, 'so THAT'S no go. What +I should like would be getting into the middle of a war and getting hold +of secret intelligence and taking it to the general, and he would make +me a lieutenant or a scout, or a hussar.' + +When breakfast was cleared away, Anthea swept the carpet, and the +children sat down on it, together with the Phoenix, who had been +especially invited, as a Christmas treat, to come with them and witness +the good and kind action they were about to do. + +Four children and one bird were ready, and the wish was wished. + +Every one closed its eyes, so as to feel the topsy-turvy swirl of the +carpet's movement as little as possible. + +When the eyes were opened again the children found themselves on the +carpet, and the carpet was in its proper place on the floor of their own +nursery at Camden Town. + +'I say,' said Cyril, 'here's a go!' + +'Do you think it's worn out? The wishing part of it, I mean?' Robert +anxiously asked the Phoenix. + +'It's not that,' said the Phoenix; 'but--well--what did you wish--?' + +'Oh! I see what it means,' said Robert, with deep disgust; 'it's like +the end of a fairy story in a Sunday magazine. How perfectly beastly!' + +'You mean it means we can do kind and good actions where we are? I see. +I suppose it wants us to carry coals for the cook or make clothes +for the bare heathens. Well, I simply won't. And the last day and +everything. Look here!' Cyril spoke loudly and firmly. 'We want to go +somewhere really interesting, where we have a chance of doing something +good and kind; we don't want to do it here, but somewhere else. See? +Now, then.' + +The obedient carpet started instantly, and the four children and one +bird fell in a heap together, and as they fell were plunged in perfect +darkness. + +'Are you all there?' said Anthea, breathlessly, through the black dark. +Every one owned that it was there. + +'Where are we? Oh! how shivery and wet it is! Ugh!--oh!--I've put my +hand in a puddle!' + +'Has any one got any matches?' said Anthea, hopelessly. She felt sure +that no one would have any. + +It was then that Robert, with a radiant smile of triumph that was quite +wasted in the darkness, where, of course, no one could see anything, +drew out of his pocket a box of matches, struck a match and lighted a +candle--two candles. And every one, with its mouth open, blinked at the +sudden light. + +'Well done Bobs,' said his sisters, and even Cyril's natural brotherly +feelings could not check his admiration of Robert's foresight. + +'I've always carried them about ever since the lone tower day,' said +Robert, with modest pride. 'I knew we should want them some day. I kept +the secret well, didn't I?' + +'Oh, yes,' said Cyril, with fine scorn. 'I found them the Sunday after, +when I was feeling in your Norfolks for the knife you borrowed off me. +But I thought you'd only sneaked them for Chinese lanterns, or reading +in bed by.' + +'Bobs,' said Anthea, suddenly, 'do you know where we are? This is +the underground passage, and look there--there's the money and the +money-bags, and everything.' + +By this time the ten eyes had got used to the light of the candles, and +no one could help seeing that Anthea spoke the truth. + +'It seems an odd place to do good and kind acts in, though,' said Jane. +'There's no one to do them to.' + +'Don't you be too sure,' said Cyril; 'just round the next turning we +might find a prisoner who has languished here for years and years, and +we could take him out on our carpet and restore him to his sorrowing +friends.' + +'Of course we could,' said Robert, standing up and holding the candle +above his head to see further off; 'or we might find the bones of a +poor prisoner and take them to his friends to be buried properly--that's +always a kind action in books, though I never could see what bones +matter.' + +'I wish you wouldn't,' said Jane. + +'I know exactly where we shall find the bones, too,' Robert went on. +'You see that dark arch just along the passage? Well, just inside +there--' + +'If you don't stop going on like that,' said Jane, firmly, 'I shall +scream, and then I'll faint--so now then!' + +'And _I_ will, too,' said Anthea. + +Robert was not pleased at being checked in his flight of fancy. + +'You girls will never be great writers,' he said bitterly. 'They just +love to think of things in dungeons, and chains, and knobbly bare human +bones, and--' + +Jane had opened her mouth to scream, but before she could decide how you +began when you wanted to faint, the golden voice of the Phoenix spoke +through the gloom. + +'Peace!' it said; 'there are no bones here except the small but useful +sets that you have inside you. And you did not invite me to come out +with you to hear you talk about bones, but to see you do some good and +kind action.' + +'We can't do it here,' said Robert, sulkily. + +'No,' rejoined the bird. 'The only thing we can do here, it seems, is to +try to frighten our little sisters.' + +'He didn't, really, and I'm not so VERY little,' said Jane, rather +ungratefully. + +Robert was silent. It was Cyril who suggested that perhaps they had +better take the money and go. + +'That wouldn't be a kind act, except to ourselves; and it wouldn't be +good, whatever way you look at it,' said Anthea, 'to take money that's +not ours.' + +'We might take it and spend it all on benefits to the poor and aged,' +said Cyril. + +'That wouldn't make it right to steal,' said Anthea, stoutly. + +'I don't know,' said Cyril. They were all standing up now. 'Stealing is +taking things that belong to some one else, and there's no one else.' + +'It can't be stealing if--' + +'That's right,' said Robert, with ironical approval; 'stand here all day +arguing while the candles burn out. You'll like it awfully when it's all +dark again--and bony.' + +'Let's get out, then,' said Anthea. 'We can argue as we go.' So they +rolled up the carpet and went. But when they had crept along to the +place where the passage led into the topless tower they found the way +blocked by a great stone, which they could not move. + +'There!' said Robert. 'I hope you're satisfied!' + +'Everything has two ends,' said the Phoenix, softly; 'even a quarrel or +a secret passage.' + +So they turned round and went back, and Robert was made to go first with +one of the candles, because he was the one who had begun to talk about +bones. And Cyril carried the carpet. + +'I wish you hadn't put bones into our heads,' said Jane, as they went +along. + +'I didn't; you always had them. More bones than brains,' said Robert. + +The passage was long, and there were arches and steps and turnings and +dark alcoves that the girls did not much like passing. The passage ended +in a flight of steps. Robert went up them. + +Suddenly he staggered heavily back on to the following feet of Jane, and +everybody screamed, 'Oh! what is it?' + +'I've only bashed my head in,' said Robert, when he had groaned for some +time; 'that's all. Don't mention it; I like it. The stairs just go right +slap into the ceiling, and it's a stone ceiling. You can't do good and +kind actions underneath a paving-stone.' + +'Stairs aren't made to lead just to paving-stones as a general rule,' +said the Phoenix. 'Put your shoulder to the wheel.' + +'There isn't any wheel,' said the injured Robert, still rubbing his +head. + +But Cyril had pushed past him to the top stair, and was already shoving +his hardest against the stone above. Of course, it did not give in the +least. + +'If it's a trap-door--' said Cyril. And he stopped shoving and began to +feel about with his hands. + +'Yes, there is a bolt. I can't move it.' + +By a happy chance Cyril had in his pocket the oil-can of his father's +bicycle; he put the carpet down at the foot of the stairs, and he lay +on his back, with his head on the top step and his feet straggling down +among his young relations, and he oiled the bolt till the drops of rust +and oil fell down on his face. One even went into his mouth--open, as he +panted with the exertion of keeping up this unnatural position. Then +he tried again, but still the bolt would not move. So now he tied his +handkerchief--the one with the bacon-fat and marmalade on it--to the +bolt, and Robert's handkerchief to that, in a reef knot, which cannot +come undone however much you pull, and, indeed, gets tighter and tighter +the more you pull it. This must not be confused with a granny knot, +which comes undone if you look at it. And then he and Robert pulled, +and the girls put their arms round their brothers and pulled too, and +suddenly the bolt gave way with a rusty scrunch, and they all rolled +together to the bottom of the stairs--all but the Phoenix, which had +taken to its wings when the pulling began. + +Nobody was hurt much, because the rolled-up carpet broke their fall; and +now, indeed, the shoulders of the boys were used to some purpose, for +the stone allowed them to heave it up. They felt it give; dust fell +freely on them. + +'Now, then,' cried Robert, forgetting his head and his temper, 'push all +together. One, two, three!' + +The stone was heaved up. It swung up on a creaking, unwilling hinge, and +showed a growing oblong of dazzling daylight; and it fell back with a +bang against something that kept it upright. Every one climbed out, +but there was not room for every one to stand comfortably in the +little paved house where they found themselves, so when the Phoenix had +fluttered up from the darkness they let the stone down, and it closed +like a trap-door, as indeed it was. + +You can have no idea how dusty and dirty the children were. Fortunately +there was no one to see them but each other. The place they were in +was a little shrine, built on the side of a road that went winding up +through yellow-green fields to the topless tower. Below them were fields +and orchards, all bare boughs and brown furrows, and little houses and +gardens. The shrine was a kind of tiny chapel with no front wall--just a +place for people to stop and rest in and wish to be good. So the Phoenix +told them. There was an image that had once been brightly coloured, but +the rain and snow had beaten in through the open front of the shrine, +and the poor image was dull and weather-stained. Under it was written: +'St Jean de Luz. Priez pour nous.' It was a sad little place, very +neglected and lonely, and yet it was nice, Anthea thought, that poor +travellers should come to this little rest-house in the hurry and worry +of their journeyings and be quiet for a few minutes, and think about +being good. The thought of St Jean de Luz--who had, no doubt, in his +time, been very good and kind--made Anthea want more than ever to do +something kind and good. + +'Tell us,' she said to the Phoenix, 'what is the good and kind action +the carpet brought us here to do?' + +'I think it would be kind to find the owners of the treasure and tell +them about it,' said Cyril. + +'And give it them ALL?' said Jane. + +'Yes. But whose is it?' + +'I should go to the first house and ask the name of the owner of the +castle,' said the golden bird, and really the idea seemed a good one. + +They dusted each other as well as they could and went down the road. A +little way on they found a tiny spring, bubbling out of the hillside and +falling into a rough stone basin surrounded by draggled hart's-tongue +ferns, now hardly green at all. Here the children washed their hands +and faces and dried them on their pocket-handkerchiefs, which always, +on these occasions, seem unnaturally small. Cyril's and Robert's +handkerchiefs, indeed, rather undid the effects of the wash. But in +spite of this the party certainly looked cleaner than before. + +The first house they came to was a little white house with green +shutters and a slate roof. It stood in a prim little garden, and down +each side of the neat path were large stone vases for flowers to grow +in; but all the flowers were dead now. + +Along one side of the house was a sort of wide veranda, built of poles +and trellis-work, and a vine crawled all over it. It was wider than our +English verandas, and Anthea thought it must look lovely when the +green leaves and the grapes were there; but now there were only dry, +reddish-brown stalks and stems, with a few withered leaves caught in +them. + +The children walked up to the front door. It was green and narrow. A +chain with a handle hung beside it, and joined itself quite openly to a +rusty bell that hung under the porch. Cyril had pulled the bell and +its noisy clang was dying away before the terrible thought came to all. +Cyril spoke it. + +'My hat!' he breathed. 'We don't know any French!' + +At this moment the door opened. A very tall, lean lady, with pale +ringlets like whitey-brown paper or oak shavings, stood before them. She +had an ugly grey dress and a black silk apron. Her eyes were small +and grey and not pretty, and the rims were red, as though she had been +crying. + +She addressed the party in something that sounded like a foreign +language, and ended with something which they were sure was a question. +Of course, no one could answer it. + +'What does she say?' Robert asked, looking down into the hollow of his +jacket, where the Phoenix was nestling. But before the Phoenix could +answer, the whitey-brown lady's face was lighted up by a most charming +smile. + +'You--you ar-r-re fr-r-rom the England!' she cried. 'I love so much +the England. Mais entrez--entrez donc tous! Enter, then--enter all. One +essuyes his feet on the carpet.' She pointed to the mat. + +'We only wanted to ask--' + +'I shall say you all that what you wish,' said the lady. 'Enter only!' + +So they all went in, wiping their feet on a very clean mat, and putting +the carpet in a safe corner of the veranda. + +'The most beautiful days of my life,' said the lady, as she shut the +door, 'did pass themselves in England. And since long time I have not +heard an English voice to repeal me the past.' + +This warm welcome embarrassed every one, but most the boys, for the +floor of the hall was of such very clean red and white tiles, and +the floor of the sitting-room so very shiny--like a black +looking-glass--that each felt as though he had on far more boots than +usual, and far noisier. + +There was a wood fire, very small and very bright, on the hearth--neat +little logs laid on brass fire-dogs. Some portraits of powdered ladies +and gentlemen hung in oval frames on the pale walls. There were silver +candlesticks on the mantelpiece, and there were chairs and a table, very +slim and polite, with slender legs. The room was extremely bare, but +with a bright foreign bareness that was very cheerful, in an odd way of +its own. At the end of the polished table a very un-English little boy +sat on a footstool in a high-backed, uncomfortable-looking chair. He +wore black velvet, and the kind of collar--all frills and lacey--that +Robert would rather have died than wear; but then the little French boy +was much younger than Robert. + +'Oh, how pretty!' said every one. But no one meant the little French +boy, with the velvety short knickerbockers and the velvety short hair. + +What every one admired was a little, little Christmas-tree, very green, +and standing in a very red little flower-pot, and hung round with very +bright little things made of tinsel and coloured paper. There were tiny +candles on the tree, but they were not lighted yet. + +'But yes--is it not that it is genteel?' said the lady. 'Sit down you +then, and let us see.' + +The children sat down in a row on the stiff chairs against the wall, and +the lady lighted a long, slim red taper at the wood flame, and then she +drew the curtains and lit the little candles, and when they were all +lighted the little French boy suddenly shouted, 'Bravo, ma tante! Oh, +que c'est gentil,' and the English children shouted 'Hooray!' + +Then there was a struggle in the breast of Robert, and out fluttered the +Phoenix--spread his gold wings, flew to the top of the Christmas-tree, +and perched there. + +'Ah! catch it, then,' cried the lady; 'it will itself burn--your genteel +parrakeet!' + +'It won't,' said Robert, 'thank you.' + +And the little French boy clapped his clean and tidy hands; but the lady +was so anxious that the Phoenix fluttered down and walked up and down on +the shiny walnut-wood table. + +'Is it that it talks?' asked the lady. + +And the Phoenix replied in excellent French. It said, 'Parfaitement, +madame!' + +'Oh, the pretty parrakeet,' said the lady. 'Can it say still of other +things?' + +And the Phoenix replied, this time in English, 'Why are you sad so near +Christmas-time?' + +The children looked at it with one gasp of horror and surprise, for +the youngest of them knew that it is far from manners to notice that +strangers have been crying, and much worse to ask them the reason of +their tears. And, of course, the lady began to cry again, very much +indeed, after calling the Phoenix a bird without a heart; and she could +not find her handkerchief, so Anthea offered hers, which was still very +damp and no use at all. She also hugged the lady, and this seemed to be +of more use than the handkerchief, so that presently the lady stopped +crying, and found her own handkerchief and dried her eyes, and called +Anthea a cherished angel. + +'I am sorry we came just when you were so sad,' said Anthea, 'but we +really only wanted to ask you whose that castle is on the hill.' + +'Oh, my little angel,' said the poor lady, sniffing, 'to-day and for +hundreds of years the castle is to us, to our family. To-morrow it must +that I sell it to some strangers--and my little Henri, who ignores +all, he will not have never the lands paternal. But what will you? His +father, my brother--Mr the Marquis--has spent much of money, and it the +must, despite the sentiments of familial respect, that I admit that my +sainted father he also--' + +'How would you feel if you found a lot of money--hundreds and thousands +of gold pieces?' asked Cyril. + +The lady smiled sadly. + +'Ah! one has already recounted to you the legend?' she said. 'It is +true that one says that it is long time; oh! but long time, one of our +ancestors has hid a treasure--of gold, and of gold, and of gold--enough +to enrich my little Henri for the life. But all that, my children, it is +but the accounts of fays--' + +'She means fairy stories,' whispered the Phoenix to Robert. 'Tell her +what you have found.' + +So Robert told, while Anthea and Jane hugged the lady for fear she +should faint for joy, like people in books, and they hugged her with the +earnest, joyous hugs of unselfish delight. + +'It's no use explaining how we got in,' said Robert, when he had told +of the finding of the treasure, 'because you would find it a little +difficult to understand, and much more difficult to believe. But we can +show you where the gold is and help you to fetch it away.' + +The lady looked doubtfully at Robert as she absently returned the hugs +of the girls. + +'No, he's not making it up,' said Anthea; 'it's true, TRUE, TRUE!--and +we are so glad.' + +'You would not be capable to torment an old woman?' she said; 'and it is +not possible that it be a dream.' + +'It really IS true,' said Cyril; 'and I congratulate you very much.' + +His tone of studied politeness seemed to convince more than the raptures +of the others. + +'If I do not dream,' she said, 'Henri come to Manon--and you--you shall +come all with me to Mr the Curate. Is it not?' + +Manon was a wrinkled old woman with a red and yellow handkerchief +twisted round her head. She took Henri, who was already sleepy with the +excitement of his Christmas-tree and his visitors, and when the lady had +put on a stiff black cape and a wonderful black silk bonnet and a pair +of black wooden clogs over her black cashmere house-boots, the whole +party went down the road to a little white house--very like the one they +had left--where an old priest, with a good face, welcomed them with a +politeness so great that it hid his astonishment. + +The lady, with her French waving hands and her shrugging French +shoulders and her trembling French speech, told the story. And now the +priest, who knew no English, shrugged HIS shoulders and waved HIS hands +and spoke also in French. + +'He thinks,' whispered the Phoenix, 'that her troubles have turned her +brain. What a pity you know no French!' + +'I do know a lot of French,' whispered Robert, indignantly; 'but it's +all about the pencil of the gardener's son and the penknife of the +baker's niece--nothing that anyone ever wants to say.' + +'If _I_ speak,' the bird whispered, 'he'll think HE'S mad, too.' + +'Tell me what to say.' + +'Say "C'est vrai, monsieur. Venez donc voir,"' said the Phoenix; and +then Robert earned the undying respect of everybody by suddenly saying, +very loudly and distinctly-- + +'Say vray, mossoo; venny dong vwaw.' + +The priest was disappointed when he found that Robert's French began and +ended with these useful words; but, at any rate, he saw that if the lady +was mad she was not the only one, and he put on a big beavery hat, and +got a candle and matches and a spade, and they all went up the hill to +the wayside shrine of St John of Luz. + +'Now,' said Robert, 'I will go first and show you where it is.' + +So they prised the stone up with a corner of the spade, and Robert did +go first, and they all followed and found the golden treasure exactly as +they had left it. And every one was flushed with the joy of performing +such a wonderfully kind action. + +Then the lady and the priest clasped hands and wept for joy, as French +people do, and knelt down and touched the money, and talked very fast +and both together, and the lady embraced all the children three times +each, and called them 'little garden angels,' and then she and the +priest shook each other by both hands again, and talked, and talked, and +talked, faster and more Frenchy than you would have believed possible. +And the children were struck dumb with joy and pleasure. + +'Get away NOW,' said the Phoenix softly, breaking in on the radiant +dream. + +So the children crept away, and out through the little shrine, and the +lady and the priest were so tearfully, talkatively happy that they never +noticed that the guardian angels had gone. + +The 'garden angels' ran down the hill to the lady's little house, where +they had left the carpet on the veranda, and they spread it out and +said 'Home,' and no one saw them disappear, except little Henri, who +had flattened his nose into a white button against the window-glass, and +when he tried to tell his aunt she thought he had been dreaming. So that +was all right. + +'It is much the best thing we've done,' said Anthea, when they talked +it over at tea-time. 'In the future we'll only do kind actions with the +carpet.' + +'Ahem!' said the Phoenix. + +'I beg your pardon?' said Anthea. + +'Oh, nothing,' said the bird. 'I was only thinking!' + + + +CHAPTER 7. MEWS FROM PERSIA + + +When you hear that the four children found themselves at Waterloo +Station quite un-taken-care-of, and with no one to meet them, it may +make you think that their parents were neither kind nor careful. But if +you think this you will be wrong. The fact is, mother arranged with Aunt +Emma that she was to meet the children at Waterloo, when they went back +from their Christmas holiday at Lyndhurst. The train was fixed, but not +the day. Then mother wrote to Aunt Emma, giving her careful instructions +about the day and the hour, and about luggage and cabs and things, and +gave the letter to Robert to post. But the hounds happened to meet near +Rufus Stone that morning, and what is more, on the way to the meet they +met Robert, and Robert met them, and instantly forgot all about posting +Aunt Emma's letter, and never thought of it again until he and +the others had wandered three times up and down the platform at +Waterloo--which makes six in all--and had bumped against old gentlemen, +and stared in the faces of ladies, and been shoved by people in a hurry, +and 'by-your-leaved' by porters with trucks, and were quite, quite sure +that Aunt Emma was not there. Then suddenly the true truth of what he +had forgotten to do came home to Robert, and he said, 'Oh, crikey!' and +stood still with his mouth open, and let a porter with a Gladstone bag +in each hand and a bundle of umbrellas under one arm blunder heavily +into him, and never so much as said, 'Where are you shoving to now?' or, +'Look out where you're going, can't you?' The heavier bag smote him at +the knee, and he staggered, but he said nothing. + +When the others understood what was the matter I think they told Robert +what they thought of him. + +'We must take the train to Croydon,' said Anthea, 'and find Aunt Emma.' + +'Yes,' said Cyril, 'and precious pleased those Jevonses would be to see +us and our traps.' + +Aunt Emma, indeed, was staying with some Jevonses--very prim people. +They were middle-aged and wore very smart blouses, and they were fond of +matinees and shopping, and they did not care about children. + +'I know MOTHER would be pleased to see us if we went back,' said Jane. + +'Yes, she would, but she'd think it was not right to show she was +pleased, because it's Bob's fault we're not met. Don't I know the sort +of thing?' said Cyril. 'Besides, we've no tin. No; we've got enough for +a growler among us, but not enough for tickets to the New Forest. We +must just go home. They won't be so savage when they find we've really +got home all right. You know auntie was only going to take us home in a +cab.' + +'I believe we ought to go to Croydon,' Anthea insisted. + +'Aunt Emma would be out to a dead cert,' said Robert. 'Those Jevonses go +to the theatre every afternoon, I believe. Besides, there's the Phoenix +at home, AND the carpet. I votes we call a four-wheeled cabman.' + +A four-wheeled cabman was called--his cab was one of the old-fashioned +kind with straw in the bottom--and he was asked by Anthea to drive them +very carefully to their address. This he did, and the price he asked +for doing so was exactly the value of the gold coin grandpapa had given +Cyril for Christmas. This cast a gloom; but Cyril would never have +stooped to argue about a cab-fare, for fear the cabman should think he +was not accustomed to take cabs whenever he wanted them. For a reason +that was something like this he told the cabman to put the luggage +on the steps, and waited till the wheels of the growler had grittily +retired before he rang the bell. + +'You see,' he said, with his hand on the handle, 'we don't want cook +and Eliza asking us before HIM how it is we've come home alone, as if we +were babies.' + +Here he rang the bell; and the moment its answering clang was heard, +every one felt that it would be some time before that bell was answered. +The sound of a bell is quite different, somehow, when there is anyone +inside the house who hears it. I can't tell you why that is--but so it +is. + +'I expect they're changing their dresses,' said Jane. + +'Too late,' said Anthea, 'it must be past five. I expect Eliza's gone to +post a letter, and cook's gone to see the time.' + +Cyril rang again. And the bell did its best to inform the listening +children that there was really no one human in the house. They rang +again and listened intently. The hearts of all sank low. It is a +terrible thing to be locked out of your own house, on a dark, muggy +January evening. + +'There is no gas on anywhere,' said Jane, in a broken voice. + +'I expect they've left the gas on once too often, and the draught blew +it out, and they're suffocated in their beds. Father always said they +would some day,' said Robert cheerfully. + +'Let's go and fetch a policeman,' said Anthea, trembling. + +'And be taken up for trying to be burglars--no, thank you,' said Cyril. +'I heard father read out of the paper about a young man who got into his +own mother's house, and they got him made a burglar only the other day.' + +'I only hope the gas hasn't hurt the Phoenix,' said Anthea. 'It said it +wanted to stay in the bathroom cupboard, and I thought it would be all +right, because the servants never clean that out. But if it's gone and +got out and been choked by gas--And besides, directly we open the door +we shall be choked, too. I KNEW we ought to have gone to Aunt Emma, at +Croydon. Oh, Squirrel, I wish we had. Let's go NOW.' + +'Shut up,' said her brother, briefly. 'There's some one rattling the +latch inside.' Every one listened with all its ears, and every one stood +back as far from the door as the steps would allow. + +The latch rattled, and clicked. Then the flap of the letter-box lifted +itself--every one saw it by the flickering light of the gas-lamp that +shone through the leafless lime-tree by the gate--a golden eye seemed to +wink at them through the letter-slit, and a cautious beak whispered-- + +'Are you alone?' + +'It's the Phoenix,' said every one, in a voice so joyous, and so full of +relief, as to be a sort of whispered shout. + +'Hush!' said the voice from the letter-box slit. 'Your slaves have gone +a-merry-making. The latch of this portal is too stiff for my beak. +But at the side--the little window above the shelf whereon your bread +lies--it is not fastened.' + +'Righto!' said Cyril. + +And Anthea added, 'I wish you'd meet us there, dear Phoenix.' + +The children crept round to the pantry window. It is at the side of the +house, and there is a green gate labelled 'Tradesmen's Entrance', which +is always kept bolted. But if you get one foot on the fence between you +and next door, and one on the handle of the gate, you are over before +you know where you are. This, at least, was the experience of Cyril and +Robert, and even, if the truth must be told, of Anthea and Jane. So in +almost no time all four were in the narrow gravelled passage that runs +between that house and the next. + +Then Robert made a back, and Cyril hoisted himself up and got his +knicker-bockered knee on the concrete window-sill. He dived into the +pantry head first, as one dives into water, and his legs waved in the +air as he went, just as your legs do when you are first beginning +to learn to dive. The soles of his boots--squarish muddy +patches--disappeared. + +'Give me a leg up,' said Robert to his sisters. + +'No, you don't,' said Jane firmly. 'I'm not going to be left outside +here with just Anthea, and have something creep up behind us out of the +dark. Squirrel can go and open the back door.' + +A light had sprung awake in the pantry. Cyril always said the Phoenix +turned the gas on with its beak, and lighted it with a waft of its wing; +but he was excited at the time, and perhaps he really did it himself +with matches, and then forgot all about it. He let the others in by the +back door. And when it had been bolted again the children went all over +the house and lighted every single gas-jet they could find. For they +couldn't help feeling that this was just the dark dreary winter's +evening when an armed burglar might easily be expected to appear at any +moment. There is nothing like light when you are afraid of burglars--or +of anything else, for that matter. + +And when all the gas-jets were lighted it was quite clear that the +Phoenix had made no mistake, and that Eliza and cook were really out, +and that there was no one in the house except the four children, and the +Phoenix, and the carpet, and the blackbeetles who lived in the cupboards +on each side of the nursery fire-place. These last were very pleased +that the children had come home again, especially when Anthea had +lighted the nursery fire. But, as usual, the children treated the loving +little blackbeetles with coldness and disdain. + +I wonder whether you know how to light a fire? I don't mean how to +strike a match and set fire to the corners of the paper in a fire +someone has laid ready, but how to lay and light a fire all by yourself. +I will tell you how Anthea did it, and if ever you have to light one +yourself you may remember how it is done. First, she raked out the ashes +of the fire that had burned there a week ago--for Eliza had actually +never done this, though she had had plenty of time. In doing this Anthea +knocked her knuckle and made it bleed. Then she laid the largest and +handsomest cinders in the bottom of the grate. Then she took a sheet +of old newspaper (you ought never to light a fire with to-day's +newspaper--it will not burn well, and there are other reasons against +it), and tore it into four quarters, and screwed each of these into a +loose ball, and put them on the cinders; then she got a bundle of wood +and broke the string, and stuck the sticks in so that their front ends +rested on the bars, and the back ends on the back of the paper balls. +In doing this she cut her finger slightly with the string, and when she +broke it, two of the sticks jumped up and hit her on the cheek. Then she +put more cinders and some bits of coal--no dust. She put most of that +on her hands, but there seemed to be enough left for her face. Then +she lighted the edges of the paper balls, and waited till she heard the +fizz-crack-crack-fizz of the wood as it began to burn. Then she went and +washed her hands and face under the tap in the back kitchen. + +Of course, you need not bark your knuckles, or cut your finger, or +bruise your cheek with wood, or black yourself all over; but otherwise, +this is a very good way to light a fire in London. In the real country +fires are lighted in a different and prettier way. + +But it is always good to wash your hands and face afterwards, wherever +you are. + +While Anthea was delighting the poor little blackbeetles with the +cheerful blaze, Jane had set the table for--I was going to say tea, but +the meal of which I am speaking was not exactly tea. Let us call it a +tea-ish meal. There was tea, certainly, for Anthea's fire blazed and +crackled so kindly that it really seemed to be affectionately inviting +the kettle to come and sit upon its lap. So the kettle was brought and +tea made. But no milk could be found--so every one had six lumps of +sugar to each cup instead. The things to eat, on the other hand, were +nicer than usual. The boys looked about very carefully, and found in +the pantry some cold tongue, bread, butter, cheese, and part of a cold +pudding--very much nicer than cook ever made when they were at home. And +in the kitchen cupboard was half a Christmassy cake, a pot of strawberry +jam, and about a pound of mixed candied fruit, with soft crumbly slabs +of delicious sugar in each cup of lemon, orange, or citron. + +It was indeed, as Jane said, 'a banquet fit for an Arabian Knight.' + +The Phoenix perched on Robert's chair, and listened kindly and +politely to all they had to tell it about their visit to Lyndhurst, +and underneath the table, by just stretching a toe down rather far, the +faithful carpet could be felt by all--even by Jane, whose legs were very +short. + +'Your slaves will not return to-night,' said the Phoenix. 'They sleep +under the roof of the cook's stepmother's aunt, who is, I gather, +hostess to a large party to-night in honour of her husband's cousin's +sister-in-law's mother's ninetieth birthday.' + +'I don't think they ought to have gone without leave,' said Anthea, +'however many relations they have, or however old they are; but I +suppose we ought to wash up.' + +'It's not our business about the leave,' said Cyril, firmly, 'but I +simply won't wash up for them. We got it, and we'll clear it away; and +then we'll go somewhere on the carpet. It's not often we get a chance +of being out all night. We can go right away to the other side of the +equator, to the tropical climes, and see the sun rise over the great +Pacific Ocean.' + +'Right you are,' said Robert. 'I always did want to see the Southern +Cross and the stars as big as gas-lamps.' + +'DON'T go,' said Anthea, very earnestly, 'because I COULDN'T. I'm SURE +mother wouldn't like us to leave the house and I should hate to be left +here alone.' + +'I'd stay with you,' said Jane loyally. + +'I know you would,' said Anthea gratefully, 'but even with you I'd much +rather not.' + +'Well,' said Cyril, trying to be kind and amiable, 'I don't want you to +do anything you think's wrong, BUT--' + +He was silent; this silence said many things. + +'I don't see,' Robert was beginning, when Anthea interrupted-- + +'I'm quite sure. Sometimes you just think a thing's wrong, and sometimes +you KNOW. And this is a KNOW time.' + +The Phoenix turned kind golden eyes on her and opened a friendly beak to +say-- + +'When it is, as you say, a "know time", there is no more to be said. And +your noble brothers would never leave you.' + +'Of course not,' said Cyril rather quickly. And Robert said so too. + +'I myself,' the Phoenix went on, 'am willing to help in any way +possible. I will go personally--either by carpet or on the wing--and +fetch you anything you can think of to amuse you during the evening. In +order to waste no time I could go while you wash up.--Why,' it went on +in a musing voice, 'does one wash up teacups and wash down the stairs?' + +'You couldn't wash stairs up, you know,' said Anthea, 'unless you began +at the bottom and went up feet first as you washed. I wish cook would +try that way for a change.' + +'I don't,' said Cyril, briefly. 'I should hate the look of her +elastic-side boots sticking up.' + +'This is mere trifling,' said the Phoenix. 'Come, decide what I shall +fetch for you. I can get you anything you like.' + +But of course they couldn't decide. Many things were suggested--a +rocking-horse, jewelled chessmen, an elephant, a bicycle, a motor-car, +books with pictures, musical instruments, and many other things. But +a musical instrument is agreeable only to the player, unless he has +learned to play it really well; books are not sociable, bicycles cannot +be ridden without going out of doors, and the same is true of motor-cars +and elephants. Only two people can play chess at once with one set of +chessmen (and anyway it's very much too much like lessons for a game), +and only one can ride on a rocking-horse. Suddenly, in the midst of the +discussion, the Phoenix spread its wings and fluttered to the floor, and +from there it spoke. + +'I gather,' it said, 'from the carpet, that it wants you to let it go +to its old home, where it was born and brought up, and it will return +within the hour laden with a number of the most beautiful and delightful +products of its native land.' + +'What IS its native land?' + +'I didn't gather. But since you can't agree, and time is passing, and +the tea-things are not washed down--I mean washed up--' + +'I votes we do,' said Robert. 'It'll stop all this jaw, anyway. And it's +not bad to have surprises. Perhaps it's a Turkey carpet, and it might +bring us Turkish delight.' + +'Or a Turkish patrol,' said Robert. + +'Or a Turkish bath,' said Anthea. + +'Or a Turkish towel,' said Jane. + +'Nonsense,' Robert urged, 'it said beautiful and delightful, and towels +and baths aren't THAT, however good they may be for you. Let it go. I +suppose it won't give us the slip,' he added, pushing back his chair and +standing up. + +'Hush!' said the Phoenix; 'how can you? Don't trample on its feelings +just because it's only a carpet.' + +'But how can it do it--unless one of us is on it to do the wishing?' +asked Robert. He spoke with a rising hope that it MIGHT be necessary for +one to go and why not Robert? But the Phoenix quickly threw cold water +on his new-born dream. + +'Why, you just write your wish on a paper, and pin it on the carpet.' + +So a leaf was torn from Anthea's arithmetic book, and on it Cyril wrote +in large round-hand the following: + + +We wish you to go to your dear native home, and bring back the most +beautiful and delightful productions of it you can--and not to be gone +long, please. + + (Signed) CYRIL. + ROBERT. + ANTHEA. + JANE. + + +Then the paper was laid on the carpet. + +'Writing down, please,' said the Phoenix; 'the carpet can't read a paper +whose back is turned to it, any more than you can.' + +It was pinned fast, and the table and chairs having been moved, the +carpet simply and suddenly vanished, rather like a patch of water on a +hearth under a fierce fire. The edges got smaller and smaller, and then +it disappeared from sight. + +'It may take it some time to collect the beautiful and delightful +things,' said the Phoenix. 'I should wash up--I mean wash down.' + +So they did. There was plenty of hot water left in the kettle, and every +one helped--even the Phoenix, who took up cups by their handles with its +clever claws and dipped them in the hot water, and then stood them on +the table ready for Anthea to dry them. But the bird was rather slow, +because, as it said, though it was not above any sort of honest work, +messing about with dish-water was not exactly what it had been brought +up to. Everything was nicely washed up, and dried, and put in its proper +place, and the dish-cloth washed and hung on the edge of the copper +to dry, and the tea-cloth was hung on the line that goes across the +scullery. (If you are a duchess's child, or a king's, or a person of +high social position's child, you will perhaps not know the difference +between a dish-cloth and a tea-cloth; but in that case your nurse has +been better instructed than you, and she will tell you all about it.) +And just as eight hands and one pair of claws were being dried on the +roller-towel behind the scullery door there came a strange sound from +the other side of the kitchen wall--the side where the nursery was. It +was a very strange sound, indeed--most odd, and unlike any other sounds +the children had ever heard. At least, they had heard sounds as much +like it as a toy engine's whistle is like a steam siren's. + +'The carpet's come back,' said Robert; and the others felt that he was +right. + +'But what has it brought with it?' asked Jane. 'It sounds like +Leviathan, that great beast.' + +'It couldn't have been made in India, and have brought elephants? Even +baby ones would be rather awful in that room,' said Cyril. 'I vote we +take it in turns to squint through the keyhole.' + +They did--in the order of their ages. The Phoenix, being the eldest by +some thousands of years, was entitled to the first peep. But-- + +'Excuse me,' it said, ruffling its golden feathers and sneezing softly; +'looking through keyholes always gives me a cold in my golden eyes.' + +So Cyril looked. + +'I see something grey moving,' said he. + +'It's a zoological garden of some sort, I bet,' said Robert, when he had +taken his turn. And the soft rustling, bustling, ruffling, scuffling, +shuffling, fluffling noise went on inside. + +'_I_ can't see anything,' said Anthea, 'my eye tickles so.' + +Then Jane's turn came, and she put her eye to the keyhole. + +'It's a giant kitty-cat,' she said; 'and it's asleep all over the +floor.' + +'Giant cats are tigers--father said so.' + +'No, he didn't. He said tigers were giant cats. It's not at all the same +thing.' + +'It's no use sending the carpet to fetch precious things for you +if you're afraid to look at them when they come,' said the Phoenix, +sensibly. And Cyril, being the eldest, said-- + +'Come on,' and turned the handle. + +The gas had been left full on after tea, and everything in the room +could be plainly seen by the ten eyes at the door. At least, not +everything, for though the carpet was there it was invisible, because it +was completely covered by the hundred and ninety-nine beautiful objects +which it had brought from its birthplace. + +'My hat!' Cyril remarked. 'I never thought about its being a PERSIAN +carpet.' + +Yet it was now plain that it was so, for the beautiful objects which it +had brought back were cats--Persian cats, grey Persian cats, and there +were, as I have said, 199 of them, and they were sitting on the carpet +as close as they could get to each other. But the moment the children +entered the room the cats rose and stretched, and spread and overflowed +from the carpet to the floor, and in an instant the floor was a sea of +moving, mewing pussishness, and the children with one accord climbed to +the table, and gathered up their legs, and the people next door knocked +on the wall--and, indeed, no wonder, for the mews were Persian and +piercing. + +'This is pretty poor sport,' said Cyril. 'What's the matter with the +bounders?' + +'I imagine that they are hungry,' said the Phoenix. 'If you were to feed +them--' + +'We haven't anything to feed them with,' said Anthea in despair, and she +stroked the nearest Persian back. 'Oh, pussies, do be quiet--we can't +hear ourselves think.' + +She had to shout this entreaty, for the mews were growing deafening, +'and it would take pounds' and pounds' worth of cat's-meat.' + +'Let's ask the carpet to take them away,' said Robert. But the girls +said 'No.' + +'They are so soft and pussy,' said Jane. + +'And valuable,' said Anthea, hastily. 'We can sell them for lots and +lots of money.' + +'Why not send the carpet to get food for them?' suggested the Phoenix, +and its golden voice came harsh and cracked with the effort it had to be +make to be heard above the increasing fierceness of the Persian mews. + +So it was written that the carpet should bring food for 199 Persian +cats, and the paper was pinned to the carpet as before. + +The carpet seemed to gather itself together, and the cats dropped off +it, as raindrops do from your mackintosh when you shake it. And the +carpet disappeared. + +Unless you have had one-hundred and ninety-nine well-grown Persian cats +in one small room, all hungry, and all saying so in unmistakable mews, +you can form but a poor idea of the noise that now deafened the children +and the Phoenix. The cats did not seem to have been at all properly +brought up. They seemed to have no idea of its being a mistake in +manners to ask for meals in a strange house--let alone to howl for +them--and they mewed, and they mewed, and they mewed, and they mewed, +till the children poked their fingers into their ears and waited in +silent agony, wondering why the whole of Camden Town did not come +knocking at the door to ask what was the matter, and only hoping that +the food for the cats would come before the neighbours did--and before +all the secret of the carpet and the Phoenix had to be given away beyond +recall to an indignant neighbourhood. + +The cats mewed and mewed and twisted their Persian forms in and out and +unfolded their Persian tails, and the children and the Phoenix huddled +together on the table. + +The Phoenix, Robert noticed suddenly, was trembling. + +'So many cats,' it said, 'and they might not know I was the Phoenix. +These accidents happen so quickly. It quite un-mans me.' + +This was a danger of which the children had not thought. + +'Creep in,' cried Robert, opening his jacket. + +And the Phoenix crept in--only just in time, for green eyes had glared, +pink noses had sniffed, white whiskers had twitched, and as Robert +buttoned his coat he disappeared to the waist in a wave of eager grey +Persian fur. And on the instant the good carpet slapped itself down on +the floor. And it was covered with rats--three hundred and ninety-eight +of them, I believe, two for each cat. + +'How horrible!' cried Anthea. 'Oh, take them away!' + +'Take yourself away,' said the Phoenix, 'and me.' + +'I wish we'd never had a carpet,' said Anthea, in tears. + +They hustled and crowded out of the door, and shut it, and locked it. +Cyril, with great presence of mind, lit a candle and turned off the gas +at the main. + +'The rats'll have a better chance in the dark,' he said. + +The mewing had ceased. Every one listened in breathless silence. We all +know that cats eat rats--it is one of the first things we read in our +little brown reading books; but all those cats eating all those rats--it +wouldn't bear thinking of. + +Suddenly Robert sniffed, in the silence of the dark kitchen, where the +only candle was burning all on one side, because of the draught. + +'What a funny scent!' he said. + +And as he spoke, a lantern flashed its light through the window of the +kitchen, a face peered in, and a voice said-- + +'What's all this row about? You let me in.' + +It was the voice of the police! + +Robert tip-toed to the window, and spoke through the pane that had +been a little cracked since Cyril accidentally knocked it with a +walking-stick when he was playing at balancing it on his nose. (It was +after they had been to a circus.) + +'What do you mean?' he said. 'There's no row. You listen; everything's +as quiet as quiet.' And indeed it was. + +The strange sweet scent grew stronger, and the Phoenix put out its beak. + +The policeman hesitated. + +'They're MUSK-rats,' said the Phoenix. 'I suppose some cats eat +them--but never Persian ones. What a mistake for a well-informed carpet +to make! Oh, what a night we're having!' + +'Do go away,' said Robert, nervously. 'We're just going to bed--that's +our bedroom candle; there isn't any row. Everything's as quiet as a +mouse.' + +A wild chorus of mews drowned his words, and with the mews were mingled +the shrieks of the musk-rats. What had happened? Had the cats tasted +them before deciding that they disliked the flavour? + +'I'm a-coming in,' said the policeman. 'You've got a cat shut up there.' + +'A cat,' said Cyril. 'Oh, my only aunt! A cat!' + +'Come in, then,' said Robert. 'It's your own look out. I advise you not. +Wait a shake, and I'll undo the side gate.' + +He undid the side gate, and the policeman, very cautiously, came in. And +there in the kitchen, by the light of one candle, with the mewing +and the screaming going like a dozen steam sirens, twenty waiting on +motor-cars, and half a hundred squeaking pumps, four agitated voices +shouted to the policeman four mixed and wholly different explanations of +the very mixed events of the evening. + +Did you ever try to explain the simplest thing to a policeman? + + + +CHAPTER 8. THE CATS, THE COW, AND THE BURGLAR + +The nursery was full of Persian cats and musk-rats that had been brought +there by the wishing carpet. The cats were mewing and the musk-rats were +squeaking so that you could hardly hear yourself speak. In the kitchen +were the four children, one candle, a concealed Phoenix, and a very +visible policeman. + +'Now then, look here,' said the Policeman, very loudly, and he pointed +his lantern at each child in turn, 'what's the meaning of this here +yelling and caterwauling. I tell you you've got a cat here, and some +one's a ill-treating of it. What do you mean by it, eh?' + +It was five to one, counting the Phoenix; but the policeman, who was +one, was of unusually fine size, and the five, including the Phoenix, +were small. The mews and the squeaks grew softer, and in the comparative +silence, Cyril said-- + +'It's true. There are a few cats here. But we've not hurt them. It's +quite the opposite. We've just fed them.' + +'It don't sound like it,' said the policeman grimly. + +'I daresay they're not REAL cats,' said Jane madly, perhaps they're only +dream-cats.' + +'I'll dream-cat you, my lady,' was the brief response of the force. + +'If you understood anything except people who do murders and stealings +and naughty things like that, I'd tell you all about it,' said Robert; +'but I'm certain you don't. You're not meant to shove your oar into +people's private cat-keepings. You're only supposed to interfere when +people shout "murder" and "stop thief" in the street. So there!' + +The policeman assured them that he should see about that; and at this +point the Phoenix, who had been making itself small on the pot-shelf +under the dresser, among the saucepan lids and the fish-kettle, walked +on tip-toed claws in a noiseless and modest manner, and left the room +unnoticed by any one. + +'Oh, don't be so horrid,' Anthea was saying, gently and earnestly. 'We +LOVE cats--dear pussy-soft things. We wouldn't hurt them for worlds. +Would we, Pussy?' + +And Jane answered that of course they wouldn't. And still the policeman +seemed unmoved by their eloquence. + +'Now, look here,' he said, 'I'm a-going to see what's in that room +beyond there, and--' + +His voice was drowned in a wild burst of mewing and squeaking. And as +soon as it died down all four children began to explain at once; and +though the squeaking and mewing were not at their very loudest, yet +there was quite enough of both to make it very hard for the policeman +to understand a single word of any of the four wholly different +explanations now poured out to him. + +'Stow it,' he said at last. 'I'm a-goin' into the next room in the +execution of my duty. I'm a-goin' to use my eyes--my ears have gone off +their chumps, what with you and them cats.' + +And he pushed Robert aside, and strode through the door. + +'Don't say I didn't warn you,' said Robert. + +'It's tigers REALLY,' said Jane. 'Father said so. I wouldn't go in, if I +were you.' + +But the policeman was quite stony; nothing any one said seemed to make +any difference to him. Some policemen are like this, I believe. He +strode down the passage, and in another moment he would have been in the +room with all the cats and all the rats (musk), but at that very instant +a thin, sharp voice screamed from the street outside-- + +'Murder--murder! Stop thief!' + +The policeman stopped, with one regulation boot heavily poised in the +air. + +'Eh?' he said. + +And again the shrieks sounded shrilly and piercingly from the dark +street outside. + +'Come on,' said Robert. 'Come and look after cats while somebody's being +killed outside.' For Robert had an inside feeling that told him quite +plainly WHO it was that was screaming. + +'You young rip,' said the policeman, 'I'll settle up with you bimeby.' + +And he rushed out, and the children heard his boots going weightily +along the pavement, and the screams also going along, rather ahead of +the policeman; and both the murder-screams and the policeman's boots +faded away in the remote distance. + +Then Robert smacked his knickerbocker loudly with his palm, and said-- + +'Good old Phoenix! I should know its golden voice anywhere.' + +And then every one understood how cleverly the Phoenix had caught at +what Robert had said about the real work of a policeman being to look +after murderers and thieves, and not after cats, and all hearts were +filled with admiring affection. + +'But he'll come back,' said Anthea, mournfully, 'as soon as it finds the +murderer is only a bright vision of a dream, and there isn't one at all +really.' + +'No he won't,' said the soft voice of the clever Phoenix, as it flew +in. 'HE DOES NOT KNOW WHERE YOUR HOUSE IS. I heard him own as much to a +fellow mercenary. Oh! what a night we are having! Lock the door, and let +us rid ourselves of this intolerable smell of the perfume peculiar +to the musk-rat and to the house of the trimmers of beards. If you'll +excuse me, I will go to bed. I am worn out.' + +It was Cyril who wrote the paper that told the carpet to take away the +rats and bring milk, because there seemed to be no doubt in any breast +that, however Persian cats may be, they must like milk. + +'Let's hope it won't be musk-milk,' said Anthea, in gloom, as she pinned +the paper face-downwards on the carpet. 'Is there such a thing as a +musk-cow?' she added anxiously, as the carpet shrivelled and vanished. +'I do hope not. Perhaps really it WOULD have been wiser to let the +carpet take the cats away. It's getting quite late, and we can't keep +them all night.' + +'Oh, can't we?' was the bitter rejoinder of Robert, who had been +fastening the side door. 'You might have consulted me,' he went on. 'I'm +not such an idiot as some people.' + +'Why, whatever--' + +'Don't you see? We've jolly well GOT to keep the cats all night--oh, get +down, you furry beasts!--because we've had three wishes out of the old +carpet now, and we can't get any more till to-morrow.' + +The liveliness of Persian mews alone prevented the occurrence of a +dismal silence. + +Anthea spoke first. + +'Never mind,' she said. 'Do you know, I really do think they're quieting +down a bit. Perhaps they heard us say milk.' + +'They can't understand English,' said Jane. 'You forget they're Persian +cats, Panther.' + +'Well,' said Anthea, rather sharply, for she was tired and anxious, 'who +told you "milk" wasn't Persian for milk. Lots of English words are +just the same in French--at least I know "miaw" is, and "croquet", and +"fiance". Oh, pussies, do be quiet! Let's stroke them as hard as we can +with both hands, and perhaps they'll stop.' + +So every one stroked grey fur till their hands were tired, and as soon +as a cat had been stroked enough to make it stop mewing it was pushed +gently away, and another mewing mouser was approached by the hands of +the strokers. And the noise was really more than half purr when the +carpet suddenly appeared in its proper place, and on it, instead of rows +of milk-cans, or even of milk-jugs, there was a COW. Not a Persian cow, +either, nor, most fortunately, a musk-cow, if there is such a thing, but +a smooth, sleek, dun-coloured Jersey cow, who blinked large soft eyes at +the gas-light and mooed in an amiable if rather inquiring manner. + +Anthea had always been afraid of cows; but now she tried to be brave. + +'Anyway, it can't run after me,' she said to herself 'There isn't room +for it even to begin to run.' + +The cow was perfectly placid. She behaved like a strayed duchess till +some one brought a saucer for the milk, and some one else tried to milk +the cow into it. Milking is very difficult. You may think it is easy, +but it is not. All the children were by this time strung up to a pitch +of heroism that would have been impossible to them in their ordinary +condition. Robert and Cyril held the cow by the horns; and Jane, when +she was quite sure that their end of the cow was quite secure, consented +to stand by, ready to hold the cow by the tail should occasion arise. +Anthea, holding the saucer, now advanced towards the cow. She remembered +to have heard that cows, when milked by strangers, are susceptible to +the soothing influence of the human voice. So, clutching her saucer very +tight, she sought for words to whose soothing influence the cow might be +susceptible. And her memory, troubled by the events of the night, which +seemed to go on and on for ever and ever, refused to help her with any +form of words suitable to address a Jersey cow in. + +'Poor pussy, then. Lie down, then, good dog, lie down!' was all that she +could think of to say, and she said it. + +And nobody laughed. The situation, full of grey mewing cats, was too +serious for that. Then Anthea, with a beating heart, tried to milk the +cow. Next moment the cow had knocked the saucer out of her hand and +trampled on it with one foot, while with the other three she had walked +on a foot each of Robert, Cyril, and Jane. + +Jane burst into tears. 'Oh, how much too horrid everything is!' she +cried. 'Come away. Let's go to bed and leave the horrid cats with the +hateful cow. Perhaps somebody will eat somebody else. And serve them +right.' + +They did not go to bed, but they had a shivering council in the +drawing-room, which smelt of soot--and, indeed, a heap of this lay in +the fender. There had been no fire in the room since mother went +away, and all the chairs and tables were in the wrong places, and the +chrysanthemums were dead, and the water in the pot nearly dried up. +Anthea wrapped the embroidered woolly sofa blanket round Jane and +herself, while Robert and Cyril had a struggle, silent and brief, but +fierce, for the larger share of the fur hearthrug. + +'It is most truly awful,' said Anthea, 'and I am so tired. Let's let the +cats loose.' + +'And the cow, perhaps?' said Cyril. 'The police would find us at once. +That cow would stand at the gate and mew--I mean moo--to come in. And so +would the cats. No; I see quite well what we've got to do. We must +put them in baskets and leave them on people's doorsteps, like orphan +foundlings.' + +'We've got three baskets, counting mother's work one,' said Jane +brightening. + +'And there are nearly two hundred cats,' said Anthea, 'besides the +cow--and it would have to be a different-sized basket for her; and then +I don't know how you'd carry it, and you'd never find a doorstep big +enough to put it on. Except the church one--and--' + +'Oh, well,' said Cyril, 'if you simply MAKE difficulties--' + +'I'm with you,' said Robert. 'Don't fuss about the cow, Panther. It's +simply GOT to stay the night, and I'm sure I've read that the cow is a +remunerating creature, and that means it will sit still and think +for hours. The carpet can take it away in the morning. And as for the +baskets, we'll do them up in dusters, or pillow-cases, or bath-towels. +Come on, Squirrel. You girls can be out of it if you like.' + +His tone was full of contempt, but Jane and Anthea were too tired and +desperate to care; even being 'out of it', which at other times they +could not have borne, now seemed quite a comfort. They snuggled down in +the sofa blanket, and Cyril threw the fur hearthrug over them. + +'Ah, he said, 'that's all women are fit for--to keep safe and warm, +while the men do the work and run dangers and risks and things.' + +'I'm not,' said Anthea, 'you know I'm not.' But Cyril was gone. + +It was warm under the blanket and the hearthrug, and Jane snuggled up +close to her sister; and Anthea cuddled Jane closely and kindly, and in +a sort of dream they heard the rise of a wave of mewing as Robert opened +the door of the nursery. They heard the booted search for baskets in +the back kitchen. They heard the side door open and close, and they +knew that each brother had gone out with at least one cat. Anthea's +last thought was that it would take at least all night to get rid of +one hundred and ninety-nine cats by twos. There would be ninety-nine +journeys of two cats each, and one cat over. + +'I almost think we might keep the one cat over,' said Anthea. 'I don't +seem to care for cats just now, but I daresay I shall again some day.' +And she fell asleep. Jane also was sleeping. + +It was Jane who awoke with a start, to find Anthea still asleep. As, in +the act of awakening, she kicked her sister, she wondered idly why +they should have gone to bed in their boots; but the next moment she +remembered where they were. + +There was a sound of muffled, shuffled feet on the stairs. Like the +heroine of the classic poem, Jane 'thought it was the boys', and as +she felt quite wide awake, and not nearly so tired as before, she crept +gently from Anthea's side and followed the footsteps. They went down +into the basement; the cats, who seemed to have fallen into the sleep +of exhaustion, awoke at the sound of the approaching footsteps and mewed +piteously. Jane was at the foot of the stairs before she saw it was not +her brothers whose coming had roused her and the cats, but a burglar. +She knew he was a burglar at once, because he wore a fur cap and a red +and black charity-check comforter, and he had no business where he was. + +If you had been stood in jane's shoes you would no doubt have run away +in them, appealing to the police and neighbours with horrid screams. But +Jane knew better. She had read a great many nice stories about burglars, +as well as some affecting pieces of poetry, and she knew that no burglar +will ever hurt a little girl if he meets her when burgling. Indeed, in +all the cases Jane had read of, his burglarishness was almost at once +forgotten in the interest he felt in the little girl's artless prattle. +So if Jane hesitated for a moment before addressing the burglar, it +was only because she could not at once think of any remark sufficiently +prattling and artless to make a beginning with. In the stories and the +affecting poetry the child could never speak plainly, though it always +looked old enough to in the pictures. And Jane could not make up her +mind to lisp and 'talk baby', even to a burglar. And while she hesitated +he softly opened the nursery door and went in. + +Jane followed--just in time to see him sit down flat on the floor, +scattering cats as a stone thrown into a pool splashes water. + +She closed the door softly and stood there, still wondering whether she +COULD bring herself to say, 'What's 'oo doing here, Mithter Wobber?' and +whether any other kind of talk would do. + +Then she heard the burglar draw a long breath, and he spoke. + +'It's a judgement,' he said, 'so help me bob if it ain't. Oh, 'ere's a +thing to 'appen to a chap! Makes it come 'ome to you, don't it neither? +Cats an' cats an' cats. There couldn't be all them cats. Let alone the +cow. If she ain't the moral of the old man's Daisy. She's a dream out of +when I was a lad--I don't mind 'er so much. 'Ere, Daisy, Daisy?' + +The cow turned and looked at him. + +'SHE'S all right,' he went on. 'Sort of company, too. Though them above +knows how she got into this downstairs parlour. But them cats--oh, take +'em away, take 'em away! I'll chuck the 'ole show--Oh, take 'em away.' + +'Burglar,' said Jane, close behind him, and he started convulsively, +and turned on her a blank face, whose pale lips trembled. 'I can't take +those cats away.' + +'Lor' lumme!' exclaimed the man; 'if 'ere ain't another on 'em. Are you +real, miss, or something I'll wake up from presently?' + +'I am quite real,' said Jane, relieved to find that a lisp was not +needed to make the burglar understand her. 'And so,' she added, 'are the +cats.' + +'Then send for the police, send for the police, and I'll go quiet. If +you ain't no realler than them cats, I'm done, spunchuck--out of time. +Send for the police. I'll go quiet. One thing, there'd not be room for +'arf them cats in no cell as ever _I_ see.' + +He ran his fingers through his hair, which was short, and his eyes +wandered wildly round the roomful of cats. + +'Burglar,' said Jane, kindly and softly, 'if you didn't like cats, what +did you come here for?' + +'Send for the police,' was the unfortunate criminal's only reply. 'I'd +rather you would--honest, I'd rather.' + +'I daren't,' said Jane, 'and besides, I've no one to send. I hate the +police. I wish he'd never been born.' + +'You've a feeling 'art, miss,' said the burglar; 'but them cats is +really a little bit too thick.' + +'Look here,' said Jane, 'I won't call the police. And I am quite a real +little girl, though I talk older than the kind you've met before when +you've been doing your burglings. And they are real cats--and they want +real milk--and--Didn't you say the cow was like somebody's Daisy that +you used to know?' + +'Wish I may die if she ain't the very spit of her,' replied the man. + +'Well, then,' said Jane--and a thrill of joyful pride ran through +her--'perhaps you know how to milk cows?' + +'Perhaps I does,' was the burglar's cautious rejoinder. + +'Then,' said Jane, 'if you will ONLY milk ours--you don't know how we +shall always love you.' + +The burglar replied that loving was all very well. + +'If those cats only had a good long, wet, thirsty drink of milk,' Jane +went on with eager persuasion, 'they'd lie down and go to sleep as +likely as not, and then the police won't come back. But if they go on +mewing like this he will, and then I don't know what'll become of us, or +you either.' + +This argument seemed to decide the criminal. Jane fetched the wash-bowl +from the sink, and he spat on his hands and prepared to milk the cow. At +this instant boots were heard on the stairs. + +'It's all up,' said the man, desperately, 'this 'ere's a plant. 'ERE'S +the police.' He made as if to open the window and leap from it. + +'It's all right, I tell you,' whispered Jane, in anguish. 'I'll say +you're a friend of mine, or the good clergyman called in, or my uncle, +or ANYTHING--only do, do, do milk the cow. Oh, DON'T go--oh--oh, thank +goodness it's only the boys!' + +It was; and their entrance had awakened Anthea, who, with her brothers, +now crowded through the doorway. The man looked about him like a rat +looks round a trap. + +'This is a friend of mine,' said Jane; 'he's just called in, and he's +going to milk the cow for us. ISN'T it good and kind of him?' + +She winked at the others, and though they did not understand they played +up loyally. + +'How do?' said Cyril, 'Very glad to meet you. Don't let us interrupt the +milking.' + +'I shall 'ave a 'ead and a 'arf in the morning, and no bloomin' error,' +remarked the burglar; but he began to milk the cow. + +Robert was winked at to stay and see that he did not leave off milking +or try to escape, and the others went to get things to put the milk in; +for it was now spurting and foaming in the wash-bowl, and the cats had +ceased from mewing and were crowding round the cow, with expressions of +hope and anticipation on their whiskered faces. + +'We can't get rid of any more cats,' said Cyril, as he and his sisters +piled a tray high with saucers and soup-plates and platters and +pie-dishes, 'the police nearly got us as it was. Not the same one--a +much stronger sort. He thought it really was a foundling orphan we'd +got. If it hadn't been for me throwing the two bags of cat slap in +his eye and hauling Robert over a railing, and lying like mice under +a laurel-bush--Well, it's jolly lucky I'm a good shot, that's all. +He pranced off when he'd got the cat-bags off his face--thought we'd +bolted. And here we are.' + +The gentle samishness of the milk swishing into the hand-bowl seemed +to have soothed the burglar very much. He went on milking in a sort of +happy dream, while the children got a cap and ladled the warm milk out +into the pie-dishes and plates, and platters and saucers, and set them +down to the music of Persian purrs and lappings. + +'It makes me think of old times,' said the burglar, smearing his ragged +coat-cuff across his eyes--'about the apples in the orchard at home, +and the rats at threshing time, and the rabbits and the ferrets, and how +pretty it was seeing the pigs killed.' + +Finding him in this softened mood, Jane said-- + +'I wish you'd tell us how you came to choose our house for your +burglaring to-night. I am awfully glad you did. You have been so kind. I +don't know what we should have done without you,' she added hastily. 'We +all love you ever so. Do tell us.' + +The others added their affectionate entreaties, and at last the burglar +said-- + +'Well, it's my first job, and I didn't expect to be made so welcome, and +that's the truth, young gents and ladies. And I don't know but what it +won't be my last. For this 'ere cow, she reminds me of my father, and I +know 'ow 'e'd 'ave 'ided me if I'd laid 'ands on a 'a'penny as wasn't my +own.' + +'I'm sure he would,' Jane agreed kindly; 'but what made you come here?' + +'Well, miss,' said the burglar, 'you know best 'ow you come by them +cats, and why you don't like the police, so I'll give myself away free, +and trust to your noble 'earts. (You'd best bale out a bit, the pan's +getting fullish.) I was a-selling oranges off of my barrow--for I ain't +a burglar by trade, though you 'ave used the name so free--an' there was +a lady bought three 'a'porth off me. An' while she was a-pickin' of them +out--very careful indeed, and I'm always glad when them sort gets a few +over-ripe ones--there was two other ladies talkin' over the fence. An' +one on 'em said to the other on 'em just like this-- + +"'I've told both gells to come, and they can doss in with M'ria and +Jane, 'cause their boss and his missis is miles away and the kids too. +So they can just lock up the 'ouse and leave the gas a-burning, so's +no one won't know, and get back bright an' early by 'leven o'clock. And +we'll make a night of it, Mrs Prosser, so we will. I'm just a-going +to run out to pop the letter in the post." And then the lady what had +chosen the three ha'porth so careful, she said: "Lor, Mrs Wigson, I +wonder at you, and your hands all over suds. This good gentleman'll slip +it into the post for yer, I'll be bound, seeing I'm a customer of his." +So they give me the letter, and of course I read the direction what was +written on it afore I shoved it into the post. And then when I'd sold +my barrowful, I was a-goin' 'ome with the chink in my pocket, and I'm +blowed if some bloomin' thievin' beggar didn't nick the lot whilst I was +just a-wettin' of my whistle, for callin' of oranges is dry work. Nicked +the bloomin' lot 'e did--and me with not a farden to take 'ome to my +brother and his missus.' + +'How awful!' said Anthea, with much sympathy. + +'Horful indeed, miss, I believe yer,' the burglar rejoined, with deep +feeling. 'You don't know her temper when she's roused. An' I'm sure I +'ope you never may, neither. And I'd 'ad all my oranges off of 'em. +So it came back to me what was wrote on the ongverlope, and I says to +myself, "Why not, seein' as I've been done myself, and if they keeps two +slaveys there must be some pickings?" An' so 'ere I am. But them cats, +they've brought me back to the ways of honestness. Never no more.' + +'Look here,' said Cyril, 'these cats are very valuable--very indeed. And +we will give them all to you, if only you will take them away.' + +'I see they're a breedy lot,' replied the burglar. 'But I don't want no +bother with the coppers. Did you come by them honest now? Straight?' + +'They are all our very own,' said Anthea, 'we wanted them, but the +confidement--' + +'Consignment,' whispered Cyril, 'was larger than we wanted, and they're +an awful bother. If you got your barrow, and some sacks or baskets, your +brother's missus would be awfully pleased. My father says Persian cats +are worth pounds and pounds each.' + +'Well,' said the burglar--and he was certainly moved by her remarks--'I +see you're in a hole--and I don't mind lending a helping 'and. I don't +ask 'ow you come by them. But I've got a pal--'e's a mark on cats. I'll +fetch him along, and if he thinks they'd fetch anything above their +skins I don't mind doin' you a kindness.' + +'You won't go away and never come back,' said Jane, 'because I don't +think I COULD bear that.' + +The burglar, quite touched by her emotion, swore sentimentally that, +alive or dead, he would come back. + +Then he went, and Cyril and Robert sent the girls to bed and sat up to +wait for his return. It soon seemed absurd to await him in a state +of wakefulness, but his stealthy tap on the window awoke them readily +enough. For he did return, with the pal and the barrow and the sacks. +The pal approved of the cats, now dormant in Persian repletion, and +they were bundled into the sacks, and taken away on the barrow--mewing, +indeed, but with mews too sleepy to attract public attention. + +'I'm a fence--that's what I am,' said the burglar gloomily. 'I never +thought I'd come down to this, and all acause er my kind 'eart.' + +Cyril knew that a fence is a receiver of stolen goods, and he replied +briskly-- + +'I give you my sacred the cats aren't stolen. What do you make the +time?' + +'I ain't got the time on me,' said the pal--'but it was just about +chucking-out time as I come by the "Bull and Gate". I shouldn't wonder +if it was nigh upon one now.' + +When the cats had been removed, and the boys and the burglar had parted +with warm expressions of friendship, there remained only the cow. + +'She must stay all night,' said Robert. 'Cook'll have a fit when she +sees her.' + +'All night?' said Cyril. 'Why--it's tomorrow morning if it's one. We can +have another wish!' + +So the carpet was urged, in a hastily written note, to remove the cow to +wherever she belonged, and to return to its proper place on the nursery +floor. But the cow could not be got to move on to the carpet. So Robert +got the clothes line out of the back kitchen, and tied one end very +firmly to the cow's horns, and the other end to a bunched-up corner of +the carpet, and said 'Fire away.' + +And the carpet and cow vanished together, and the boys went to bed, +tired out and only too thankful that the evening at last was over. + +Next morning the carpet lay calmly in its place, but one corner was very +badly torn. It was the corner that the cow had been tied on to. + + + +CHAPTER 9. THE BURGLAR'S BRIDE + + +The morning after the adventure of the Persian cats, the musk-rats, the +common cow, and the uncommon burglar, all the children slept till it was +ten o'clock; and then it was only Cyril who woke; but he attended to +the others, so that by half past ten every one was ready to help to get +breakfast. It was shivery cold, and there was but little in the house +that was really worth eating. + +Robert had arranged a thoughtful little surprise for the absent +servants. He had made a neat and delightful booby trap over the kitchen +door, and as soon as they heard the front door click open and knew the +servants had come back, all four children hid in the cupboard under +the stairs and listened with delight to the entrance--the tumble, the +splash, the scuffle, and the remarks of the servants. They heard the +cook say it was a judgement on them for leaving the place to itself; +she seemed to think that a booby trap was a kind of plant that was quite +likely to grow, all by itself, in a dwelling that was left shut up. But +the housemaid, more acute, judged that someone must have been in the +house--a view confirmed by the sight of the breakfast things on the +nursery table. + +The cupboard under the stairs was very tight and paraffiny, however, and +a silent struggle for a place on top ended in the door bursting open +and discharging Jane, who rolled like a football to the feet of the +servants. + +'Now,' said Cyril, firmly, when the cook's hysterics had become quieter, +and the housemaid had time to say what she thought of them, 'don't you +begin jawing us. We aren't going to stand it. We know too much. You'll +please make an extra special treacle roley for dinner, and we'll have a +tinned tongue.' + +'I daresay,' said the housemaid, indignant, still in her outdoor things +and with her hat very much on one side. 'Don't you come a-threatening +me, Master Cyril, because I won't stand it, so I tell you. You tell +your ma about us being out? Much I care! She'll be sorry for me when she +hears about my dear great-aunt by marriage as brought me up from a child +and was a mother to me. She sent for me, she did, she wasn't expected +to last the night, from the spasms going to her legs--and cook was that +kind and careful she couldn't let me go alone, so--' + +'Don't,' said Anthea, in real distress. 'You know where liars go to, +Eliza--at least if you don't--' + +'Liars indeed!' said Eliza, 'I won't demean myself talking to you.' + +'How's Mrs Wigson?' said Robert, 'and DID you keep it up last night?' + +The mouth of the housemaid fell open. + +'Did you doss with Maria or Emily?' asked Cyril. + +'How did Mrs Prosser enjoy herself?' asked Jane. + +'Forbear,' said Cyril, 'they've had enough. Whether we tell or not +depends on your later life,' he went on, addressing the servants. 'If +you are decent to us we'll be decent to you. You'd better make that +treacle roley--and if I were you, Eliza, I'd do a little housework and +cleaning, just for a change.' + +The servants gave in once and for all. + +'There's nothing like firmness,' Cyril went on, when the breakfast +things were cleared away and the children were alone in the nursery. +'People are always talking of difficulties with servants. It's quite +simple, when you know the way. We can do what we like now and they won't +peach. I think we've broken THEIR proud spirit. Let's go somewhere by +carpet.' + +'I wouldn't if I were you,' said the Phoenix, yawning, as it swooped +down from its roost on the curtain pole. 'I've given you one or two +hints, but now concealment is at an end, and I see I must speak out.' + +It perched on the back of a chair and swayed to and fro, like a parrot +on a swing. + +'What's the matter now?' said Anthea. She was not quite so gentle as +usual, because she was still weary from the excitement of last night's +cats. 'I'm tired of things happening. I shan't go anywhere on the +carpet. I'm going to darn my stockings.' + +'Darn!' said the Phoenix, 'darn! From those young lips these strange +expressions--' + +'Mend, then,' said Anthea, 'with a needle and wool.' + +The Phoenix opened and shut its wings thoughtfully. + +'Your stockings,' it said, 'are much less important than they now appear +to you. But the carpet--look at the bare worn patches, look at the great +rent at yonder corner. The carpet has been your faithful friend--your +willing servant. How have you requited its devoted service?' + +'Dear Phoenix,' Anthea urged, 'don't talk in that horrid lecturing tone. +You make me feel as if I'd done something wrong. And really it is a +wishing carpet, and we haven't done anything else to it--only wishes.' + +'Only wishes,' repeated the Phoenix, ruffling its neck feathers angrily, +'and what sort of wishes? Wishing people to be in a good temper, for +instance. What carpet did you ever hear of that had such a wish asked +of it? But this noble fabric, on which you trample so recklessly' (every +one removed its boots from the carpet and stood on the linoleum), 'this +carpet never flinched. It did what you asked, but the wear and tear must +have been awful. And then last night--I don't blame you about the cats +and the rats, for those were its own choice; but what carpet could stand +a heavy cow hanging on to it at one corner?' + +'I should think the cats and rats were worse,' said Robert, 'look at all +their claws.' + +'Yes,' said the bird, 'eleven thousand nine hundred and forty of them--I +daresay you noticed? I should be surprised if these had not left their +mark.' + +'Good gracious,' said Jane, sitting down suddenly on the floor, and +patting the edge of the carpet softly; 'do you mean it's WEARING OUT?' + +'Its life with you has not been a luxurious one,' said the Phoenix. + +'French mud twice. Sand of sunny shores twice. Soaking in southern seas +once. India once. Goodness knows where in Persia once. Musk-rat-land +once. And once, wherever the cow came from. Hold your carpet up to the +light, and with cautious tenderness, if YOU please.' + +With cautious tenderness the boys held the carpet up to the light; the +girls looked, and a shiver of regret ran through them as they saw how +those eleven thoousand nine hundred and forty claws had run through the +carpet. It was full of little holes: there were some large ones, and +more than one thin place. At one corner a strip of it was torn, and hung +forlornly. + +'We must mend it,' said Anthea; 'never mind about my stockings. I can +sew them up in lumps with sewing cotton if there's no time to do them +properly. I know it's awful and no girl would who respected herself, +and all that; but the poor dear carpet's more important than my silly +stockings. Let's go out now this very minute.' + +So out they all went, and bought wool to mend the carpet; but there +is no shop in Camden Town where you can buy wishing-wool, no, nor in +Kentish Town either. However, ordinary Scotch heather-mixture fingering +seemed good enough, and this they bought, and all that day Jane and +Anthea darned and darned and darned. The boys went out for a walk in +the afternoon, and the gentle Phoenix paced up and down the table--for +exercise, as it said--and talked to the industrious girls about their +carpet. + +'It is not an ordinary, ignorant, innocent carpet from Kidderminster,' +it said, 'it is a carpet with a past--a Persian past. Do you know that +in happier years, when that carpet was the property of caliphs, viziers, +kings, and sultans, it never lay on a floor?' + +'I thought the floor was the proper home of a carpet,' Jane interrupted. + +'Not of a MAGIC carpet,' said the Phoenix; 'why, if it had been allowed +to lie about on floors there wouldn't be much of it left now. No, +indeed! It has lived in chests of cedarwood, inlaid with pearl and +ivory, wrapped in priceless tissues of cloth of gold, embroidered with +gems of fabulous value. It has reposed in the sandal-wood caskets of +princesses, and in the rose-attar-scented treasure-houses of kings. +Never, never, had any one degraded it by walking on it--except in the +way of business, when wishes were required, and then they always took +their shoes off. And YOU--' + +'Oh, DON'T!' said Jane, very near tears. 'You know you'd never have been +hatched at all if it hadn't been for mother wanting a carpet for us to +walk on.' + +'You needn't have walked so much or so hard!' said the bird, 'but +come, dry that crystal tear, and I will relate to you the story of the +Princess Zulieka, the Prince of Asia, and the magic carpet.' + +'Relate away,' said Anthea--'I mean, please do.' + +'The Princess Zulieka, fairest of royal ladies,' began the bird, 'had in +her cradle been the subject of several enchantments. Her grandmother had +been in her day--' + +But what in her day Zulieka's grandmother had been was destined never to +be revealed, for Cyril and Robert suddenly burst into the room, and on +each brow were the traces of deep emotion. On Cyril's pale brow stood +beads of agitation and perspiration, and on the scarlet brow of Robert +was a large black smear. + +'What ails ye both?' asked the Phoenix, and it added tartly that +story-telling was quite impossible if people would come interrupting +like that. + +'Oh, do shut up, for any sake!' said Cyril, sinking into a chair. + +Robert smoothed the ruffled golden feathers, adding kindly-- + +'Squirrel doesn't mean to be a beast. It's only that the MOST AWFUL +thing has happened, and stories don't seem to matter so much. Don't be +cross. You won't be when you've heard what's happened.' + +'Well, what HAS happened?' said the bird, still rather crossly; and +Anthea and Jane paused with long needles poised in air, and long +needlefuls of Scotch heather-mixture fingering wool drooping from them. + +'The most awful thing you can possibly think of,' said Cyril. 'That nice +chap--our own burglar--the police have got him, on suspicion of stolen +cats. That's what his brother's missis told me.' + +'Oh, begin at the beginning!' cried Anthea impatiently. + +'Well, then, we went out, and down by where the undertaker's is, with +the china flowers in the window--you know. There was a crowd, and of +course we went to have a squint. And it was two bobbies and our burglar +between them, and he was being dragged along; and he said, "I tell you +them cats was GIVE me. I got 'em in exchange for me milking a cow in a +basement parlour up Camden Town way." + +'And the people laughed. Beasts! And then one of the policemen said +perhaps he could give the name and address of the cow, and he said, no, +he couldn't; but he could take them there if they'd only leave go of his +coat collar, and give him a chance to get his breath. And the policeman +said he could tell all that to the magistrate in the morning. He didn't +see us, and so we came away.' + +'Oh, Cyril, how COULD you?' said Anthea. + +'Don't be a pudding-head,' Cyril advised. 'A fat lot of good it would +have done if we'd let him see us. No one would have believed a word we +said. They'd have thought we were kidding. We did better than let him +see us. We asked a boy where he lived and he told us, and we went there, +and it's a little greengrocer's shop, and we bought some Brazil nuts. +Here they are.' The girls waved away the Brazil nuts with loathing and +contempt. + +'Well, we had to buy SOMETHING, and while we were making up our minds +what to buy we heard his brother's missis talking. She said when he came +home with all them miaoulers she thought there was more in it than met +the eye. But he WOULD go out this morning with the two likeliest of +them, one under each arm. She said he sent her out to buy blue ribbon to +put round their beastly necks, and she said if he got three months' hard +it was her dying word that he'd got the blue ribbon to thank for it; +that, and his own silly thieving ways, taking cats that anybody would +know he couldn't have come by in the way of business, instead of things +that wouldn't have been missed, which Lord knows there are plenty such, +and--' + +'Oh, STOP!' cried Jane. And indeed it was time, for Cyril seemed like a +clock that had been wound up, and could not help going on. 'Where is he +now?' + +'At the police-station,' said Robert, for Cyril was out of breath. 'The +boy told us they'd put him in the cells, and would bring him up +before the Beak in the morning. I thought it was a jolly lark last +night--getting him to take the cats--but now--' + +'The end of a lark,' said the Phoenix, 'is the Beak.' + +'Let's go to him,' cried both the girls jumping up. 'Let's go and tell +the truth. They MUST believe us.' + +'They CAN'T,' said Cyril. 'Just think! If any one came to you with such +a tale, you couldn't believe it, however much you tried. We should only +mix things up worse for him.' + +'There must be something we could do,' said Jane, sniffing very +much--'my own dear pet burglar! I can't bear it. And he was so nice, +the way he talked about his father, and how he was going to be so extra +honest. Dear Phoenix, you MUST be able to help us. You're so good and +kind and pretty and clever. Do, do tell us what to do.' + +The Phoenix rubbed its beak thoughtfully with its claw. + +'You might rescue him,' it said, 'and conceal him here, till the +law-supporters had forgotten about him.' + +'That would be ages and ages,' said Cyril, 'and we couldn't conceal him +here. Father might come home at any moment, and if he found the burglar +here HE wouldn't believe the true truth any more than the police would. +That's the worst of the truth. Nobody ever believes it. Couldn't we take +him somewhere else?' + +Jane clapped her hands. + +'The sunny southern shore!' she cried, 'where the cook is being queen. +He and she would be company for each other!' + +And really the idea did not seem bad, if only he would consent to go. + +So, all talking at once, the children arranged to wait till evening, and +then to seek the dear burglar in his lonely cell. + +Meantime Jane and Anthea darned away as hard as they could, to make the +carpet as strong as possible. For all felt how terrible it would be if +the precious burglar, while being carried to the sunny southern shore, +were to tumble through a hole in the carpet, and be lost for ever in the +sunny southern sea. + +The servants were tired after Mrs Wigson's party, so every one went to +bed early, and when the Phoenix reported that both servants were snoring +in a heartfelt and candid manner, the children got up--they had never +undressed; just putting their nightgowns on over their things had been +enough to deceive Eliza when she came to turn out the gas. So they were +ready for anything, and they stood on the carpet and said-- + +'I wish we were in our burglar's lonely cell.' and instantly they were. + +I think every one had expected the cell to be the 'deepest dungeon below +the castle moat'. I am sure no one had doubted that the burglar, chained +by heavy fetters to a ring in the damp stone wall, would be tossing +uneasily on a bed of straw, with a pitcher of water and a mouldering +crust, untasted, beside him. Robert, remembering the underground passage +and the treasure, had brought a candle and matches, but these were not +needed. + +The cell was a little white-washed room about twelve feet long and +six feet wide. On one side of it was a sort of shelf sloping a little +towards the wall. On this were two rugs, striped blue and yellow, and a +water-proof pillow. Rolled in the rugs, and with his head on the pillow, +lay the burglar, fast asleep. (He had had his tea, though this the +children did not know--it had come from the coffee-shop round the +corner, in very thick crockery.) The scene was plainly revealed by the +light of a gas-lamp in the passage outside, which shone into the cell +through a pane of thick glass over the door. + +'I shall gag him,' said Cyril, 'and Robert will hold him down. Anthea +and Jane and the Phoenix can whisper soft nothings to him while he +gradually awakes.' + +This plan did not have the success it deserved, because the burglar, +curiously enough, was much stronger, even in his sleep, than Robert and +Cyril, and at the first touch of their hands he leapt up and shouted out +something very loud indeed. + +Instantly steps were heard outside. Anthea threw her arms round the +burglar and whispered-- + +'It's us--the ones that gave you the cats. We've come to save you, only +don't let on we're here. Can't we hide somewhere?' + +Heavy boots sounded on the flagged passage outside, and a firm voice +shouted-- + +'Here--you--stop that row, will you?' + +'All right, governor,' replied the burglar, still with Anthea's arms +round him; 'I was only a-talking in my sleep. No offence.' + +It was an awful moment. Would the boots and the voice come in. Yes! No! +The voice said-- + +'Well, stow it, will you?' + +And the boots went heavily away, along the passage and up some sounding +stone stairs. + +'Now then,' whispered Anthea. + +'How the blue Moses did you get in?' asked the burglar, in a hoarse +whisper of amazement. + +'On the carpet,' said Jane, truly. + +'Stow that,' said the burglar. 'One on you I could 'a' swallowed, but +four--AND a yellow fowl.' + +'Look here,' said Cyril, sternly, 'you wouldn't have believed any one if +they'd told you beforehand about your finding a cow and all those cats +in our nursery.' + +'That I wouldn't,' said the burglar, with whispered fervour, 'so help me +Bob, I wouldn't.' + +'Well, then,' Cyril went on, ignoring this appeal to his brother, 'just +try to believe what we tell you and act accordingly. It can't do you any +HARM, you know,' he went on in hoarse whispered earnestness. 'You can't +be very much worse off than you are now, you know. But if you'll just +trust to us we'll get you out of this right enough. No one saw us come +in. The question is, where would you like to go?' + +'I'd like to go to Boolong,' was the instant reply of the burglar. 'I've +always wanted to go on that there trip, but I've never 'ad the ready at +the right time of the year.' + +'Boolong is a town like London,' said Cyril, well meaning, but +inaccurate, 'how could you get a living there?' + +The burglar scratched his head in deep doubt. + +'It's 'ard to get a 'onest living anywheres nowadays,' he said, and his +voice was sad. + +'Yes, isn't it?' said Jane, sympathetically; 'but how about a sunny +southern shore, where there's nothing to do at all unless you want to.' + +'That's my billet, miss,' replied the burglar. 'I never did care about +work--not like some people, always fussing about.' + +'Did you never like any sort of work?' asked Anthea, severely. + +'Lor', lumme, yes,' he answered, 'gardening was my 'obby, so it was. But +father died afore 'e could bind me to a nurseryman, an'--' + +'We'll take you to the sunny southern shore,' said Jane; 'you've no idea +what the flowers are like.' + +'Our old cook's there,' said Anthea. 'She's queen--' + +'Oh, chuck it,' the burglar whispered, clutching at his head with both +hands. 'I knowed the first minute I see them cats and that cow as it was +a judgement on me. I don't know now whether I'm a-standing on my hat or +my boots, so help me I don't. If you CAN get me out, get me, and if you +can't, get along with you for goodness' sake, and give me a chanst +to think about what'll be most likely to go down with the Beak in the +morning.' + +'Come on to the carpet, then,' said Anthea, gently shoving. The others +quietly pulled, and the moment the feet of the burglar were planted on +the carpet Anthea wished: + +'I wish we were all on the sunny southern shore where cook is.' + +And instantly they were. There were the rainbow sands, the tropic +glories of leaf and flower, and there, of course, was the cook, crowned +with white flowers, and with all the wrinkles of crossness and tiredness +and hard work wiped out of her face. + +'Why, cook, you're quite pretty!' Anthea said, as soon as she had got +her breath after the tumble-rush-whirl of the carpet. The burglar stood +rubbing his eyes in the brilliant tropic sunlight, and gazing wildly +round him on the vivid hues of the tropic land. + +'Penny plain and tuppence coloured!' he exclaimed pensively, 'and well +worth any tuppence, however hard-earned.' + +The cook was seated on a grassy mound with her court of copper-coloured +savages around her. The burglar pointed a grimy finger at these. + +'Are they tame?' he asked anxiously. 'Do they bite or scratch, or do +anything to yer with poisoned arrows or oyster shells or that?' + +'Don't you be so timid,' said the cook. 'Look'e 'ere, this 'ere's only +a dream what you've come into, an' as it's only a dream there's no +nonsense about what a young lady like me ought to say or not, so I'll +say you're the best-looking fellow I've seen this many a day. And the +dream goes on and on, seemingly, as long as you behaves. The things what +you has to eat and drink tastes just as good as real ones, and--' + +'Look 'ere,' said the burglar, 'I've come 'ere straight outer the pleece +station. These 'ere kids'll tell you it ain't no blame er mine.' + +'Well, you WERE a burglar, you know,' said the truthful Anthea gently. + +'Only because I was druv to it by dishonest blokes, as well you knows, +miss,' rejoined the criminal. 'Blowed if this ain't the 'ottest January +as I've known for years.' + +'Wouldn't you like a bath?' asked the queen, 'and some white clothes +like me?' + +'I should only look a juggins in 'em, miss, thanking you all the same,' +was the reply; 'but a bath I wouldn't resist, and my shirt was only +clean on week before last.' + +Cyril and Robert led him to a rocky pool, where he bathed luxuriously. +Then, in shirt and trousers he sat on the sand and spoke. + +'That cook, or queen, or whatever you call her--her with the white bokay +on her 'ed--she's my sort. Wonder if she'd keep company!' + +'I should ask her.' + +'I was always a quick hitter,' the man went on; 'it's a word and a blow +with me. I will.' + +In shirt and trousers, and crowned with a scented flowery wreath which +Cyril hastily wove as they returned to the court of the queen, the +burglar stood before the cook and spoke. + +'Look 'ere, miss,' he said. 'You an' me being' all forlorn-like, both on +us, in this 'ere dream, or whatever you calls it, I'd like to tell you +straight as I likes yer looks.' + +The cook smiled and looked down bashfully. + +'I'm a single man--what you might call a batcheldore. I'm mild in my +'abits, which these kids'll tell you the same, and I'd like to 'ave the +pleasure of walkin' out with you next Sunday.' + +'Lor!' said the queen cook, ''ow sudden you are, mister.' + +'Walking out means you're going to be married,' said Anthea. 'Why not +get married and have done with it? _I_ would.' + +'I don't mind if I do,' said the burglar. But the cook said-- + +'No, miss. Not me, not even in a dream. I don't say anythink ag'in the +young chap's looks, but I always swore I'd be married in church, if at +all--and, anyway, I don't believe these here savages would know how +to keep a registering office, even if I was to show them. No, mister, +thanking you kindly, if you can't bring a clergyman into the dream I'll +live and die like what I am.' + +'Will you marry her if we get a clergyman?' asked the match-making +Anthea. + +'I'm agreeable, miss, I'm sure,' said he, pulling his wreath straight. +''Ow this 'ere bokay do tiddle a chap's ears to be sure!' + +So, very hurriedly, the carpet was spread out, and instructed to fetch +a clergyman. The instructions were written on the inside of Cyril's cap +with a piece of billiard chalk Robert had got from the marker at the +hotel at Lyndhurst. The carpet disappeared, and more quickly than you +would have thought possible it came back, bearing on its bosom the +Reverend Septimus Blenkinsop. + +The Reverend Septimus was rather a nice young man, but very much mazed +and muddled, because when he saw a strange carpet laid out at his feet, +in his own study, he naturally walked on it to examine it more closely. +And he happened to stand on one of the thin places that Jane and Anthea +had darned, so that he was half on wishing carpet and half on plain +Scotch heather-mixture fingering, which has no magic properties at all. + +The effect of this was that he was only half there--so that the children +could just see through him, as though he had been a ghost. And as for +him, he saw the sunny southern shore, the cook and the burglar and the +children quite plainly; but through them all he saw, quite plainly also, +his study at home, with the books and the pictures and the marble clock +that had been presented to him when he left his last situation. + +He seemed to himself to be in a sort of insane fit, so that it did not +matter what he did--and he married the burglar to the cook. The cook +said that she would rather have had a solider kind of a clergyman, one +that you couldn't see through so plain, but perhaps this was real enough +for a dream. + +And of course the clergyman, though misty, was really real, and able +to marry people, and he did. When the ceremony was over the clergyman +wandered about the island collecting botanical specimens, for he was a +great botanist, and the ruling passion was strong even in an insane fit. + +There was a splendid wedding feast. Can you fancy Jane and Anthea, +and Robert and Cyril, dancing merrily in a ring, hand-in-hand with +copper-coloured savages, round the happy couple, the queen cook and the +burglar consort? There were more flowers gathered and thrown than you +have ever even dreamed of, and before the children took carpet for home +the now married-and-settled burglar made a speech. + +'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'and savages of both kinds, only I know +you can't understand what I'm a saying of, but we'll let that pass. +If this is a dream, I'm on. If it ain't, I'm onner than ever. If it's +betwixt and between--well, I'm honest, and I can't say more. I don't +want no more 'igh London society--I've got some one to put my arm around +of; and I've got the whole lot of this 'ere island for my allotment, and +if I don't grow some broccoli as'll open the judge's eye at the cottage +flower shows, well, strike me pink! All I ask is, as these young gents +and ladies'll bring some parsley seed into the dream, and a penn'orth of +radish seed, and threepenn'orth of onion, and I wouldn't mind goin' to +fourpence or fippence for mixed kale, only I ain't got a brown, so I +don't deceive you. And there's one thing more, you might take away the +parson. I don't like things what I can see 'alf through, so here's how!' +He drained a coconut-shell of palm wine. + +It was now past midnight--though it was tea-time on the island. + +With all good wishes the children took their leave. They also collected +the clergyman and took him back to his study and his presentation clock. + +The Phoenix kindly carried the seeds next day to the burglar and his +bride, and returned with the most satisfactory news of the happy pair. + +'He's made a wooden spade and started on his allotment,' it said, 'and +she is weaving him a shirt and trousers of the most radiant whiteness.' + +The police never knew how the burglar got away. In Kentish Town Police +Station his escape is still spoken of with bated breath as the Persian +mystery. + +As for the Reverend Septimus Blenkinsop, he felt that he had had a +very insane fit indeed, and he was sure it was due to over-study. So he +planned a little dissipation, and took his two maiden aunts to Paris, +where they enjoyed a dazzling round of museums and picture galleries, +and came back feeling that they had indeed seen life. He never told his +aunts or any one else about the marriage on the island--because no +one likes it to be generally known if he has had insane fits, however +interesting and unusual. + + + +CHAPTER 10. THE HOLE IN THE CARPET + + + Hooray! hooray! hooray! + Mother comes home to-day; + Mother comes home to-day, + Hooray! hooray! hooray!' + +Jane sang this simple song directly after breakfast, and the Phoenix +shed crystal tears of affectionate sympathy. + +'How beautiful,' it said, 'is filial devotion!' + +'She won't be home till past bedtime, though,' said Robert. 'We might +have one more carpet-day.' + +He was glad that mother was coming home--quite glad, very glad; but at +the same time that gladness was rudely contradicted by a quite strong +feeling of sorrow, because now they could not go out all day on the +carpet. + +'I do wish we could go and get something nice for mother, only she'd +want to know where we got it,' said Anthea. 'And she'd never, never +believe it, the truth. People never do, somehow, if it's at all +interesting.' + +'I'll tell you what,' said Robert. 'Suppose we wished the carpet to take +us somewhere where we could find a purse with money in it--then we could +buy her something.' + +'Suppose it took us somewhere foreign, and the purse was covered with +strange Eastern devices, embroidered in rich silks, and full of money +that wasn't money at all here, only foreign curiosities, then we +couldn't spend it, and people would bother about where we got it, and we +shouldn't know how on earth to get out of it at all.' + +Cyril moved the table off the carpet as he spoke, and its leg caught +in one of Anthea's darns and ripped away most of it, as well as a large +slit in the carpet. + +'Well, now you HAVE done it,' said Robert. + +But Anthea was a really first-class sister. She did not say a word +till she had got out the Scotch heather-mixture fingering wool and the +darning-needle and the thimble and the scissors, and by that time she +had been able to get the better of her natural wish to be thoroughly +disagreeable, and was able to say quite kindly-- + +'Never mind, Squirrel, I'll soon mend it.' + +Cyril thumped her on the back. He understood exactly how she had felt, +and he was not an ungrateful brother. + +'Respecting the purse containing coins,' the Phoenix said, scratching +its invisible ear thoughtfully with its shining claw, 'it might be as +well, perhaps, to state clearly the amount which you wish to find, as +well as the country where you wish to find it, and the nature of the +coins which you prefer. It would be indeed a cold moment when you should +find a purse containing but three oboloi.' + +'How much is an oboloi?' + +'An obol is about twopence halfpenny,' the Phoenix replied. + +'Yes,' said Jane, 'and if you find a purse I suppose it is only because +some one has lost it, and you ought to take it to the policeman.' + +'The situation,' remarked the Phoenix, 'does indeed bristle with +difficulties.' + +'What about a buried treasure,' said Cyril, 'and every one was dead that +it belonged to?' + +'Mother wouldn't believe THAT,' said more than one voice. + +'Suppose,' said Robert--'suppose we asked to be taken where we could +find a purse and give it back to the person it belonged to, and they +would give us something for finding it?' + +'We aren't allowed to take money from strangers. You know we aren't, +Bobs,' said Anthea, making a knot at the end of a needleful of Scotch +heather-mixture fingering wool (which is very wrong, and you must never +do it when you are darning). + +'No, THAT wouldn't do,' said Cyril. 'Let's chuck it and go to the North +Pole, or somewhere really interesting.' + +'No,' said the girls together, 'there must be SOME way.' + +'Wait a sec,' Anthea added. 'I've got an idea coming. Don't speak.' + +There was a silence as she paused with the darning-needle in the air! +Suddenly she spoke: + +'I see. Let's tell the carpet to take us somewhere where we can get the +money for mother's present, and--and--and get it some way that she'll +believe in and not think wrong.' + +'Well, I must say you are learning the way to get the most out of the +carpet,' said Cyril. He spoke more heartily and kindly than usual, +because he remembered how Anthea had refrained from snarking him about +tearing the carpet. + +'Yes,' said the Phoenix, 'you certainly are. And you have to remember +that if you take a thing out it doesn't stay in.' + +No one paid any attention to this remark at the time, but afterwards +every one thought of it. + +'Do hurry up, Panther,' said Robert; and that was why Anthea did hurry +up, and why the big darn in the middle of the carpet was all open and +webby like a fishing net, not tight and close like woven cloth, which is +what a good, well-behaved darn should be. + +Then every one put on its outdoor things, the Phoenix fluttered on to +the mantelpiece and arranged its golden feathers in the glass, and all +was ready. Every one got on to the carpet. + +'Please go slowly, dear carpet,' Anthea began; we like to see where +we're going.' And then she added the difficult wish that had been +decided on. + +Next moment the carpet, stiff and raftlike, was sailing over the roofs +of Kentish Town. + +'I wish--No, I don't mean that. I mean it's a PITY we aren't higher up,' +said Anthea, as the edge of the carpet grazed a chimney-pot. + +'That's right. Be careful,' said the Phoenix, in warning tones. 'If you +wish when you're on a wishing carpet, you DO wish, and there's an end of +it.' + +So for a short time no one spoke, and the carpet sailed on in calm +magnificence over St Pancras and King's Cross stations and over the +crowded streets of Clerkenwell. + +'We're going out Greenwich way,' said Cyril, as they crossed the streak +of rough, tumbled water that was the Thames. 'We might go and have a +look at the Palace.' + +On and on the carpet swept, still keeping much nearer to the +chimney-pots than the children found at all comfortable. And then, just +over New Cross, a terrible thing happened. + +Jane and Robert were in the middle of the carpet. Part of them was +on the carpet, and part of them--the heaviest part--was on the great +central darn. + +'It's all very misty,' said Jane; 'it looks partly like out of doors +and partly like in the nursery at home. I feel as if I was going to have +measles; everything looked awfully rum then, remember.' + +'I feel just exactly the same,' Robert said. + +'It's the hole,' said the Phoenix; 'it's not measles whatever that +possession may be.' + +And at that both Robert and Jane suddenly, and at once, made a bound to +try and get on to the safer part of the carpet, and the darn gave way +and their boots went up, and the heavy heads and bodies of them went +down through the hole, and they landed in a position something between +sitting and sprawling on the flat leads on the top of a high, grey, +gloomy, respectable house whose address was 705, Amersham Road, New +Cross. + +The carpet seemed to awaken to new energy as soon as it had got rid of +their weight, and it rose high in the air. The others lay down flat and +peeped over the edge of the rising carpet. + +'Are you hurt?' cried Cyril, and Robert shouted 'No,' and next moment +the carpet had sped away, and Jane and Robert were hidden from the sight +of the others by a stack of smoky chimneys. + +'Oh, how awful!' said Anthea. + +'It might have been worse,' said the Phoenix. 'What would have been +the sentiments of the survivors if that darn had given way when we were +crossing the river?' + +'Yes, there's that,' said Cyril, recovering himself. 'They'll be all +right. They'll howl till some one gets them down, or drop tiles into +the front garden to attract attention of passersby. Bobs has got my +one-and-fivepence--lucky you forgot to mend that hole in my pocket, +Panther, or he wouldn't have had it. They can tram it home.' + +But Anthea would not be comforted. + +'It's all my fault,' she said. 'I KNEW the proper way to darn, and I +didn't do it. It's all my fault. Let's go home and patch the carpet with +your Etons--something really strong--and send it to fetch them.' + +'All right,' said Cyril; 'but your Sunday jacket is stronger than my +Etons. We must just chuck mother's present, that's all. I wish--' + +'Stop!' cried the Phoenix; 'the carpet is dropping to earth.' + +And indeed it was. + +It sank swiftly, yet steadily, and landed on the pavement of the +Deptford Road. It tipped a little as it landed, so that Cyril and Anthea +naturally walked off it, and in an instant it had rolled itself up and +hidden behind a gate-post. It did this so quickly that not a single +person in the Deptford Road noticed it. The Phoenix rustled its way into +the breast of Cyril's coat, and almost at the same moment a well-known +voice remarked-- + +'Well, I never! What on earth are you doing here?' + +They were face to face with their pet uncle--their Uncle Reginald. + +'We DID think of going to Greenwich Palace and talking about Nelson,' +said Cyril, telling as much of the truth as he thought his uncle could +believe. + +'And where are the others?' asked Uncle Reginald. + +'I don't exactly know,' Cyril replied, this time quite truthfully. + +'Well,' said Uncle Reginald, 'I must fly. I've a case in the County +Court. That's the worst of being a beastly solicitor. One can't take the +chances of life when one gets them. If only I could come with you to the +Painted Hall and give you lunch at the "Ship" afterwards! But, alas! it +may not be.' + +The uncle felt in his pocket. + +'_I_ mustn't enjoy myself,' he said, 'but that's no reason why you +shouldn't. Here, divide this by four, and the product ought to give you +some desired result. Take care of yourselves. Adieu.' + +And waving a cheery farewell with his neat umbrella, the good and +high-hatted uncle passed away, leaving Cyril and Anthea to exchange +eloquent glances over the shining golden sovereign that lay in Cyril's +hand. + +'Well!' said Anthea. + +'Well!' said Cyril. + +'Well!' said the Phoenix. + +'Good old carpet!' said Cyril, joyously. + +'It WAS clever of it--so adequate and yet so simple,' said the Phoenix, +with calm approval. + +'Oh, come on home and let's mend the carpet. I am a beast. I'd forgotten +the others just for a minute,' said the conscience-stricken Anthea. + +They unrolled the carpet quickly and slyly--they did not want to attract +public attention--and the moment their feet were on the carpet Anthea +wished to be at home, and instantly they were. + +The kindness of their excellent uncle had made it unnecessary for them +to go to such extremes as Cyril's Etons or Anthea's Sunday jacket for +the patching of the carpet. + +Anthea set to work at once to draw the edges of the broken darn +together, and Cyril hastily went out and bought a large piece of the +marble-patterned American oil-cloth which careful house-wives use to +cover dressers and kitchen tables. It was the strongest thing he could +think of. + +Then they set to work to line the carpet throughout with the oil-cloth. +The nursery felt very odd and empty without the others, and Cyril did +not feel so sure as he had done about their being able to 'tram it' +home. So he tried to help Anthea, which was very good of him, but not +much use to her. + +The Phoenix watched them for a time, but it was plainly growing more and +more restless. It fluffed up its splendid feathers, and stood first on +one gilded claw and then on the other, and at last it said-- + +'I can bear it no longer. This suspense! My Robert--who set my egg to +hatch--in the bosom of whose Norfolk raiment I have nestled so often and +so pleasantly! I think, if you'll excuse me--' + +'Yes--DO,' cried Anthea, 'I wish we'd thought of asking you before.' + +Cyril opened the window. The Phoenix flapped its sunbright wings and +vanished. + +'So THAT'S all right,' said Cyril, taking up his needle and instantly +pricking his hand in a new place. + + +Of course I know that what you have really wanted to know about all this +time is not what Anthea and Cyril did, but what happened to Jane and +Robert after they fell through the carpet on to the leads of the house +which was called number 705, Amersham Road. + +But I had to tell you the other first. That is one of the most annoying +things about stories, you cannot tell all the different parts of them at +the same time. + +Robert's first remark when he found himself seated on the damp, cold, +sooty leads was-- + +'Here's a go!' + +Jane's first act was tears. + +'Dry up, Pussy; don't be a little duffer,' said her brother, kindly, +'it'll be all right.' + +And then he looked about, just as Cyril had known he would, for +something to throw down, so as to attract the attention of the wayfarers +far below in the street. He could not find anything. Curiously enough, +there were no stones on the leads, not even a loose tile. The roof was +of slate, and every single slate knew its place and kept it. But, as so +often happens, in looking for one thing he found another. There was a +trap-door leading down into the house. + +And that trap-door was not fastened. + +'Stop snivelling and come here, Jane,' he cried, encouragingly. 'Lend a +hand to heave this up. If we can get into the house, we might sneak down +without meeting any one, with luck. Come on.' + +They heaved up the door till it stood straight up, and, as they bent to +look into the hole below, the door fell back with a hollow clang on the +leads behind, and with its noise was mingled a blood-curdling scream +from underneath. + +'Discovered!' hissed Robert. 'Oh, my cats alive!' + +They were indeed discovered. + +They found themselves looking down into an attic, which was also +a lumber-room. It had boxes and broken chairs, old fenders and +picture-frames, and rag-bags hanging from nails. + +In the middle of the floor was a box, open, half full of clothes. Other +clothes lay on the floor in neat piles. In the middle of the piles of +clothes sat a lady, very fat indeed, with her feet sticking out straight +in front of her. And it was she who had screamed, and who, in fact, was +still screaming. + +'Don't!' cried Jane, 'please don't! We won't hurt you.' + +'Where are the rest of your gang?' asked the lady, stopping short in the +middle of a scream. + +'The others have gone on, on the wishing carpet,' said Jane truthfully. + +'The wishing carpet?' said the lady. + +'Yes,' said Jane, before Robert could say 'You shut up!' 'You must have +read about it. The Phoenix is with them.' + +Then the lady got up, and picking her way carefully between the piles of +clothes she got to the door and through it. She shut it behind her, and +the two children could hear her calling 'Septimus! Septimus!' in a loud +yet frightened way. + +'Now,' said Robert quickly; 'I'll drop first.' + +He hung by his hands and dropped through the trap-door. + +'Now you. Hang by your hands. I'll catch you. Oh, there's no time for +jaw. Drop, I say.' + +Jane dropped. + +Robert tried to catch her, and even before they had finished the +breathless roll among the piles of clothes, which was what his catching +ended in, he whispered-- + +'We'll hide--behind those fenders and things; they'll think we've gone +along the roofs. Then, when all is calm, we'll creep down the stairs and +take our chance.' + +They hastily hid. A corner of an iron bedstead stuck into Robert's side, +and Jane had only standing room for one foot--but they bore it--and when +the lady came back, not with Septimus, but with another lady, they held +their breath and their hearts beat thickly. + +'Gone!' said the first lady; 'poor little things--quite mad, my +dear--and at large! We must lock this room and send for the police.' + +'Let me look out,' said the second lady, who was, if possible, older +and thinner and primmer than the first. So the two ladies dragged a box +under the trap-door and put another box on the top of it, and then they +both climbed up very carefully and put their two trim, tidy heads out of +the trap-door to look for the 'mad children'. + +'Now,' whispered Robert, getting the bedstead leg out of his side. + +They managed to creep out from their hiding-place and out through the +door before the two ladies had done looking out of the trap-door on to +the empty leads. + +Robert and Jane tiptoed down the stairs--one flight, two flights. Then +they looked over the banisters. Horror! a servant was coming up with a +loaded scuttle. + +The children with one consent crept swiftly through the first open door. + +The room was a study, calm and gentlemanly, with rows of books, a +writing table, and a pair of embroidered slippers warming themselves in +the fender. The children hid behind the window-curtains. As they passed +the table they saw on it a missionary-box with its bottom label torn +off, open and empty. + +'Oh, how awful!' whispered Jane. 'We shall never get away alive.' + +'Hush!' said Robert, not a moment too soon, for there were steps on the +stairs, and next instant the two ladies came into the room. They did not +see the children, but they saw the empty missionary box. + +'I knew it,' said one. 'Selina, it WAS a gang. I was certain of it from +the first. The children were not mad. They were sent to distract our +attention while their confederates robbed the house.' + +'I am afraid you are right,' said Selina; 'and WHERE ARE THEY NOW?' + +'Downstairs, no doubt, collecting the silver milk-jug and sugar-basin +and the punch-ladle that was Uncle Joe's, and Aunt Jerusha's teaspoons. +I shall go down.' + +'Oh, don't be so rash and heroic,' said Selina. 'Amelia, we must call +the police from the window. Lock the door. I WILL--I will--' + +The words ended in a yell as Selina, rushing to the window, came face to +face with the hidden children. + +'Oh, don't!' said Jane; 'how can you be so unkind? We AREN'T burglars, +and we haven't any gang, and we didn't open your missionary-box. +We opened our own once, but we didn't have to use the money, so our +consciences made us put it back and--DON'T! Oh, I wish you wouldn't--' + +Miss Selina had seized Jane and Miss Amelia captured Robert. The +children found themselves held fast by strong, slim hands, pink at the +wrists and white at the knuckles. + +'We've got YOU, at any rate,' said Miss Amelia. 'Selina, your captive +is smaller than mine. You open the window at once and call "Murder!" as +loud as you can. + +Selina obeyed; but when she had opened the window, instead of calling +'Murder!' she called 'Septimus!' because at that very moment she saw her +nephew coming in at the gate. + +In another minute he had let himself in with his latch-key and had +mounted the stairs. As he came into the room Jane and Robert each +uttered a shriek of joy so loud and so sudden that the ladies leaped +with surprise, and nearly let them go. + +'It's our own clergyman,' cried Jane. + +'Don't you remember us?' asked Robert. 'You married our burglar for +us--don't you remember?' + +'I KNEW it was a gang,' said Amelia. 'Septimus, these abandoned children +are members of a desperate burgling gang who are robbing the house. They +have already forced the missionary-box and purloined its contents.' + +The Reverend Septimus passed his hand wearily over his brow. + +'I feel a little faint,' he said, 'running upstairs so quickly.' + +'We never touched the beastly box,' said Robert. + +'Then your confederates did,' said Miss Selina. + +'No, no,' said the curate, hastily. '_I_ opened the box myself. +This morning I found I had not enough small change for the Mothers' +Independent Unity Measles and Croup Insurance payments. I suppose this +is NOT a dream, is it?' + +'Dream? No, indeed. Search the house. I insist upon it.' + +The curate, still pale and trembling, searched the house, which, of +course, was blamelessly free of burglars. + +When he came back he sank wearily into his chair. + +'Aren't you going to let us go?' asked Robert, with furious indignation, +for there is something in being held by a strong lady that sets the +blood of a boy boiling in his veins with anger and despair. 'We've never +done anything to you. It's all the carpet. It dropped us on the leads. +WE couldn't help it. You know how it carried you over to the island, and +you had to marry the burglar to the cook.' + +'Oh, my head!' said the curate. + +'Never mind your head just now,' said Robert; 'try to be honest and +honourable, and do your duty in that state of life!' + +'This is a judgement on me for something, I suppose,' said the Reverend +Septimus, wearily, 'but I really cannot at the moment remember what.' + +'Send for the police,' said Miss Selina. + +'Send for a doctor,' said the curate. + +'Do you think they ARE mad, then,' said Miss Amelia. + +'I think I am,' said the curate. + +Jane had been crying ever since her capture. Now she said-- 'You aren't +now, but perhaps you will be, if--And it would serve you jolly well +right, too.' + +'Aunt Selina,' said the curate, 'and Aunt Amelia, believe me, this is +only an insane dream. You will realize it soon. It has happened to me +before. But do not let us be unjust, even in a dream. Do not hold the +children; they have done no harm. As I said before, it was I who opened +the box.' + +The strong, bony hands unwillingly loosened their grasp. Robert shook +himself and stood in sulky resentment. But Jane ran to the curate and +embraced him so suddenly that he had not time to defend himself. + +'You're a dear,' she said. 'It IS like a dream just at first, but you +get used to it. Now DO let us go. There's a good, kind, honourable +clergyman.' + +'I don't know,' said the Reverend Septimus; 'it's a difficult problem. +It is such a very unusual dream. Perhaps it's only a sort of other +life--quite real enough for you to be mad in. And if you're mad, there +might be a dream-asylum where you'd be kindly treated, and in time +restored, cured, to your sorrowing relatives. It is very hard to see +your duty plainly, even in ordinary life, and these dream-circumstances +are so complicated--' + +'If it's a dream,' said Robert, 'you will wake up directly, and then +you'd be sorry if you'd sent us into a dream-asylum, because you might +never get into the same dream again and let us out, and so we might stay +there for ever, and then what about our sorrowing relatives who aren't +in the dreams at all?' + +But all the curate could now say was, 'Oh, my head!' + +And Jane and Robert felt quite ill with helplessness and hopelessness. A +really conscientious curate is a very difficult thing to manage. + +And then, just as the hopelessness and the helplessness were getting to +be almost more than they could bear, the two children suddenly felt that +extraordinary shrinking feeling that you always have when you are just +going to vanish. And the next moment they had vanished, and the Reverend +Septimus was left alone with his aunts. + +'I knew it was a dream,' he cried, wildly. 'I've had something like +it before. Did you dream it too, Aunt Selina, and you, Aunt Amelia? I +dreamed that you did, you know.' + +Aunt Selina looked at him and then at Aunt Amelia. Then she said +boldly-- + +'What do you mean? WE haven't been dreaming anything. You must have +dropped off in your chair.' + +The curate heaved a sigh of relief. + +'Oh, if it's only _I_,' he said; 'if we'd all dreamed it I could never +have believed it, never!' + +Afterwards Aunt Selina said to the other aunt-- + +'Yes, I know it was an untruth, and I shall doubtless be punished for it +in due course. But I could see the poor dear fellow's brain giving way +before my very eyes. He couldn't have stood the strain of three dreams. +It WAS odd, wasn't it? All three of us dreaming the same thing at the +same moment. We must never tell dear Seppy. But I shall send an account +of it to the Psychical Society, with stars instead of names, you know.' + +And she did. And you can read all about it in one of the society's fat +Blue-books. + +Of course, you understand what had happened? The intelligent Phoenix had +simply gone straight off to the Psammead, and had wished Robert and Jane +at home. And, of course, they were at home at once. Cyril and Anthea had +not half finished mending the carpet. + +When the joyful emotions of reunion had calmed down a little, they +all went out and spent what was left of Uncle Reginald's sovereign in +presents for mother. They bought her a pink silk handkerchief, a pair of +blue and white vases, a bottle of scent, a packet of Christmas candles, +and a cake of soap shaped and coloured like a tomato, and one that was +so like an orange that almost any one you had given it to would have +tried to peel it--if they liked oranges, of course. Also they bought a +cake with icing on, and the rest of the money they spent on flowers to +put in the vases. + +When they had arranged all the things on a table, with the candles stuck +up on a plate ready to light the moment mother's cab was heard, they +washed themselves thoroughly and put on tidier clothes. + +Then Robert said, 'Good old Psammead,' and the others said so too. + +'But, really, it's just as much good old Phoenix,' said Robert. 'Suppose +it hadn't thought of getting the wish!' + +'Ah!' said the Phoenix, 'it is perhaps fortunate for you that I am such +a competent bird.' + +'There's mother's cab,' cried Anthea, and the Phoenix hid and they +lighted the candles, and next moment mother was home again. + +She liked her presents very much, and found their story of Uncle +Reginald and the sovereign easy and even pleasant to believe. + +'Good old carpet,' were Cyril's last sleepy words. + +'What there is of it,' said the Phoenix, from the cornice-pole. + + + +CHAPTER 11. THE BEGINNING OF THE END + + +'Well, I MUST say,' mother said, looking at the wishing carpet as it +lay, all darned and mended and backed with shiny American cloth, on the +floor of the nursery--'I MUST say I've never in my life bought such a +bad bargain as that carpet.' + +A soft 'Oh!' of contradiction sprang to the lips of Cyril, Robert, Jane, +and Anthea. Mother looked at them quickly, and said-- + +'Well, of course, I see you've mended it very nicely, and that was sweet +of you, dears.' + +'The boys helped too,' said the dears, honourably. + +'But, still--twenty-two and ninepence! It ought to have lasted for +years. It's simply dreadful now. Well, never mind, darlings, you've +done your best. I think we'll have coconut matting next time. A carpet +doesn't have an easy life of it in this room, does it?' + +'It's not our fault, mother, is it, that our boots are the really +reliable kind?' Robert asked the question more in sorrow than in anger. + +'No, dear, we can't help our boots,' said mother, cheerfully, 'but we +might change them when we come in, perhaps. It's just an idea of mine. +I wouldn't dream of scolding on the very first morning after I've come +home. Oh, my Lamb, how could you?' + +This conversation was at breakfast, and the Lamb had been beautifully +good until every one was looking at the carpet, and then it was for him +but the work of a moment to turn a glass dish of syrupy blackberry jam +upside down on his young head. It was the work of a good many minutes +and several persons to get the jam off him again, and this interesting +work took people's minds off the carpet, and nothing more was said just +then about its badness as a bargain and about what mother hoped for from +coconut matting. + +When the Lamb was clean again he had to be taken care of while mother +rumpled her hair and inked her fingers and made her head ache over the +difficult and twisted house-keeping accounts which cook gave her on +dirty bits of paper, and which were supposed to explain how it was that +cook had only fivepence-half-penny and a lot of unpaid bills left out +of all the money mother had sent her for house-keeping. Mother was very +clever, but even she could not quite understand the cook's accounts. + +The Lamb was very glad to have his brothers and sisters to play with +him. He had not forgotten them a bit, and he made them play all the old +exhausting games: 'Whirling Worlds', where you swing the baby round and +round by his hands; and 'Leg and Wing', where you swing him from side +to side by one ankle and one wrist. There was also climbing Vesuvius. +In this game the baby walks up you, and when he is standing on your +shoulders, you shout as loud as you can, which is the rumbling of the +burning mountain, and then tumble him gently on to the floor, and roll +him there, which is the destruction of Pompeii. + +'All the same, I wish we could decide what we'd better say next time +mother says anything about the carpet,' said Cyril, breathlessly ceasing +to be a burning mountain. + +'Well, you talk and decide,' said Anthea; 'here, you lovely ducky Lamb. +Come to Panther and play Noah's Ark.' + +The Lamb came with his pretty hair all tumbled and his face all dusty +from the destruction of Pompeii, and instantly became a baby snake, +hissing and wriggling and creeping in Anthea's arms, as she said-- + + + 'I love my little baby snake, + He hisses when he is awake, + He creeps with such a wriggly creep, + He wriggles even in his sleep.' + + +'Crocky,' said the Lamb, and showed all his little teeth. So Anthea went +on-- + + + 'I love my little crocodile, + I love his truthful toothful smile; + It is so wonderful and wide, + I like to see it--FROM OUTSIDE.' + + +'Well, you see,' Cyril was saying; 'it's just the old bother. Mother +can't believe the real true truth about the carpet, and--' + +'You speak sooth, O Cyril,' remarked the Phoenix, coming out from the +cupboard where the blackbeetles lived, and the torn books, and the +broken slates, and odd pieces of toys that had lost the rest of +themselves. 'Now hear the wisdom of Phoenix, the son of the Phoenix--' + +'There is a society called that,' said Cyril. + +'Where is it? And what is a society?' asked the bird. + +'It's a sort of joined-together lot of people--a sort of brotherhood--a +kind of--well, something very like your temple, you know, only quite +different.' + +'I take your meaning,' said the Phoenix. 'I would fain see these calling +themselves Sons of the Phoenix.' + +'But what about your words of wisdom?' + +'Wisdom is always welcome,' said the Phoenix. + +'Pretty Polly!' remarked the Lamb, reaching his hands towards the golden +speaker. + +The Phoenix modestly retreated behind Robert, and Anthea hastened to +distract the attention of the Lamb by murmuring-- + + + "I love my little baby rabbit; + But oh! he has a dreadful habit + Of paddling out among the rocks + And soaking both his bunny socks.' + + +'I don't think you'd care about the sons of the Phoenix, really,' said +Robert. 'I have heard that they don't do anything fiery. They only drink +a great deal. Much more than other people, because they drink lemonade +and fizzy things, and the more you drink of those the more good you +get.' + +'In your mind, perhaps,' said Jane; 'but it wouldn't be good in your +body. You'd get too balloony.' + +The Phoenix yawned. + +'Look here,' said Anthea; 'I really have an idea. This isn't like a +common carpet. It's very magic indeed. Don't you think, if we put Tatcho +on it, and then gave it a rest, the magic part of it might grow, like +hair is supposed to do?' + +'It might,' said Robert; 'but I should think paraffin would do as +well--at any rate as far as the smell goes, and that seems to be the +great thing about Tatcho.' + +But with all its faults Anthea's idea was something to do, and they did +it. + +It was Cyril who fetched the Tatcho bottle from father's washhand-stand. +But the bottle had not much in it. + +'We mustn't take it all,' Jane said, 'in case father's hair began to +come off suddenly. If he hadn't anything to put on it, it might all +drop off before Eliza had time to get round to the chemist's for another +bottle. It would be dreadful to have a bald father, and it would all be +our fault.' + +'And wigs are very expensive, I believe,' said Anthea. 'Look here, leave +enough in the bottle to wet father's head all over with in case any +emergency emerges--and let's make up with paraffin. I expect it's the +smell that does the good really--and the smell's exactly the same.' + +So a small teaspoonful of the Tatcho was put on the edges of the worst +darn in the carpet and rubbed carefully into the roots of the hairs of +it, and all the parts that there was not enough Tatcho for had paraffin +rubbed into them with a piece of flannel. Then the flannel was burned. +It made a gay flame, which delighted the Phoenix and the Lamb. + +'How often,' said mother, opening the door--'how often am I to tell you +that you are NOT to play with paraffin? What have you been doing?' + +'We have burnt a paraffiny rag,' Anthea answered. + +It was no use telling mother what they had done to the carpet. She did +not know it was a magic carpet, and no one wants to be laughed at for +trying to mend an ordinary carpet with lamp-oil. + +'Well, don't do it again,' said mother. 'And now, away with melancholy! +Father has sent a telegram. Look!' She held it out, and the children, +holding it by its yielding corners, read-- + + +'Box for kiddies at Garrick. Stalls for us, Haymarket. Meet Charing +Cross, 6.30.' + + +'That means,' said mother, 'that you're going to see "The Water Babies" +all by your happy selves, and father and I will take you and fetch you. +Give me the Lamb, dear, and you and Jane put clean lace in your red +evening frocks, and I shouldn't wonder if you found they wanted ironing. +This paraffin smell is ghastly. Run and get out your frocks.' + +The frocks did want ironing--wanted it rather badly, as it happened; +for, being of tomato-Coloured Liberty silk, they had been found very +useful for tableaux vivants when a red dress was required for Cardinal +Richelieu. They were very nice tableaux, these, and I wish I could tell +you about them; but one cannot tell everything in a story. You would +have been specially interested in hearing about the tableau of the +Princes in the Tower, when one of the pillows burst, and the youthful +Princes were so covered with feathers that the picture might very well +have been called 'Michaelmas Eve; or, Plucking the Geese'. + +Ironing the dresses and sewing the lace in occupied some time, and no +one was dull, because there was the theatre to look forward to, and also +the possible growth of hairs on the carpet, for which every one kept +looking anxiously. By four o'clock Jane was almost sure that several +hairs were beginning to grow. + +The Phoenix perched on the fender, and its conversation, as usual, was +entertaining and instructive--like school prizes are said to be. But it +seemed a little absent-minded, and even a little sad. + +'Don't you feel well, Phoenix, dear?' asked Anthea, stooping to take an +iron off the fire. + +'I am not sick,' replied the golden bird, with a gloomy shake of the +head; 'but I am getting old.' + +'Why, you've hardly been hatched any time at all.' + +'Time,' remarked the Phoenix, 'is measured by heartbeats. I'm sure the +palpitations I've had since I've known you are enough to blanch the +feathers of any bird.' + +'But I thought you lived 500 years,' said Robert, and you've hardly +begun this set of years. Think of all the time that's before you.' + +'Time,' said the Phoenix, 'is, as you are probably aware, merely a +convenient fiction. There is no such thing as time. I have lived in +these two months at a pace which generously counterbalances 500 years of +life in the desert. I am old, I am weary. I feel as if I ought to lay my +egg, and lay me down to my fiery sleep. But unless I'm careful I shall +be hatched again instantly, and that is a misfortune which I really +do not think I COULD endure. But do not let me intrude these desperate +personal reflections on your youthful happiness. What is the show at the +theatre to-night? Wrestlers? Gladiators? A combat of cameleopards and +unicorns?' + +'I don't think so,' said Cyril; 'it's called "The Water Babies", and +if it's like the book there isn't any gladiating in it. There are +chimney-sweeps and professors, and a lobster and an otter and a salmon, +and children living in the water.' + +'It sounds chilly.' The Phoenix shivered, and went to sit on the tongs. + +'I don't suppose there will be REAL water,' said Jane. 'And theatres are +very warm and pretty, with a lot of gold and lamps. Wouldn't you like to +come with us?' + +'_I_ was just going to say that,' said Robert, in injured tones, 'only +I know how rude it is to interrupt. Do come, Phoenix, old chap; it will +cheer you up. It'll make you laugh like any thing. Mr Bourchier always +makes ripping plays. You ought to have seen "Shock-headed Peter" last +year.' + +'Your words are strange,' said the Phoenix, 'but I will come with you. +The revels of this Bourchier, of whom you speak, may help me to forget +the weight of my years.' So that evening the Phoenix snugged inside the +waistcoat of Robert's Etons--a very tight fit it seemed both to Robert +and to the Phoenix--and was taken to the play. + +Robert had to pretend to be cold at the glittering, many-mirrored +restaurant where they ate dinner, with father in evening dress, with +a very shiny white shirt-front, and mother looking lovely in her grey +evening dress, that changes into pink and green when she moves. Robert +pretended that he was too cold to take off his great-coat, and so sat +sweltering through what would otherwise have been a most thrilling meal. +He felt that he was a blot on the smart beauty of the family, and he +hoped the Phoenix knew what he was suffering for its sake. Of course, +we are all pleased to suffer for the sake of others, but we like them +to know it unless we are the very best and noblest kind of people, and +Robert was just ordinary. + +Father was full of jokes and fun, and every one laughed all the time, +even with their mouths full, which is not manners. Robert thought father +would not have been quite so funny about his keeping his over-coat on if +father had known all the truth. And there Robert was probably right. + +When dinner was finished to the last grape and the last paddle in the +finger glasses--for it was a really truly grown-up dinner--the children +were taken to the theatre, guided to a box close to the stage, and left. + +Father's parting words were: 'Now, don't you stir out of this box, +whatever you do. I shall be back before the end of the play. Be good +and you will be happy. Is this zone torrid enough for the abandonment of +great-coats, Bobs? No? Well, then, I should say you were sickening for +something--mumps or measles or thrush or teething. Goodbye.' + +He went, and Robert was at last able to remove his coat, mop his +perspiring brow, and release the crushed and dishevelled Phoenix. Robert +had to arrange his damp hair at the looking-glass at the back of the +box, and the Phoenix had to preen its disordered feathers for some time +before either of them was fit to be seen. + +They were very, very early. When the lights went up fully, the Phoenix, +balancing itself on the gilded back of a chair, swayed in ecstasy. + +'How fair a scene is this!' it murmured; 'how far fairer than my temple! +Or have I guessed aright? Have you brought me hither to lift up my heart +with emotions of joyous surprise? Tell me, my Robert, is it not that +this, THIS is my true temple, and the other was but a humble shrine +frequented by outcasts?' + +'I don't know about outcasts,' said Robert, 'but you can call this your +temple if you like. Hush! the music is beginning.' + +I am not going to tell you about the play. As I said before, one can't +tell everything, and no doubt you saw 'The Water Babies' yourselves. If +you did not it was a shame, or, rather, a pity. + +What I must tell you is that, though Cyril and Jane and Robert and +Anthea enjoyed it as much as any children possibly could, the pleasure +of the Phoenix was far, far greater than theirs. + +'This is indeed my temple,' it said again and again. 'What radiant +rites! And all to do honour to me!' + +The songs in the play it took to be hymns in its honour. The choruses +were choric songs in its praise. The electric lights, it said, were +magic torches lighted for its sake, and it was so charmed with the +footlights that the children could hardly persuade it to sit still. But +when the limelight was shown it could contain its approval no longer. It +flapped its golden wings, and cried in a voice that could be heard all +over the theatre: + +'Well done, my servants! Ye have my favour and my countenance!' + +Little Tom on the stage stopped short in what he was saying. A deep +breath was drawn by hundreds of lungs, every eye in the house turned to +the box where the luckless children cringed, and most people hissed, or +said 'Shish!' or 'Turn them out!' + +Then the play went on, and an attendant presently came to the box and +spoke wrathfully. + +'It wasn't us, indeed it wasn't,' said Anthea, earnestly; 'it was the +bird.' + +The man said well, then, they must keep their bird very quiet. +'Disturbing every one like this,' he said. + +'It won't do it again,' said Robert, glancing imploringly at the golden +bird; 'I'm sure it won't.' + +'You have my leave to depart,' said the Phoenix gently. + +'Well, he is a beauty, and no mistake,' said the attendant, 'only I'd +cover him up during the acts. It upsets the performance.' + +And he went. + +'Don't speak again, there's a dear,' said Anthea; 'you wouldn't like to +interfere with your own temple, would you?' + +So now the Phoenix was quiet, but it kept whispering to the children. It +wanted to know why there was no altar, no fire, no incense, and became +so excited and fretful and tiresome that four at least of the party of +five wished deeply that it had been left at home. + +What happened next was entirely the fault of the Phoenix. It was not +in the least the fault of the theatre people, and no one could ever +understand afterwards how it did happen. No one, that is, except the +guilty bird itself and the four children. The Phoenix was balancing +itself on the gilt back of the chair, swaying backwards and forwards and +up and down, as you may see your own domestic parrot do. I mean the grey +one with the red tail. All eyes were on the stage, where the lobster +was delighting the audience with that gem of a song, 'If you can't walk +straight, walk sideways!' when the Phoenix murmured warmly-- + +'No altar, no fire, no incense!' and then, before any of the children +could even begin to think of stopping it, it spread its bright wings and +swept round the theatre, brushing its gleaming feathers against delicate +hangings and gilded woodwork. + +It seemed to have made but one circular wing-sweep, such as you may see +a gull make over grey water on a stormy day. Next moment it was perched +again on the chair-back--and all round the theatre, where it had passed, +little sparks shone like tinsel seeds, then little smoke wreaths curled +up like growing plants--little flames opened like flower-buds. People +whispered--then people shrieked. + +'Fire! Fire!' The curtain went down--the lights went up. + +'Fire!' cried every one, and made for the doors. + +'A magnificent idea!' said the Phoenix, complacently. 'An enormous +altar--fire supplied free of charge. Doesn't the incense smell +delicious?' + +The only smell was the stifling smell of smoke, of burning silk, or +scorching varnish. + +The little flames had opened now into great flame-flowers. The people in +the theatre were shouting and pressing towards the doors. + +'Oh, how COULD you!' cried Jane. 'Let's get out.' + +'Father said stay here,' said Anthea, very pale, and trying to speak in +her ordinary voice. + +'He didn't mean stay and be roasted,' said Robert. 'No boys on burning +decks for me, thank you.' + +'Not much,' said Cyril, and he opened the door of the box. + +But a fierce waft of smoke and hot air made him shut it again. It was +not possible to get out that way. + +They looked over the front of the box. Could they climb down? + +It would be possible, certainly; but would they be much better off? + +'Look at the people,' moaned Anthea; 'we couldn't get through.' + +And, indeed, the crowd round the doors looked as thick as flies in the +jam-making season. + +'I wish we'd never seen the Phoenix,' cried Jane. + +Even at that awful moment Robert looked round to see if the bird +had overheard a speech which, however natural, was hardly polite or +grateful. + +The Phoenix was gone. + +'Look here,' said Cyril, 'I've read about fires in papers; I'm sure it's +all right. Let's wait here, as father said.' + +'We can't do anything else,' said Anthea bitterly. + +'Look here,' said Robert, 'I'm NOT frightened--no, I'm not. The Phoenix +has never been a skunk yet, and I'm certain it'll see us through +somehow. I believe in the Phoenix!' + +'The Phoenix thanks you, O Robert,' said a golden voice at his feet, and +there was the Phoenix itself, on the Wishing Carpet. + +'Quick!' it said. 'Stand on those portions of the carpet which are truly +antique and authentic--and--' + +A sudden jet of flame stopped its words. Alas! the Phoenix had +unconsciously warmed to its subject, and in the unintentional heat of +the moment had set fire to the paraffin with which that morning the +children had anointed the carpet. It burned merrily. The children tried +in vain to stamp it out. They had to stand back and let it burn itself +out. When the paraffin had burned away it was found that it had taken +with it all the darns of Scotch heather-mixture fingering. Only the +fabric of the old carpet was left--and that was full of holes. + +'Come,' said the Phoenix, 'I'm cool now.' + +The four children got on to what was left of the carpet. Very careful +they were not to leave a leg or a hand hanging over one of the holes. It +was very hot--the theatre was a pit of fire. Every one else had got out. + +Jane had to sit on Anthea's lap. + +'Home!' said Cyril, and instantly the cool draught from under the +nursery door played upon their legs as they sat. They were all on +the carpet still, and the carpet was lying in its proper place on the +nursery floor, as calm and unmoved as though it had never been to the +theatre or taken part in a fire in its life. + +Four long breaths of deep relief were instantly breathed. The draught +which they had never liked before was for the moment quite pleasant. And +they were safe. And every one else was safe. The theatre had been quite +empty when they left. Every one was sure of that. + +They presently found themselves all talking at once. Somehow none of +their adventures had given them so much to talk about. None other had +seemed so real. + +'Did you notice--?' they said, and 'Do you remember--?' + +When suddenly Anthea's face turned pale under the dirt which it had +collected on it during the fire. + +'Oh,' she cried, 'mother and father! Oh, how awful! They'll think we're +burned to cinders. Oh, let's go this minute and tell them we aren't.' + +'We should only miss them,' said the sensible Cyril. + +'Well--YOU go then,' said Anthea, 'or I will. Only do wash your face +first. Mother will be sure to think you are burnt to a cinder if she +sees you as black as that, and she'll faint or be ill or something. Oh, +I wish we'd never got to know that Phoenix.' + +'Hush!' said Robert; 'it's no use being rude to the bird. I suppose it +can't help its nature. Perhaps we'd better wash too. Now I come to think +of it my hands are rather--' + +No one had noticed the Phoenix since it had bidden them to step on the +carpet. And no one noticed that no one had noticed. + +All were partially clean, and Cyril was just plunging into his +great-coat to go and look for his parents--he, and not unjustly, called +it looking for a needle in a bundle of hay--when the sound of father's +latchkey in the front door sent every one bounding up the stairs. + +'Are you all safe?' cried mother's voice; 'are you all safe?' and the +next moment she was kneeling on the linoleum of the hall, trying to +kiss four damp children at once, and laughing and crying by turns, while +father stood looking on and saying he was blessed or something. + +'But how did you guess we'd come home,' said Cyril, later, when every +one was calm enough for talking. + +'Well, it was rather a rum thing. We heard the Garrick was on fire, and +of course we went straight there,' said father, briskly. 'We couldn't +find you, of course--and we couldn't get in--but the firemen told +us every one was safely out. And then I heard a voice at my ear say, +"Cyril, Anthea, Robert, and Jane"--and something touched me on the +shoulder. It was a great yellow pigeon, and it got in the way of my +seeing who'd spoken. It fluttered off, and then some one said in the +other ear, "They're safe at home"; and when I turned again, to see who +it was speaking, hanged if there wasn't that confounded pigeon on my +other shoulder. Dazed by the fire, I suppose. Your mother said it was +the voice of--' + +'I said it was the bird that spoke,' said mother, 'and so it was. Or at +least I thought so then. It wasn't a pigeon. It was an orange-coloured +cockatoo. I don't care who it was that spoke. It was true and you're +safe.' + +Mother began to cry again, and father said bed was a good place after +the pleasures of the stage. + +So every one went there. + +Robert had a talk to the Phoenix that night. + +'Oh, very well,' said the bird, when Robert had said what he felt, +'didn't you know that I had power over fire? Do not distress yourself. +I, like my high priests in Lombard Street, can undo the work of flames. +Kindly open the casement.' + +It flew out. + +That was why the papers said next day that the fire at the theatre had +done less damage than had been anticipated. As a matter of fact it had +done none, for the Phoenix spent the night in putting things straight. +How the management accounted for this, and how many of the theatre +officials still believe that they were mad on that night will never be +known. + + +Next day mother saw the burnt holes in the carpet. + +'It caught where it was paraffiny,' said Anthea. + +'I must get rid of that carpet at once,' said mother. + +But what the children said in sad whispers to each other, as they +pondered over last night's events, was-- + +'We must get rid of that Phoenix.' + + + +CHAPTER 12. THE END OF THE END + + +'Egg, toast, tea, milk, tea-cup and saucer, egg-spoon, knife, +butter--that's all, I think,' remarked Anthea, as she put the last +touches to mother's breakfast-tray, and went, very carefully up the +stairs, feeling for every step with her toes, and holding on to the tray +with all her fingers. She crept into mother's room and set the tray on a +chair. Then she pulled one of the blinds up very softly. + +'Is your head better, mammy dear?' she asked, in the soft little voice +that she kept expressly for mother's headaches. 'I've brought your +brekkie, and I've put the little cloth with clover-leaves on it, the one +I made you.' + +'That's very nice,' said mother sleepily. + +Anthea knew exactly what to do for mothers with headaches who had +breakfast in bed. She fetched warm water and put just enough eau de +Cologne in it, and bathed mother's face and hands with the sweet-scented +water. Then mother was able to think about breakfast. + +'But what's the matter with my girl?' she asked, when her eyes got used +to the light. + +'Oh, I'm so sorry you're ill,' Anthea said. 'It's that horrible fire and +you being so frightened. Father said so. And we all feel as if it was +our faults. I can't explain, but--' + +'It wasn't your fault a bit, you darling goosie,' mother said. 'How +could it be?' + +'That's just what I can't tell you,' said Anthea. 'I haven't got +a futile brain like you and father, to think of ways of explaining +everything.' + +Mother laughed. + +'My futile brain--or did you mean fertile?--anyway, it feels very stiff +and sore this morning--but I shall be quite all right by and by. And +don't be a silly little pet girl. The fire wasn't your faults. No; I +don't want the egg, dear. I'll go to sleep again, I think. Don't you +worry. And tell cook not to bother me about meals. You can order what +you like for lunch.' + +Anthea closed the door very mousily, and instantly went downstairs and +ordered what she liked for lunch. She ordered a pair of turkeys, a large +plum-pudding, cheese-cakes, and almonds and raisins. + +Cook told her to go along, do. And she might as well not have ordered +anything, for when lunch came it was just hashed mutton and semolina +pudding, and cook had forgotten the sippets for the mutton hash and the +semolina pudding was burnt. + +When Anthea rejoined the others she found them all plunged in the gloom +where she was herself. For every one knew that the days of the carpet +were now numbered. Indeed, so worn was it that you could almost have +numbered its threads. + +So that now, after nearly a month of magic happenings, the time was at +hand when life would have to go on in the dull, ordinary way and Jane, +Robert, Anthea, and Cyril would be just in the same position as the +other children who live in Camden Town, the children whom these four had +so often pitied, and perhaps a little despised. + +'We shall be just like them,' Cyril said. + +'Except,' said Robert, 'that we shall have more things to remember and +be sorry we haven't got.' + +'Mother's going to send away the carpet as soon as she's well enough to +see about that coconut matting. Fancy us with coconut-matting--us! And +we've walked under live coconut-trees on the island where you can't have +whooping-cough.' + +'Pretty island,' said the Lamb; 'paint-box sands and sea all shiny +sparkly.' + +His brothers and sisters had often wondered whether he remembered that +island. Now they knew that he did. + +'Yes,' said Cyril; 'no more cheap return trips by carpet for us--that's +a dead cert.' + +They were all talking about the carpet, but what they were all thinking +about was the Phoenix. + +The golden bird had been so kind, so friendly, so polite, so +instructive--and now it had set fire to a theatre and made mother ill. + +Nobody blamed the bird. It had acted in a perfectly natural manner. But +every one saw that it must not be asked to prolong its visit. Indeed, in +plain English it must be asked to go! + +The four children felt like base spies and treacherous friends; and each +in its mind was saying who ought not to be the one to tell the Phoenix +that there could no longer be a place for it in that happy home in +Camden Town. Each child was quite sure that one of them ought to speak +out in a fair and manly way, but nobody wanted to be the one. + +They could not talk the whole thing over as they would have liked to do, +because the Phoenix itself was in the cupboard, among the blackbeetles +and the odd shoes and the broken chessmen. + +But Anthea tried. + +'It's very horrid. I do hate thinking things about people, and not being +able to say the things you're thinking because of the way they would +feel when they thought what things you were thinking, and wondered +what they'd done to make you think things like that, and why you were +thinking them.' + +Anthea was so anxious that the Phoenix should not understand what she +said that she made a speech completely baffling to all. It was not till +she pointed to the cupboard in which all believed the Phoenix to be that +Cyril understood. + +'Yes,' he said, while Jane and Robert were trying to tell each other how +deeply they didn't understand what Anthea were saying; 'but after recent +eventfulnesses a new leaf has to be turned over, and, after all, +mother is more important than the feelings of any of the lower forms of +creation, however unnatural.' + +'How beautifully you do do it,' said Anthea, absently beginning to build +a card-house for the Lamb--'mixing up what you're saying, I mean. We +ought to practise doing it so as to be ready for mysterious occasions. +We're talking about THAT,' she said to Jane and Robert, frowning, and +nodding towards the cupboard where the Phoenix was. Then Robert and Jane +understood, and each opened its mouth to speak. + +'Wait a minute,' said Anthea quickly; 'the game is to twist up what you +want to say so that no one can understand what you're saying except the +people you want to understand it, and sometimes not them.' + +'The ancient philosophers,' said a golden voice, 'Well understood the +art of which you speak.' + +Of course it was the Phoenix, who had not been in the cupboard at all, +but had been cocking a golden eye at them from the cornice during the +whole conversation. + +'Pretty dickie!' remarked the Lamb. 'CANARY dickie!' + +'Poor misguided infant,' said the Phoenix. + +There was a painful pause; the four could not but think it likely that +the Phoenix had understood their very veiled allusions, accompanied as +they had been by gestures indicating the cupboard. For the Phoenix was +not wanting in intelligence. + +'We were just saying--' Cyril began, and I hope he was not going to +say anything but the truth. Whatever it was he did not say it, for the +Phoenix interrupted him, and all breathed more freely as it spoke. + +'I gather,' it said, 'that you have some tidings of a fatal nature to +communicate to our degraded black brothers who run to and fro for ever +yonder.' It pointed a claw at the cupboard, where the blackbeetles +lived. + +'Canary TALK,' said the Lamb joyously; 'go and show mammy.' + +He wriggled off Anthea's lap. + +'Mammy's asleep,' said Jane, hastily. 'Come and be wild beasts in a cage +under the table.' + +But the Lamb caught his feet and hands, and even his head, so often and +so deeply in the holes of the carpet that the cage, or table, had to be +moved on to the linoleum, and the carpet lay bare to sight with all its +horrid holes. + +'Ah,' said the bird, 'it isn't long for this world.' + +'No,' said Robert; 'everything comes to an end. It's awful.' + +'Sometimes the end is peace,' remarked the Phoenix. 'I imagine that +unless it comes soon the end of your carpet will be pieces.' + +'Yes,' said Cyril, respectfully kicking what was left of the carpet. The +movement of its bright colours caught the eye of the Lamb, who went down +on all fours instantly and began to pull at the red and blue threads. + +'Aggedydaggedygaggedy,' murmured the Lamb; 'daggedy ag ag ag!' + +And before any one could have winked (even if they had wanted to, and it +would not have been of the slightest use) the middle of the floor showed +bare, an island of boards surrounded by a sea of linoleum. The magic +carpet was gone, AND SO WAS THE LAMB! + +There was a horrible silence. The Lamb--the baby, all alone--had been +wafted away on that untrustworthy carpet, so full of holes and magic. +And no one could know where he was. And no one could follow him because +there was now no carpet to follow on. + +Jane burst into tears, but Anthea, though pale and frantic, was +dry-eyed. + +'It MUST be a dream,' she said. + +'That's what the clergyman said,' remarked Robert forlornly; 'but it +wasn't, and it isn't.' + +'But the Lamb never wished,' said Cyril; 'he was only talking Bosh.' + +'The carpet understands all speech,' said the Phoenix, 'even Bosh. I +know not this Boshland, but be assured that its tongue is not unknown to +the carpet.' + +'Do you mean, then,' said Anthea, in white terror, 'that when he was +saying "Agglety dag," or whatever it was, that he meant something by +it?' + +'All speech has meaning,' said the Phoenix. + +'There I think you're wrong,' said Cyril; 'even people who talk English +sometimes say things that don't mean anything in particular.' + +'Oh, never mind that now,' moaned Anthea; 'you think "Aggety dag" meant +something to him and the carpet?' + +'Beyond doubt it held the same meaning to the carpet as to the luckless +infant,' the Phoenix said calmly. + +'And WHAT did it mean? Oh WHAT?' + +'Unfortunately,' the bird rejoined, 'I never studied Bosh.' + +Jane sobbed noisily, but the others were calm with what is sometimes +called the calmness of despair. The Lamb was gone--the Lamb, their own +precious baby brother--who had never in his happy little life been for a +moment out of the sight of eyes that loved him--he was gone. He had gone +alone into the great world with no other companion and protector than a +carpet with holes in it. The children had never really understood +before what an enormously big place the world is. And the Lamb might be +anywhere in it! + +'And it's no use going to look for him.' Cyril, in flat and wretched +tones, only said what the others were thinking. + +'Do you wish him to return?' the Phoenix asked; it seemed to speak with +some surprise. + +'Of course we do!' cried everybody. + +'Isn't he more trouble than he's worth?' asked the bird doubtfully. + +'No, no. Oh, we do want him back! We do!' + +'Then,' said the wearer of gold plumage, 'if you'll excuse me, I'll just +pop out and see what I can do.' + +Cyril flung open the window, and the Phoenix popped out. + +'Oh, if only mother goes on sleeping! Oh, suppose she wakes up and wants +the Lamb! Oh, suppose the servants come! Stop crying, Jane. It's no +earthly good. No, I'm not crying myself--at least I wasn't till you said +so, and I shouldn't anyway if--if there was any mortal thing we could +do. Oh, oh, oh!' + +Cyril and Robert were boys, and boys never cry, of course. Still, the +position was a terrible one, and I do not wonder that they made faces in +their efforts to behave in a really manly way. + +And at this awful moment mother's bell rang. + +A breathless stillness held the children. Then Anthea dried her eyes. +She looked round her and caught up the poker. She held it out to Cyril. + +'Hit my hand hard,' she said; 'I must show mother some reason for my +eyes being like they are. Harder,' she cried as Cyril gently tapped her +with the iron handle. And Cyril, agitated and trembling, nerved himself +to hit harder, and hit very much harder than he intended. + +Anthea screamed. + +'Oh, Panther, I didn't mean to hurt, really,' cried Cyril, clattering +the poker back into the fender. + +'It's--all--right,' said Anthea breathlessly, clasping the hurt hand +with the one that wasn't hurt; 'it's--getting--red.' + +It was--a round red and blue bump was rising on the back of it. 'Now, +Robert,' she said, trying to breathe more evenly, 'you go out--oh, I +don't know where--on to the dustbin--anywhere--and I shall tell mother +you and the Lamb are out.' + +Anthea was now ready to deceive her mother for as long as ever she +could. Deceit is very wrong, we know, but it seemed to Anthea that it +was her plain duty to keep her mother from being frightened about the +Lamb as long as possible. And the Phoenix might help. + +'It always has helped,' Robert said; 'it got us out of the tower, and +even when it made the fire in the theatre it got us out all right. I'm +certain it will manage somehow.' + +Mother's bell rang again. + +'Oh, Eliza's never answered it,' cried Anthea; 'she never does. Oh, I +must go.' + +And she went. + +Her heart beat bumpingly as she climbed the stairs. Mother would be +certain to notice her eyes--well, her hand would account for that. But +the Lamb-- + +'No, I must NOT think of the Lamb, she said to herself, and bit her +tongue till her eyes watered again, so as to give herself something +else to think of. Her arms and legs and back, and even her tear-reddened +face, felt stiff with her resolution not to let mother be worried if she +could help it. + +She opened the door softly. + +'Yes, mother?' she said. + +'Dearest,' said mother, 'the Lamb--' + +Anthea tried to be brave. She tried to say that the Lamb and Robert were +out. Perhaps she tried too hard. Anyway, when she opened her mouth no +words came. So she stood with it open. It seemed easier to keep from +crying with one's mouth in that unusual position. + +'The Lamb,' mother went on; 'he was very good at first, but he's pulled +the toilet-cover off the dressing-table with all the brushes and +pots and things, and now he's so quiet I'm sure he's in some dreadful +mischief. And I can't see him from here, and if I'd got out of bed to +see I'm sure I should have fainted.' + +'Do you mean he's HERE?' said Anthea. + +'Of course he's here,' said mother, a little impatiently. 'Where did you +think he was?' + +Anthea went round the foot of the big mahogany bed. There was a pause. + +'He's not here NOW,' she said. + +That he had been there was plain, from the toilet-cover on the floor, +the scattered pots and bottles, the wandering brushes and combs, all +involved in the tangle of ribbons and laces which an open drawer had +yielded to the baby's inquisitive fingers. + +'He must have crept out, then,' said mother; 'do keep him with you, +there's a darling. If I don't get some sleep I shall be a wreck when +father comes home.' + +Anthea closed the door softly. Then she tore downstairs and burst into +the nursery, crying-- + +'He must have wished he was with mother. He's been there all the time. +"Aggety dag--"' + +The unusual word was frozen on her lip, as people say in books. + +For there, on the floor, lay the carpet, and on the carpet, surrounded +by his brothers and by Jane, sat the Lamb. He had covered his face and +clothes with vaseline and violet powder, but he was easily recognizable +in spite of this disguise. + +'You are right,' said the Phoenix, who was also present; 'it is evident +that, as you say, "Aggety dag" is Bosh for "I want to be where my mother +is," and so the faithful carpet understood it.' + +'But how,' said Anthea, catching up the Lamb and hugging him--'how did +he get back here?' + +'Oh,' said the Phoenix, 'I flew to the Psammead and wished that your +infant brother were restored to your midst, and immediately it was so.' + +'Oh, I am glad, I am glad!' cried Anthea, still hugging the baby. 'Oh, +you darling! Shut up, Jane! I don't care HOW much he comes off on +me! Cyril! You and Robert roll that carpet up and put it in the +beetle-cupboard. He might say "Aggety dag" again, and it might mean +something quite different next time. Now, my Lamb, Panther'll clean you +a little. Come on.' + +'I hope the beetles won't go wishing,' said Cyril, as they rolled up the +carpet. + + +Two days later mother was well enough to go out, and that evening the +coconut matting came home. The children had talked and talked, and +thought and thought, but they had not found any polite way of telling +the Phoenix that they did not want it to stay any longer. + +The days had been days spent by the children in embarrassment, and by +the Phoenix in sleep. + +And, now the matting was laid down, the Phoenix awoke and fluttered down +on to it. + +It shook its crested head. + +'I like not this carpet,' it said; 'it is harsh and unyielding, and it +hurts my golden feet.' + +'We've jolly well got to get used to its hurting OUR golden feet,' said +Cyril. + +'This, then,' said the bird, 'supersedes the Wishing Carpet.' + +'Yes,' said Robert, 'if you mean that it's instead of it.' + +'And the magic web?' inquired the Phoenix, with sudden eagerness. + +'It's the rag-and-bottle man's day to-morrow,' said Anthea, in a low +voice; 'he will take it away.' + +The Phoenix fluttered up to its favourite perch on the chair-back. + +'Hear me!' it cried, 'oh youthful children of men, and restrain your +tears of misery and despair, for what must be must be, and I would not +remember you, thousands of years hence, as base ingrates and crawling +worms compact of low selfishness.' + +'I should hope not, indeed,' said Cyril. + +'Weep not,' the bird went on; 'I really do beg that you won't weep. + +I will not seek to break the news to you gently. Let the blow fall at +once. The time has come when I must leave you.' + +All four children breathed forth a long sigh of relief. + +'We needn't have bothered so about how to break the news to it,' +whispered Cyril. + +'Ah, sigh not so,' said the bird, gently. 'All meetings end in partings. +I must leave you. I have sought to prepare you for this. Ah, do not give +way!' + +'Must you really go--so soon?' murmured Anthea. It was what she had +often heard her mother say to calling ladies in the afternoon. + +'I must, really; thank you so much, dear,' replied the bird, just as +though it had been one of the ladies. + +'I am weary,' it went on. 'I desire to rest--after all the happenings +of this last moon I do desire really to rest, and I ask of you one last +boon.' + +'Any little thing we can do,' said Robert. + +Now that it had really come to parting with the Phoenix, whose favourite +he had always been, Robert did feel almost as miserable as the Phoenix +thought they all did. + +'I ask but the relic designed for the rag-and-bottle man. Give me what +is left of the carpet and let me go.' + +'Dare we?' said Anthea. 'Would mother mind?' + +'I have dared greatly for your sakes,' remarked the bird. + +'Well, then, we will,' said Robert. + +The Phoenix fluffed out its feathers joyously. + +'Nor shall you regret it, children of golden hearts,' it said. +'Quick--spread the carpet and leave me alone; but first pile high the +fire. Then, while I am immersed in the sacred preliminary rites, do ye +prepare sweet-smelling woods and spices for the last act of parting.' + +The children spread out what was left of the carpet. And, after all, +though this was just what they would have wished to have happened, all +hearts were sad. Then they put half a scuttle of coal on the fire and +went out, closing the door on the Phoenix--left, at last, alone with the +carpet. + +'One of us must keep watch,' said Robert, excitedly, as soon as they +were all out of the room, 'and the others can go and buy sweet woods and +spices. Get the very best that money can buy, and plenty of them. +Don't let's stand to a threepence or so. I want it to have a jolly good +send-off. It's the only thing that'll make us feel less horrid inside.' + +It was felt that Robert, as the pet of the Phoenix, ought to have the +last melancholy pleasure of choosing the materials for its funeral pyre. + +'I'll keep watch if you like,' said Cyril. 'I don't mind. And, besides, +it's raining hard, and my boots let in the wet. You might call and see +if my other ones are "really reliable" again yet.' + +So they left Cyril, standing like a Roman sentinel outside the door +inside which the Phoenix was getting ready for the great change, and +they all went out to buy the precious things for the last sad rites. + +'Robert is right,' Anthea said; 'this is no time for being careful about +our money. Let's go to the stationer's first, and buy a whole packet of +lead-pencils. They're cheaper if you buy them by the packet.' + +This was a thing that they had always wanted to do, but it needed the +great excitement of a funeral pyre and a parting from a beloved Phoenix +to screw them up to the extravagance. + +The people at the stationer's said that the pencils were real +cedar-wood, so I hope they were, for stationers should always speak +the truth. At any rate they cost one-and-fourpence. Also they spent +sevenpence three-farthings on a little sandal-wood box inlaid with +ivory. + +'Because,' said Anthea, 'I know sandalwood smells sweet, and when it's +burned it smells very sweet indeed.' + +'Ivory doesn't smell at all,' said Robert, 'but I expect when you burn +it it smells most awful vile, like bones.' + +At the grocer's they bought all the spices they could remember the names +of--shell-like mace, cloves like blunt nails, peppercorns, the long +and the round kind; ginger, the dry sort, of course; and the beautiful +bloom-covered shells of fragrant cinnamon. Allspice too, and caraway +seeds (caraway seeds that smelt most deadly when the time came for +burning them). + +Camphor and oil of lavender were bought at the chemist's, and also a +little scent sachet labelled 'Violettes de Parme'. + +They took the things home and found Cyril still on guard. When they had +knocked and the golden voice of the Phoenix had said 'Come in,' they +went in. + +There lay the carpet--or what was left of it--and on it lay an egg, +exactly like the one out of which the Phoenix had been hatched. + +The Phoenix was walking round and round the egg, clucking with joy and +pride. + +'I've laid it, you see,' it said, 'and as fine an egg as ever I laid in +all my born days.' + +Every one said yes, it was indeed a beauty. + +The things which the children had bought were now taken out of their +papers and arranged on the table, and when the Phoenix had been +persuaded to leave its egg for a moment and look at the materials for +its last fire it was quite overcome. + +'Never, never have I had a finer pyre than this will be. You shall not +regret it,' it said, wiping away a golden tear. 'Write quickly: "Go and +tell the Psammead to fulfil the last wish of the Phoenix, and return +instantly".' + +But Robert wished to be polite and he wrote-- + +'Please go and ask the Psammead to be so kind as to fulfil the Phoenix's +last wish, and come straight back, if you please.' The paper was pinned +to the carpet, which vanished and returned in the flash of an eye. + +Then another paper was written ordering the carpet to take the egg +somewhere where it wouldn't be hatched for another two thousand years. +The Phoenix tore itself away from its cherished egg, which it watched +with yearning tenderness till, the paper being pinned on, the carpet +hastily rolled itself up round the egg, and both vanished for ever from +the nursery of the house in Camden Town. + +'Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!' said everybody. + +'Bear up,' said the bird; 'do you think _I_ don't suffer, being parted +from my precious new-laid egg like this? Come, conquer your emotions and +build my fire.' + +'OH!' cried Robert, suddenly, and wholly breaking down, 'I can't BEAR +you to go!' + +The Phoenix perched on his shoulder and rubbed its beak softly against +his ear. + +'The sorrows of youth soon appear but as dreams,' it said. 'Farewell, +Robert of my heart. I have loved you well.' + +The fire had burnt to a red glow. One by one the spices and sweet woods +were laid on it. Some smelt nice and some--the caraway seeds and the +Violettes de Parme sachet among them--smelt worse than you would think +possible. + +'Farewell, farewell, farewell, farewell!' said the Phoenix, in a +far-away voice. + +'Oh, GOOD-BYE,' said every one, and now all were in tears. + +The bright bird fluttered seven times round the room and settled in the +hot heart of the fire. The sweet gums and spices and woods flared and +flickered around it, but its golden feathers did not burn. It seemed to +grow red-hot to the very inside heart of it--and then before the eight +eyes of its friends it fell together, a heap of white ashes, and the +flames of the cedar pencils and the sandal-wood box met and joined above +it. + + +'Whatever have you done with the carpet?' asked mother next day. + +'We gave it to some one who wanted it very much. The name began with a +P,' said Jane. + +The others instantly hushed her. + +'Oh, well, it wasn't worth twopence,' said mother. + +'The person who began with P said we shouldn't lose by it,' Jane went on +before she could be stopped. + +'I daresay!' said mother, laughing. + +But that very night a great box came, addressed to the children by all +their names. Eliza never could remember the name of the carrier who +brought it. It wasn't Carter Paterson or the Parcels Delivery. + +It was instantly opened. It was a big wooden box, and it had to +be opened with a hammer and the kitchen poker; the long nails came +squeaking out, and boards scrunched as they were wrenched off. Inside +the box was soft paper, with beautiful Chinese patterns on it--blue and +green and red and violet. And under the paper--well, almost everything +lovely that you can think of. Everything of reasonable size, I mean; +for, of course, there were no motors or flying machines or thoroughbred +chargers. But there really was almost everything else. Everything that +the children had always wanted--toys and games and books, and chocolate +and candied cherries and paint-boxes and photographic cameras, and all +the presents they had always wanted to give to father and mother and the +Lamb, only they had never had the money for them. At the very bottom +of the box was a tiny golden feather. No one saw it but Robert, and he +picked it up and hid it in the breast of his jacket, which had been +so often the nesting-place of the golden bird. When he went to bed the +feather was gone. It was the last he ever saw of the Phoenix. + +Pinned to the lovely fur cloak that mother had always wanted was a +paper, and it said-- + +'In return for the carpet. With gratitude.--P.' + +You may guess how father and mother talked it over. They decided at +last the person who had had the carpet, and whom, curiously enough, the +children were quite unable to describe, must be an insane millionaire +who amused himself by playing at being a rag-and-bone man. But the +children knew better. + +They knew that this was the fulfilment, by the powerful Psammead, of the +last wish of the Phoenix, and that this glorious and delightful boxful +of treasures was really the very, very, very end of the Phoenix and the +Carpet. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Phoenix and the Carpet, by E. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +The Phoenix and the Carpet + +E. Nesbit + + + +TO + +My Dear Godson +HUBERT GRIFFITH +and his sister +MARGARET + + +TO HUBERT + +Dear Hubert, if I ever found +A wishing-carpet lying round, +I'd stand upon it, and I'd say: +'Take me to Hubert, right away!' +And then we'd travel very far +To where the magic countries are +That you and I will never see, +And choose the loveliest gifts for you, from me. + +But oh! alack! and well-a-day! +No wishing-carpets come my way. +I never found a Phoenix yet, +And Psammeads are so hard to get! +So I give you nothing fine-- +Only this book your book and mine, +And hers, whose name by yours is set; +Your book, my book, the book of Margaret! + +E. NESBIT +DYMCHURCH +September, 1904 + + +CONTENTS + +1 The Egg +2 The Topless Tower +3 The Queen Cook +4 Two Bazaars +5 The Temple +6 Doing Good +7 Mews from Persia +8 The Cats, the Cow, and the Burglar +9 The Burglar's Bride +10 The Hole in the Carpet +11 The Beginning of the End +12 The End of the End + + + + +CHAPTER 1 +THE EGG + + +It began with the day when it was almost the Fifth of November, and +a doubt arose in some breast--Robert's, I fancy--as to the quality +of the fireworks laid in for the Guy Fawkes celebration. + +'They were jolly cheap,' said whoever it was, and I think it was +Robert, 'and suppose they didn't go off on the night? Those +Prosser kids would have something to snigger about then.' + +'The ones _I_ got are all right,' Jane said; 'I know they are, +because the man at the shop said they were worth thribble the +money--' + +'I'm sure thribble isn't grammar,' Anthea said. + +'Of course it isn't,' said Cyril; 'one word can't be grammar all by +itself, so you needn't be so jolly clever.' + +Anthea was rummaging in the corner-drawers of her mind for a very +disagreeable answer, when she remembered what a wet day it was, and +how the boys had been disappointed of that ride to London and back +on the top of the tram, which their mother had promised them as a +reward for not having once forgotten, for six whole days, to wipe +their boots on the mat when they came home from school. + +So Anthea only said, 'Don't be so jolly clever yourself, Squirrel. +And the fireworks look all right, and you'll have the eightpence +that your tram fares didn't cost to-day, to buy something more +with. You ought to get a perfectly lovely Catharine wheel for +eightpence.' + +'I daresay,' said Cyril, coldly; 'but it's not YOUR eightpence +anyhow--' + +'But look here,' said Robert, 'really now, about the fireworks. We +don't want to be disgraced before those kids next door. They think +because they wear red plush on Sundays no one else is any good.' + +'I wouldn't wear plush if it was ever so--unless it was black to be +beheaded in, if I was Mary Queen of Scots,' said Anthea, with scorn. + +Robert stuck steadily to his point. One great point about Robert +is the steadiness with which he can stick. + +'I think we ought to test them,' he said. + +'You young duffer,' said Cyril, 'fireworks are like postage-stamps. +You can only use them once.' + +'What do you suppose it means by "Carter's tested seeds" in the +advertisement?' + +There was a blank silence. Then Cyril touched his forehead with +his finger and shook his head. + +'A little wrong here,' he said. 'I was always afraid of that with +poor Robert. All that cleverness, you know, and being top in +algebra so often--it's bound to tell--' + +'Dry up,' said Robert, fiercely. 'Don't you see? You can't TEST +seeds if you do them ALL. You just take a few here and there, and +if those grow you can feel pretty sure the others will be--what do +you call it?--Father told me--"up to sample". Don't you think we +ought to sample the fire-works? Just shut our eyes and each draw +one out, and then try them.' + +'But it's raining cats and dogs,' said Jane. + +'And Queen Anne is dead,' rejoined Robert. No one was in a very +good temper. 'We needn't go out to do them; we can just move back +the table, and let them off on the old tea-tray we play toboggans +with. I don't know what YOU think, but _I_ think it's time we did +something, and that would be really useful; because then we +shouldn't just HOPE the fireworks would make those Prossers sit +up--we should KNOW.' + +'It WOULD be something to do,' Cyril owned with languid approval. + +So the table was moved back. And then the hole in the carpet, that +had been near the window till the carpet was turned round, showed +most awfully. But Anthea stole out on tip-toe, and got the tray +when cook wasn't looking, and brought it in and put it over the +hole. + +Then all the fireworks were put on the table, and each of the four +children shut its eyes very tight and put out its hand and grasped +something. Robert took a cracker, Cyril and Anthea had Roman +candles; but Jane's fat paw closed on the gem of the whole collection, +the Jack-in-the-box that had cost two shillings, and one at least of the +party--I will not say which, because it was sorry afterwards--declared +that Jane had done it on purpose. Nobody was pleased. For the worst of +it was that these four children, with a very proper dislike of anything +even faintly bordering on the sneakish, had a law, unalterable as those +of the Medes and Persians, that one had to stand by the results of a +toss-up, or a drawing of lots, or any other appeal to chance, however +much one might happen to dislike the way things were turning out. + +'I didn't mean to,' said Jane, near tears. 'I don't care, I'll +draw another--' + +'You know jolly well you can't,' said Cyril, bitterly. 'It's +settled. It's Medium and Persian. You've done it, and you'll have +to stand by it--and us too, worse luck. Never mind. YOU'LL have +your pocket-money before the Fifth. Anyway, we'll have the +Jack-in-the-box LAST, and get the most out of it we can.' + +So the cracker and the Roman candles were lighted, and they were +all that could be expected for the money; but when it came to the +Jack-in-the-box it simply sat in the tray and laughed at them, as +Cyril said. They tried to light it with paper and they tried to +light it with matches; they tried to light it with Vesuvian fusees +from the pocket of father's second-best overcoat that was hanging +in the hall. And then Anthea slipped away to the cupboard under +the stairs where the brooms and dustpans were kept, and the rosiny +fire-lighters that smell so nice and like the woods where +pine-trees grow, and the old newspapers and the bees-wax and turpentine, +and the horrid an stiff dark rags that are used for cleaning brass and +furniture, and the paraffin for the lamps. She came back with a little +pot that had once cost sevenpence-halfpenny when it was full of +red-currant jelly; but the jelly had been all eaten long ago, and now +Anthea had filled the jar with paraffin. She came in, and she threw the +paraffin over the tray just at the moment when Cyril was trying with the +twenty-third match to light the Jack-in-the-box. The +Jack-in-the-box did not catch fire any more than usual, but the +paraffin acted quite differently, and in an instant a hot flash of +flame leapt up and burnt off Cyril's eyelashes, and scorched the +faces of all four before they could spring back. They backed, in +four instantaneous bounds, as far as they could, which was to the +wall, and the pillar of fire reached from floor to ceiling. + +'My hat,' said Cyril, with emotion, 'You've done it this time, +Anthea.' + +The flame was spreading out under the ceiling like the rose of fire +in Mr Rider Haggard's exciting story about Allan Quatermain. +Robert and Cyril saw that no time was to be lost. They turned up +the edges of the carpet, and kicked them over the tray. This cut +off the column of fire, and it disappeared and there was nothing +left but smoke and a dreadful smell of lamps that have been turned +too low. + +All hands now rushed to the rescue, and the paraffin fire was only +a bundle of trampled carpet, when suddenly a sharp crack beneath +their feet made the amateur firemen start back. Another crack--the +carpet moved as if it had had a cat wrapped in it; the +Jack-in-the-box had at last allowed itself to be lighted, and it +was going off with desperate violence inside the carpet. + +Robert, with the air of one doing the only possible thing, rushed +to the window and opened it. Anthea screamed, Jane burst into +tears, and Cyril turned the table wrong way up on top of the carpet +heap. But the firework went on, banging and bursting and +spluttering even underneath the table. + +Next moment mother rushed in, attracted by the howls of Anthea, and +in a few moments the firework desisted and there was a dead +silence, and the children stood looking at each other's black +faces, and, out of the corners of their eyes, at mother's white +one. + +The fact that the nursery carpet was ruined occasioned but little +surprise, nor was any one really astonished that bed should prove +the immediate end of the adventure. It has been said that all +roads lead to Rome; this may be true, but at any rate, in early +youth I am quite sure that many roads lead to BED, and stop +there--or YOU do. + +The rest of the fireworks were confiscated, and mother was not +pleased when father let them off himself in the back garden, though +he said, 'Well, how else can you get rid of them, my dear?' + +You see, father had forgotten that the children were in disgrace, +and that their bedroom windows looked out on to the back garden. +So that they all saw the fireworks most beautifully, and admired +the skill with which father handled them. + +Next day all was forgotten and forgiven; only the nursery had to be +deeply cleaned (like spring-cleaning), and the ceiling had to be +whitewashed. + +And mother went out; and just at tea-time next day a man came with +a rolled-up carpet, and father paid him, and mother said-- + +'If the carpet isn't in good condition, you know, I shall expect +you to change it.' And the man replied-- + +'There ain't a thread gone in it nowhere, mum. It's a bargain, if +ever there was one, and I'm more'n 'arf sorry I let it go at the +price; but we can't resist the lydies, can we, sir?' and he winked +at father and went away. + +Then the carpet was put down in the nursery, and sure enough there +wasn't a hole in it anywhere. + +As the last fold was unrolled something hard and loud-sounding +bumped out of it and trundled along the nursery floor. All the +children scrambled for it, and Cyril got it. He took it to the +gas. It was shaped like an egg, very yellow and shiny, +half-transparent, and it had an odd sort of light in it that +changed as you held it in different ways. It was as though it was +an egg with a yolk of pale fire that just showed through the stone. + +'I MAY keep it, mayn't I, mother?' Cyril asked. + +And of course mother said no; they must take it back to the man who +had brought the carpet, because she had only paid for a carpet, and +not for a stone egg with a fiery yolk to it. + +So she told them where the shop was, and it was in the Kentish Town +Road, not far from the hotel that is called the Bull and Gate. It +was a poky little shop, and the man was arranging furniture outside +on the pavement very cunningly, so that the more broken parts +should show as little as possible. And directly he saw the +children he knew them again, and he began at once, without giving +them a chance to speak. + +'No you don't' he cried loudly; 'I ain't a-goin' to take back no +carpets, so don't you make no bloomin' errer. A bargain's a +bargain, and the carpet's puffik throughout.' + +'We don't want you to take it back,' said Cyril; 'but we found +something in it.' + +'It must have got into it up at your place, then,' said the man, +with indignant promptness, 'for there ain't nothing in nothing as +I sell. It's all as clean as a whistle.' + +'I never said it wasn't CLEAN,' said Cyril, 'but--' + +'Oh, if it's MOTHS,' said the man, 'that's easy cured with borax. +But I expect it was only an odd one. I tell you the carpet's good +through and through. It hadn't got no moths when it left my +'ands--not so much as an hegg.' + +'But that's just it,' interrupted Jane; 'there WAS so much as an +egg.' + +The man made a sort of rush at the children and stamped his foot. + +'Clear out, I say!' he shouted, 'or I'll call for the police. A +nice thing for customers to 'ear you a-coming 'ere a-charging me +with finding things in goods what I sells. 'Ere, be off, afore I +sends you off with a flea in your ears. Hi! constable--' + +The children fled, and they think, and their father thinks, that +they couldn't have done anything else. Mother has her own opinion. + +But father said they might keep the egg. + +'The man certainly didn't know the egg was there when he brought +the carpet,' said he, 'any more than your mother did, and we've as +much right to it as he had.' + +So the egg was put on the mantelpiece, where it quite brightened up +the dingy nursery. The nursery was dingy, because it was a +basement room, and its windows looked out on a stone area with a +rockery made of clinkers facing the windows. Nothing grew in the +rockery except London pride and snails. + +The room had been described in the house agent's list as a +'convenient breakfast-room in basement,' and in the daytime it was +rather dark. This did not matter so much in the evenings when the +gas was alight, but then it was in the evening that the +blackbeetles got so sociable, and used to come out of the low +cupboards on each side of the fireplace where their homes were, and +try to make friends with the children. At least, I suppose that +was what they wanted, but the children never would. + +On the Fifth of November father and mother went to the theatre, and +the children were not happy, because the Prossers next door had +lots of fireworks and they had none. + +They were not even allowed to have a bonfire in the garden. + +'No more playing with fire, thank you,' was father's answer, when +they asked him. + +When the baby had been put to bed the children sat sadly round the +fire in the nursery. + +'I'm beastly bored,' said Robert. + +'Let's talk about the Psammead,' said Anthea, who generally tried +to give the conversation a cheerful turn. + +'What's the good of TALKING?' said Cyril. 'What I want is for +something to happen. It's awfully stuffy for a chap not to be +allowed out in the evenings. There's simply nothing to do when +you've got through your homers.' + +Jane finished the last of her home-lessons and shut the book with +a bang. + +'We've got the pleasure of memory,' said she. 'Just think of last +holidays.' + +Last holidays, indeed, offered something to think of--for they had +been spent in the country at a white house between a sand-pit and +a gravel-pit, and things had happened. The children had found a +Psammead, or sand-fairy, and it had let them have anything they +wished for--just exactly anything, with no bother about its not +being really for their good, or anything like that. And if you +want to know what kind of things they wished for, and how their +wishes turned out you can read it all in a book called Five +Children and It (It was the Psammead). If you've not read it, +perhaps I ought to tell you that the fifth child was the baby +brother, who was called the Lamb, because the first thing he ever +said was 'Baa!' and that the other children were not particularly +handsome, nor were they extra clever, nor extraordinarily good. +But they were not bad sorts on the whole; in fact, they were rather +like you. + +'I don't want to think about the pleasures of memory,' said Cyril; +'I want some more things to happen.' + +'We're very much luckier than any one else, as it is,' said Jane. +'Why, no one else ever found a Psammead. We ought to be grateful.' + +'Why shouldn't we GO ON being, though?' Cyril asked--'lucky, I +mean, not grateful. Why's it all got to stop?' + +'Perhaps something will happen,' said Anthea, comfortably. 'Do you +know, sometimes I think we are the sort of people that things DO +happen to.' + +'It's like that in history,' said Jane: 'some kings are full of +interesting things, and others--nothing ever happens to them, +except their being born and crowned and buried, and sometimes not +that.' + +'I think Panther's right,' said Cyril: 'I think we are the sort of +people things do happen to. I have a sort of feeling things would +happen right enough if we could only give them a shove. It just +wants something to start it. That's all.' + +'I wish they taught magic at school,' Jane sighed. 'I believe if +we could do a little magic it might make something happen.' + +'I wonder how you begin?' Robert looked round the room, but he got +no ideas from the faded green curtains, or the drab Venetian +blinds, or the worn brown oil-cloth on the floor. Even the new +carpet suggested nothing, though its pattern was a very wonderful +one, and always seemed as though it were just going to make you +think of something. + +'I could begin right enough,' said Anthea; 'I've read lots about +it. But I believe it's wrong in the Bible.' + +'It's only wrong in the Bible because people wanted to hurt other +people. I don't see how things can be wrong unless they hurt +somebody, and we don't want to hurt anybody; and what's more, we +jolly well couldn't if we tried. Let's get the Ingoldsby Legends. +There's a thing about Abra-cadabra there,' said Cyril, yawning. +'We may as well play at magic. Let's be Knights Templars. They +were awfully gone on magic. They used to work spells or something +with a goat and a goose. Father says so.' + +'Well, that's all right,' said Robert, unkindly; 'you can play the +goat right enough, and Jane knows how to be a goose.' + +'I'll get Ingoldsby,' said Anthea, hastily. 'You turn up the +hearthrug.' + +So they traced strange figures on the linoleum, where the hearthrug +had kept it clean. They traced them with chalk that Robert had +nicked from the top of the mathematical master's desk at school. +You know, of course, that it is stealing to take a new stick of +chalk, but it is not wrong to take a broken piece, so long as you +only take one. (I do not know the reason of this rule, nor who +made it.) And they chanted all the gloomiest songs they could think +of. And, of course, nothing happened. So then Anthea said, 'I'm +sure a magic fire ought to be made of sweet-smelling wood, and have +magic gums and essences and things in it.' + +'I don't know any sweet-smelling wood, except cedar,' said Robert; +'but I've got some ends of cedar-wood lead pencil.' + +So they burned the ends of lead pencil. And still nothing +happened. + +'Let's burn some of the eucalyptus oil we have for our colds,' said +Anthea. + +And they did. It certainly smelt very strong. And they burned +lumps of camphor out of the big chest. It was very bright, and +made a horrid black smoke, which looked very magical. But still +nothing happened. Then they got some clean tea-cloths from the +dresser drawer in the kitchen, and waved them over the magic +chalk-tracings, and sang 'The Hymn of the Moravian Nuns at +Bethlehem', which is very impressive. And still nothing happened. +So they waved more and more wildly, and Robert's tea-cloth caught +the golden egg and whisked it off the mantelpiece, and it fell into +the fender and rolled under the grate. + +'Oh, crikey!' said more than one voice. + +And every one instantly fell down flat on its front to look under +the grate, and there lay the egg, glowing in a nest of hot ashes. + +'It's not smashed, anyhow,' said Robert, and he put his hand under +the grate and picked up the egg. But the egg was much hotter than +any one would have believed it could possibly get in such a short +time, and Robert had to drop it with a cry of 'Bother!' It fell on +the top bar of the grate, and bounced right into the glowing +red-hot heart of the fire. + +'The tongs!' cried Anthea. But, alas, no one could remember where +they were. Every one had forgotten that the tongs had last been +used to fish up the doll's teapot from the bottom of the water- +butt, where the Lamb had dropped it. So the nursery tongs were +resting between the water-butt and the dustbin, and cook refused to +lend the kitchen ones. + +'Never mind,' said Robert, 'we'll get it out with the poker and the +shovel.' + +'Oh, stop,' cried Anthea. 'Look at it! Look! look! look! I do +believe something IS going to happen!' + +For the egg was now red-hot, and inside it something was moving. +Next moment there was a soft cracking sound; the egg burst in two, +and out of it came a flame-coloured bird. It rested a moment among +the flames, and as it rested there the four children could see it +growing bigger and bigger under their eyes. + +Every mouth was a-gape, every eye a-goggle. + +The bird rose in its nest of fire, stretched its wings, and flew +out into the room. It flew round and round, and round again, and +where it passed the air was warm. Then it perched on the fender. +The children looked at each other. Then Cyril put out a hand +towards the bird. It put its head on one side and looked up at +him, as you may have seen a parrot do when it is just going to +speak, so that the children were hardly astonished at all when it +said, 'Be careful; I am not nearly cool yet.' + +They were not astonished, but they were very, very much interested. + +They looked at the bird, and it was certainly worth looking at. +Its feathers were like gold. It was about as large as a bantam, +only its beak was not at all bantam-shaped. 'I believe I know what +it is,' said Robert. 'I've seen a picture.' + +He hurried away. A hasty dash and scramble among the papers on +father's study table yielded, as the sum-books say, 'the desired +result'. But when he came back into the room holding out a paper, +and crying, 'I say, look here,' the others all said 'Hush!' and he +hushed obediently and instantly, for the bird was speaking. + +'Which of you,' it was saying, 'put the egg into the fire?' + +'He did,' said three voices, and three fingers pointed at Robert. + +The bird bowed; at least it was more like that than anything else. + +'I am your grateful debtor,' it said with a high-bred air. + +The children were all choking with wonder and curiosity--all except +Robert. He held the paper in his hand, and he KNEW. He said so. +He said-- + +'_I_ know who you are.' + +And he opened and displayed a printed paper, at the head of which +was a little picture of a bird sitting in a nest of flames. + +'You are the Phoenix,' said Robert; and the bird was quite pleased. + +'My fame has lived then for two thousand years,' it said. 'Allow +me to look at my portrait.' It looked at the page which Robert, +kneeling down, spread out in the fender, and said-- + +'It's not a flattering likeness ... And what are these +characters?' it asked, pointing to the printed part. + +'Oh, that's all dullish; it's not much about YOU, you know,' said +Cyril, with unconscious politeness; 'but you're in lots of books.' + +'With portraits?' asked the Phoenix. + +'Well, no,' said Cyril; 'in fact, I don't think I ever saw any +portrait of you but that one, but I can read you something about +yourself, if you like.' + +The Phoenix nodded, and Cyril went off and fetched Volume X of the +old Encyclopedia, and on page 246 he found the following:-- + +'Phoenix - in ornithology, a fabulous bird of antiquity.' + +'Antiquity is quite correct,' said the Phoenix, 'but +fabulous--well, do I look it?' + +Every one shook its head. Cyril went on-- + + +'The ancients speak of this bird as single, or the only one of its +kind.' + +'That's right enough,' said the Phoenix. + +'They describe it as about the size of an eagle.' + +'Eagles are of different sizes,' said the Phoenix; 'it's not at all +a good description.' + +All the children were kneeling on the hearthrug, to be as near the +Phoenix as possible. + +'You'll boil your brains,' it said. 'Look out, I'm nearly cool +now;' and with a whirr of golden wings it fluttered from the fender +to the table. It was so nearly cool that there was only a very +faint smell of burning when it had settled itself on the +table-cloth. + +'It's only a very little scorched,' said the Phoenix, +apologetically; 'it will come out in the wash. Please go on +reading.' + +The children gathered round the table. + +'The size of an eagle,' Cyril went on, 'its head finely crested +with a beautiful plumage, its neck covered with feathers of a gold +colour, and the rest of its body purple; only the tail white, and +the eyes sparkling like stars. They say that it lives about five +hundred years in the wilderness, and when advanced in age it builds +itself a pile of sweet wood and aromatic gums, fires it with the +wafting of its wings, and thus burns itself; and that from its +ashes arises a worm, which in time grows up to be a Phoenix. Hence +the Phoenicians gave--' + +'Never mind what they gave,' said the Phoenix, ruffling its golden +feathers. 'They never gave much, anyway; they always were people +who gave nothing for nothing. That book ought to be destroyed. +It's most inaccurate. The rest of my body was never purple, and as +for my--tail--well, I simply ask you, IS it white?' + +It turned round and gravely presented its golden tail to the +children. + +'No. it's not,' said everybody. + +'No, and it never was,' said the Phoenix. 'And that about the worm +is just a vulgar insult. The Phoenix has an egg, like all +respectable birds. It makes a pile--that part's all right--and it +lays its egg, and it burns itself; and it goes to sleep and wakes +up in its egg, and comes out and goes on living again, and so on +for ever and ever. I can't tell you how weary I got of it--such a +restless existence; no repose.' + +'But how did your egg get HERE?' asked Anthea. + +'Ah, that's my life-secret,' said the Phoenix. 'I couldn't tell it +to any one who wasn't really sympathetic. I've always been a +misunderstood bird. You can tell that by what they say about the +worm. I might tell YOU,' it went on, looking at Robert with eyes +that were indeed starry. 'You put me on the fire--' Robert looked +uncomfortable. + +'The rest of us made the fire of sweet-scented woods and gums, +though,' said Cyril. + +'And--and it was an accident my putting you on the fire,' said +Robert, telling the truth with some difficulty, for he did not know +how the Phoenix might take it. It took it in the most unexpected +manner. + +'Your candid avowal,' it said, 'removes my last scruple. I will +tell you my story.' + +'And you won't vanish, or anything sudden will you?, asked Anthea, +anxiously. + +'Why?' it asked, puffing out the golden feathers, 'do you wish me +to stay here?' + +'Oh YES,' said every one, with unmistakable sincerity. + +'Why?' asked the Phoenix again, looking modestly at the +table-cloth. + +'Because,' said every one at once, and then stopped short; only +Jane added after a pause, 'you are the most beautiful person we've +ever seen.' +'You are a sensible child,' said the Phoenix, 'and I will NOT +vanish or anything sudden. And I will tell you my tale. I had +resided, as your book says, for many thousand years in the +wilderness, which is a large, quiet place with very little really +good society, and I was becoming weary of the monotony of my +existence. But I acquired the habit of laying my egg and burning +myself every five hundred years--and you know how difficult it is +to break yourself of a habit.' + +'Yes,' said Cyril; 'Jane used to bite her nails.' + +'But I broke myself of it,' urged Jane, rather hurt, 'You know I +did.' + +'Not till they put bitter aloes on them,' said Cyril. + +'I doubt,' said the bird, gravely, 'whether even bitter aloes (the +aloe, by the way, has a bad habit of its own, which it might well +cure before seeking to cure others; I allude to its indolent +practice of flowering but once a century), I doubt whether even +bitter aloes could have cured ME. But I WAS cured. I awoke one +morning from a feverish dream--it was getting near the time for me +to lay that tiresome fire and lay that tedious egg upon it--and I +saw two people, a man and a woman. They were sitting on a +carpet--and when I accosted them civilly they narrated to me their +life-story, which, as you have not yet heard it, I will now proceed +to relate. They were a prince and princess, and the story of their +parents was one which I am sure you will like to hear. In early +youth the mother of the princess happened to hear the story of a +certain enchanter, and in that story I am sure you will be +interested. The enchanter--' + +'Oh, please don't,' said Anthea. 'I can't understand all these +beginnings of stories, and you seem to be getting deeper and deeper +in them every minute. Do tell us your OWN story. That's what we +really want to hear.' + +'Well,' said the Phoenix, seeming on the whole rather flattered, +'to cut about seventy long stories short (though _I_ had to listen to +them all--but to be sure in the wilderness there is plenty of +time), this prince and princess were so fond of each other that +they did not want any one else, and the enchanter--don't be +alarmed, I won't go into his history--had given them a magic carpet +(you've heard of a magic carpet?), and they had just sat on it and +told it to take them right away from every one--and it had brought +them to the wilderness. And as they meant to stay there they had +no further use for the carpet, so they gave it to me. That was +indeed the chance of a lifetime!' + +'I don't see what you wanted with a carpet,' said Jane, 'when +you've got those lovely wings.' + +'They ARE nice wings, aren't they?' said the Phoenix, simpering and +spreading them out. 'Well, I got the prince to lay out the carpet, +and I laid my egg on it; then I said to the carpet, "Now, my +excellent carpet, prove your worth. Take that egg somewhere where +it can't be hatched for two thousand years, and where, when that +time's up, some one will light a fire of sweet wood and aromatic +gums, and put the egg in to hatch;" and you see it's all come out +exactly as I said. The words were no sooner out of my beak than +egg and carpet disappeared. The royal lovers assisted to arrange +my pile, and soothed my last moments. I burnt myself up and knew +no more till I awoke on yonder altar.' + +It pointed its claw at the grate. + +'But the carpet,' said Robert, 'the magic carpet that takes you +anywhere you wish. What became of that?' + +'Oh, THAT?' said the Phoenix, carelessly--'I should say that that +is the carpet. I remember the pattern perfectly.' + +It pointed as it spoke to the floor, where lay the carpet which +mother had bought in the Kentish Town Road for twenty-two shillings +and ninepence. + +At that instant father's latch-key was heard in the door. + +'OH,' whispered Cyril, 'now we shall catch it for not being in +bed!' + +'Wish yourself there,' said the Phoenix, in a hurried whisper, 'and +then wish the carpet back in its place.' + +No sooner said than done. It made one a little giddy, certainly, +and a little breathless; but when things seemed right way up again, +there the children were, in bed, and the lights were out. + +They heard the soft voice of the Phoenix through the darkness. + +'I shall sleep on the cornice above your curtains,' it said. +'Please don't mention me to your kinsfolk.' + +'Not much good,' said Robert, 'they'd never believe us. I say,' he +called through the half-open door to the girls; 'talk about +adventures and things happening. We ought to be able to get some +fun out of a magic carpet AND a Phoenix.' + +'Rather,' said the girls, in bed. + +'Children,' said father, on the stairs, 'go to sleep at once. What +do you mean by talking at this time of night?' + +No answer was expected to this question, but under the bedclothes +Cyril murmured one. + +'Mean?' he said. 'Don't know what we mean. I don't know what +anything means.' + +'But we've got a magic carpet AND a Phoenix,' said Robert. + +'You'll get something else if father comes in and catches you,' +said Cyril. 'Shut up, I tell you.' + +Robert shut up. But he knew as well as you do that the adventures +of that carpet and that Phoenix were only just beginning. + +Father and mother had not the least idea of what had happened in +their absence. This is often the case, even when there are no +magic carpets or Phoenixes in the house. + +The next morning--but I am sure you would rather wait till the next +chapter before you hear about THAT. + + + +CHAPTER 2 +THE TOPLESS TOWER + + +The children had seen the Phoenix-egg hatched in the flames in +their own nursery grate, and had heard from it how the carpet on +their own nursery floor was really the wishing carpet, which would +take them anywhere they chose. The carpet had transported them to +bed just at the right moment, and the Phoenix had gone to roost on +the cornice supporting the window-curtains of the boys' room. + +'Excuse me,' said a gentle voice, and a courteous beak opened, very +kindly and delicately, the right eye of Cyril. 'I hear the slaves +below preparing food. Awaken! A word of explanation and +arrangement ... I do wish you wouldn't--' + +The Phoenix stopped speaking and fluttered away crossly to the +cornice-pole; for Cyril had hit out, as boys do when they are +awakened suddenly, and the Phoenix was not used to boys, and his +feelings, if not his wings, were hurt. + +'Sorry,' said Cyril, coming awake all in a minute. 'Do come back! +What was it you were saying? Something about bacon and rations?' + +The Phoenix fluttered back to the brass rail at the foot of the +bed. + +'I say--you ARE real,' said Cyril. 'How ripping! And the carpet?' + +'The carpet is as real as it ever was,' said the Phoenix, rather +contemptuously; 'but, of course, a carpet's only a carpet, whereas +a Phoenix is superlatively a Phoenix.' + +'Yes, indeed,' said Cyril, 'I see it is. Oh, what luck! Wake up, +Bobs! There's jolly well something to wake up for today. And it's +Saturday, too.' + +'I've been reflecting,' said the Phoenix, 'during the silent +watches of the night, and I could not avoid the conclusion that you +were quite insufficiently astonished at my appearance yesterday. +The ancients were always VERY surprised. Did you, by chance, +EXPECT my egg to hatch?' + +'Not us,' Cyril said. + +'And if we had,' said Anthea, who had come in in her nightie when +she heard the silvery voice of the Phoenix, 'we could never, never +have expected it to hatch anything so splendid as you.' + +The bird smiled. Perhaps you've never seen a bird smile? + +'You see,' said Anthea, wrapping herself in the boys' counterpane, +for the morning was chill, 'we've had things happen to us before;' +and she told the story of the Psammead, or sand-fairy. + +'Ah yes,' said the Phoenix; 'Psammeads were rare, even in my time. +I remember I used to be called the Psammead of the Desert. I was +always having compliments paid me; I can't think why.' + +'Can YOU give wishes, then?' asked Jane, who had now come in too. + +'Oh, dear me, no,' said the Phoenix, contemptuously, 'at least--but +I hear footsteps approaching. I hasten to conceal myself.' And it +did. + +I think I said that this day was Saturday. It was also cook's +birthday, and mother had allowed her and Eliza to go to the Crystal +Palace with a party of friends, so Jane and Anthea of course had to +help to make beds and to wash up the breakfast cups, and little +things like that. Robert and Cyril intended to spend the morning +in conversation with the Phoenix, but the bird had its own ideas +about this. + +'I must have an hour or two's quiet,' it said, 'I really must. My +nerves will give way unless I can get a little rest. You must +remember it's two thousand years since I had any conversation--I'm +out of practice, and I must take care of myself. I've often been +told that mine is a valuable life.' So it nestled down inside an +old hatbox of father's, which had been brought down from the +box-room some days before, when a helmet was suddenly needed for a +game of tournaments, with its golden head under its golden wing, +and went to sleep. So then Robert and Cyril moved the table back +and were going to sit on the carpet and wish themselves somewhere +else. But before they could decide on the place, Cyril said-- + +'I don't know. Perhaps it's rather sneakish to begin without the +girls.' + +'They'll be all the morning,' said Robert, impatiently. And then +a thing inside him, which tiresome books sometimes call the 'inward +monitor', said, 'Why don't you help them, then?' + +Cyril's 'inward monitor' happened to say the same thing at the same +moment, so the boys went and helped to wash up the tea-cups, and to +dust the drawing-room. Robert was so interested that he proposed +to clean the front doorsteps--a thing he had never been allowed to +do. Nor was he allowed to do it on this occasion. One reason was +that it had already been done by cook. + +When all the housework was finished, the girls dressed the happy, +wriggling baby in his blue highwayman coat and three-cornered hat, +and kept him amused while mother changed her dress and got ready to +take him over to granny's. Mother always went to granny's every +Saturday, and generally some of the children went with her; but +today they were to keep house. And their hearts were full of +joyous and delightful feelings every time they remembered that the +house they would have to keep had a Phoenix in it, AND a wishing +carpet. + +You can always keep the Lamb good and happy for quite a long time +if you play the Noah's Ark game with him. It is quite simple. He +just sits on your lap and tells you what animal he is, and then you +say the little poetry piece about whatever animal he chooses to be. + +Of course, some of the animals, like the zebra and the tiger, +haven't got any poetry, because they are so difficult to rhyme to. +The Lamb knows quite well which are the poetry animals. + +'I'm a baby bear!' said the Lamb, snugging down; and Anthea began: + + + 'I love my little baby bear, + I love his nose and toes and hair; + I like to hold him in my arm, + And keep him VERY safe and warm.' + + +And when she said 'very', of course there was a real bear's hug. + +Then came the eel, and the Lamb was tickled till he wriggled +exactly like a real one: + + + 'I love my little baby eel, + He is so squidglety to feel; + He'll be an eel when he is big-- + But now he's just--a--tiny SNIG!' + + +Perhaps you didn't know that a snig was a baby eel? It is, though, +and the Lamb knew it. + +'Hedgehog now-!' he said; and Anthea went on: + + + 'My baby hedgehog, how I like ye, + Though your back's so prickly-spiky; + Your front is very soft, I've found, + So I must love you front ways round!' + + +And then she loved him front ways round, while he squealed with +pleasure. + +It is a very baby game, and, of course, the rhymes are only meant +for very, very small people--not for people who are old enough to +read books, so I won't tell you any more of them. + +By the time the Lamb had been a baby lion and a baby weazel, and a +baby rabbit and a baby rat, mother was ready; and she and the Lamb, +having been kissed by everybody and hugged as thoroughly as it is +possible to be when you're dressed for out-of-doors, were seen to +the tram by the boys. When the boys came back, every one looked at +every one else and said-- + +'Now!' + +They locked the front door and they locked the back door, and they +fastened all the windows. They moved the table and chairs off the +carpet, and Anthea swept it. + +'We must show it a LITTLE attention,' she said kindly. 'We'll give +it tea-leaves next time. Carpets like tea-leaves.' + +Then every one put on its out-door things, because as Cyril said, +they didn't know where they might be going, and it makes people +stare if you go out of doors in November in pinafores and without +hats. + +Then Robert gently awoke the Phoenix, who yawned and stretched +itself, and allowed Robert to lift it on to the middle of the +carpet, where it instantly went to sleep again with its crested +head tucked under its golden wing as before. Then every one sat +down on the carpet. + +'Where shall we go?' was of course the question, and it was warmly +discussed. Anthea wanted to go to Japan. Robert and Cyril voted +for America, and Jane wished to go to the seaside. + +'Because there are donkeys there,' said she. + +'Not in November, silly,' said Cyril; and the discussion got warmer +and warmer, and still nothing was settled. + +'I vote we let the Phoenix decide,' said Robert, at last. So they +stroked it till it woke. 'We want to go somewhere abroad,' they +said, 'and we can't make up our minds where.' + +'Let the carpet make up ITS mind, if it has one,' said the Phoenix. + +'Just say you wish to go abroad.' + +So they did; and the next moment the world seemed to spin upside +down, and when it was right way up again and they were ungiddy +enough to look about them, they were out of doors. + +Out of doors--this is a feeble way to express where they were. +They were out of--out of the earth, or off it. In fact, they were +floating steadily, safely, splendidly, in the crisp clear air, with +the pale bright blue of the sky above them, and far down below the +pale bright sun-diamonded waves of the sea. The carpet had +stiffened itself somehow, so that it was square and firm like a +raft, and it steered itself so beautifully and kept on its way so +flat and fearless that no one was at all afraid of tumbling off. +In front of them lay land. + +'The coast of France,' said the Phoenix, waking up and pointing +with its wing. 'Where do you wish to go? I should always keep one +wish, of course--for emergencies--otherwise you may get into an +emergency from which you can't emerge at all.' + +But the children were far too deeply interested to listen. + +'I tell you what,' said Cyril: 'let's let the thing go on and on, +and when we see a place we really want to stop at--why, we'll just +stop. Isn't this ripping?' + +'It's like trains,' said Anthea, as they swept over the low-lying +coast-line and held a steady course above orderly fields and +straight roads bordered with poplar trees--'like express trains, +only in trains you never can see anything because of grown-ups +wanting the windows shut; and then they breathe on them, and it's +like ground glass, and nobody can see anything, and then they go to +sleep.' + +'It's like tobogganing,' said Robert, 'so fast and smooth, only +there's no door-mat to stop short on--it goes on and on.' + +'You darling Phoenix,' said Jane, 'it's all your doing. Oh, look +at that ducky little church and the women with flappy cappy things +on their heads.' + +'Don't mention it,' said the Phoenix, with sleepy politeness. + +'OH!' said Cyril, summing up all the rapture that was in every +heart. 'Look at it all--look at it--and think of the Kentish Town +Road!' + +Every one looked and every one thought. And the glorious, gliding, +smooth, steady rush went on, and they looked down on strange and +beautiful things, and held their breath and let it go in deep +sighs, and said 'Oh!' and 'Ah!' till it was long past dinner-time. + +It was Jane who suddenly said, 'I wish we'd brought that jam tart +and cold mutton with us. It would have been jolly to have a picnic +in the air.' + +The jam tart and cold mutton were, however, far away, sitting +quietly in the larder of the house in Camden Town which the +children were supposed to be keeping. A mouse was at that moment +tasting the outside of the raspberry jam part of the tart (she had +nibbled a sort of gulf, or bay, through the pastry edge) to see +whether it was the sort of dinner she could ask her little +mouse-husband to sit down to. She had had a very good dinner +herself. It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good. + +'We'll stop as soon as we see a nice place,' said Anthea. 'I've +got threepence, and you boys have the fourpence each that your +trams didn't cost the other day, so we can buy things to eat. I +expect the Phoenix can speak French.' + +The carpet was sailing along over rocks and rivers and trees and +towns and farms and fields. It reminded everybody of a certain +time when all of them had had wings, and had flown up to the top of +a church tower, and had had a feast there of chicken and tongue and +new bread and soda-water. And this again reminded them how hungry +they were. And just as they were all being reminded of this very +strongly indeed, they saw ahead of them some ruined walls on a +hill, and strong and upright, and really, to look at, as good as +new--a great square tower. + +'The top of that's just the exactly same size as the carpet,' said +Jane. '_I_ think it would be good to go to the top of that, because +then none of the Abby-what's-its-names--I mean natives--would be +able to take the carpet away even if they wanted to. And some of +us could go out and get things to eat--buy them honestly, I mean, +not take them out of larder windows.' + +'I think it would be better if we went--' Anthea was beginning; but +Jane suddenly clenched her hands. + +'I don't see why I should never do anything I want, just because +I'm the youngest. I wish the carpet would fit itself in at the top +of that tower--so there!' + +The carpet made a disconcerting bound, and next moment it was +hovering above the square top of the tower. Then slowly and +carefully it began to sink under them. It was like a lift going +down with you at the Army and Navy Stores. + +'I don't think we ought to wish things without all agreeing to them +first,' said Robert, huffishly. 'Hullo! What on earth?' + +For unexpectedly and greyly something was coming up all round the +four sides of the carpet. It was as if a wall were being built by +magic quickness. It was a foot high--it was two feet high--three, +four, five. It was shutting out the light--more and more. + +Anthea looked up at the sky and the walls that now rose six feet +above them. + +'We're dropping into the tower,' she screamed. 'THERE WASN'T ANY TOP +TO IT. So the carpet's going to fit itself in at the bottom.' + +Robert sprang to his feet. + +'We ought to have--Hullo! an owl's nest.' He put his knee on a +jutting smooth piece of grey stone, and reached his hand into a +deep window slit--broad to the inside of the tower, and narrowing +like a funnel to the outside. + +'Look sharp!' cried every one, but Robert did not look sharp +enough. By the time he had drawn his hand out of the owl's +nest--there were no eggs there--the carpet had sunk eight feet +below him. + +'Jump, you silly cuckoo!' cried Cyril, with brotherly anxiety. + +But Robert couldn't turn round all in a minute into a jumping +position. He wriggled and twisted and got on to the broad ledge, +and by the time he was ready to jump the walls of the tower had +risen up thirty feet above the others, who were still sinking with +the carpet, and Robert found himself in the embrasure of a window; +alone, for even the owls were not at home that day. The wall was +smoothish; there was no climbing up, and as for climbing +down--Robert hid his face in his hands, and squirmed back and back +from the giddy verge, until the back part of him was wedged quite +tight in the narrowest part of the window slit. + +He was safe now, of course, but the outside part of his window was +like a frame to a picture of part of the other side of the tower. +It was very pretty, with moss growing between the stones and little +shiny gems; but between him and it there was the width of the +tower, and nothing in it but empty air. The situation was +terrible. Robert saw in a flash that the carpet was likely to +bring them into just the same sort of tight places that they used +to get into with the wishes the Psammead granted them. + +And the others--imagine their feelings as the carpet sank slowly +and steadily to the very bottom of the tower, leaving Robert +clinging to the wall. Robert did not even try to imagine their +feelings--he had quite enough to do with his own; but you can. + +As soon as the carpet came to a stop on the ground at the bottom of +the inside of the tower it suddenly lost that raft-like stiffness +which had been such a comfort during the journey from Camden Town +to the topless tower, and spread itself limply over the loose +stones and little earthy mounds at the bottom of the tower, just +exactly like any ordinary carpet. Also it shrank suddenly, so that +it seemed to draw away from under their feet, and they stepped +quickly off the edges and stood on the firm ground, while the +carpet drew itself in till it was its proper size, and no longer +fitted exactly into the inside of the tower, but left quite a big +space all round it. + +Then across the carpet they looked at each other, and then every +chin was tilted up and every eye sought vainly to see where poor +Robert had got to. Of course, they couldn't see him. + +'I wish we hadn't come,' said Jane. + +'You always do,' said Cyril, briefly. 'Look here, we can't leave +Robert up there. I wish the carpet would fetch him down.' + +The carpet seemed to awake from a dream and pull itself together. +It stiffened itself briskly and floated up between the four walls +of the tower. The children below craned their heads back, and +nearly broke their necks in doing it. The carpet rose and rose. +It hung poised darkly above them for an anxious moment or two; then +it dropped down again, threw itself on the uneven floor of the +tower, and as it did so it tumbled Robert out on the uneven floor +of the tower. + +'Oh, glory!' said Robert, 'that was a squeak. You don't know how +I felt. I say, I've had about enough for a bit. Let's wish +ourselves at home again and have a go at that jam tart and mutton. +We can go out again afterwards.' + +'Righto!' said every one, for the adventure had shaken the nerves +of all. So they all got on to the carpet again, and said-- + +'I wish we were at home.' + +And lo and behold, they were no more at home than before. The +carpet never moved. The Phoenix had taken the opportunity to go to +sleep. Anthea woke it up gently. + +'Look here,' she said. + +'I'm looking,' said the Phoenix. + +'We WISHED to be at home, and we're still here,' complained Jane. + +'No,' said the Phoenix, looking about it at the high dark walls of +the tower. 'No; I quite see that.' + +'But we wished to be at home,' said Cyril. + +'No doubt,' said the bird, politely. + +'And the carpet hasn't moved an inch,' said Robert. + +'No,' said the Phoenix, 'I see it hasn't.' + +'But I thought it was a wishing carpet?' + +'So it is,' said the Phoenix. + +'Then why--?' asked the children, altogether. + +'I did tell you, you know,' said the Phoenix, 'only you are so fond +of listening to the music of your own voices. It is, indeed, the +most lovely music to each of us, and therefore--' + +'You did tell us WHAT?' interrupted an Exasperated. + +'Why, that the carpet only gives you three wishes a day and YOU'VE +HAD THEM.' + +There was a heartfelt silence. + +'Then how are we going to get home?' said Cyril, at last. + +'I haven't any idea,' replied the Phoenix, kindly. 'Can I fly out +and get you any little thing?' + +'How could you carry the money to pay for it?' + +'It isn't necessary. Birds always take what they want. It is not +regarded as stealing, except in the case of magpies.' + +The children were glad to find they had been right in supposing +this to be the case, on the day when they had wings, and had +enjoyed somebody else's ripe plums. + +'Yes; let the Phoenix get us something to eat, anyway,' Robert +urged--' ('If it will be so kind you mean,' corrected Anthea, in a +whisper); 'if it will be so kind, and we can be thinking while it's +gone.' + +So the Phoenix fluttered up through the grey space of the tower and +vanished at the top, and it was not till it had quite gone that +Jane said-- + +'Suppose it never comes back.' + +It was not a pleasant thought, and though Anthea at once said, 'Of +course it will come back; I'm certain it's a bird of its word,' a +further gloom was cast by the idea. For, curiously enough, there +was no door to the tower, and all the windows were far, far too +high to be reached by the most adventurous climber. It was cold, +too, and Anthea shivered. + +'Yes,' said Cyril, 'it's like being at the bottom of a well.' + +The children waited in a sad and hungry silence, and got little +stiff necks with holding their little heads back to look up the +inside of the tall grey tower, to see if the Phoenix were coming. + +At last it came. It looked very big as it fluttered down between +the walls, and as it neared them the children saw that its bigness +was caused by a basket of boiled chestnuts which it carried in one +claw. In the other it held a piece of bread. And in its beak was +a very large pear. The pear was juicy, and as good as a very small +drink. When the meal was over every one felt better, and the +question of how to get home was discussed without any +disagreeableness. But no one could think of any way out of the +difficulty, or even out of the tower; for the Phoenix, though its +beak and claws had fortunately been strong enough to carry food for +them, was plainly not equal to flying through the air with four +well-nourished children. + +'We must stay here, I suppose,' said Robert at last, 'and shout out +every now and then, and some one will hear us and bring ropes and +ladders, and rescue us like out of mines; and they'll get up a +subscription to send us home, like castaways.' + +'Yes; but we shan't be home before mother is, and then father'll +take away the carpet and say it's dangerous or something,' said +Cyril. + +'I DO wish we hadn't come,' said Jane. + +And every one else said 'Shut up,' except Anthea, who suddenly +awoke the Phoenix and said-- + +'Look here, I believe YOU can help us. Oh, I do wish you would!' + +'I will help you as far as lies in my power,' said the Phoenix, at +once. 'What is it you want now?' + +'Why, we want to get home,' said every one. + +'Oh,' said the Phoenix. 'Ah, hum! Yes. Home, you said? +Meaning?' + +'Where we live--where we slept last night--where the altar is that +your egg was hatched on.' + +'Oh, there!' said the Phoenix. 'Well, I'll do my best.' It +fluttered on to the carpet and walked up and down for a few minutes +in deep thought. Then it drew itself up proudly. + +'I CAN help you,' it said. 'I am almost sure I can help you. +Unless I am grossly deceived I can help you. You won't mind my +leaving you for an hour or two?' and without waiting for a reply it +soared up through the dimness of the tower into the brightness +above. + +'Now,' said Cyril, firmly, 'it said an hour or two. But I've read +about captives and people shut up in dungeons and catacombs and +things awaiting release, and I know each moment is an eternity. +Those people always do something to pass the desperate moments. +It's no use our trying to tame spiders, because we shan't have +time.' + +'I HOPE not,' said Jane, doubtfully. + +'But we ought to scratch our names on the stones or something.' + +'I say, talking of stones,' said Robert, 'you see that heap of +stones against the wall over in that corner. Well, I'm certain +there's a hole in the wall there--and I believe it's a door. Yes, +look here--the stones are round like an arch in the wall; and +here's the hole--it's all black inside.' + +He had walked over to the heap as he spoke and climbed up to +it--dislodged the top stone of the heap and uncovered a little dark +space. + +Next moment every one was helping to pull down the heap of stones, +and very soon every one threw off its jacket, for it was warm work. + +'It IS a door,' said Cyril, wiping his face, 'and not a bad thing +either, if--' + +He was going to add 'if anything happens to the Phoenix,' but he +didn't for fear of frightening Jane. He was not an unkind boy when +he had leisure to think of such things. + +The arched hole in the wall grew larger and larger. It was very, +very black, even compared with the sort of twilight at the bottom +of the tower; it grew larger because the children kept pulling off +the stones and throwing them down into another heap. The stones +must have been there a very long time, for they were covered with +moss, and some of them were stuck together by it. So it was fairly +hard work, as Robert pointed out. + +When the hole reached to about halfway between the top of the arch +and the tower, Robert and Cyril let themselves down cautiously on +the inside, and lit matches. How thankful they felt then that they +had a sensible father, who did not forbid them to carry matches, as +some boys' fathers do. The father of Robert and Cyril only +insisted on the matches being of the kind that strike only on the +box. + +'It's not a door, it's a sort of tunnel,' Robert cried to the +girls, after the first match had flared up, flickered, and gone +out. 'Stand off--we'll push some more stones down!' + +They did, amid deep excitement. And now the stone heap was almost +gone--and before them the girls saw the dark archway leading to +unknown things. All doubts and fears as to getting home were +forgotten in this thrilling moment. It was like Monte Cristo--it +was like-- + +'I say,' cried Anthea, suddenly, 'come out! There's always bad air +in places that have been shut up. It makes your torches go out, +and then you die. It's called fire-damp, I believe. Come out, I +tell you.' + +The urgency of her tone actually brought the boys out--and then +every one took up its jacket and fanned the dark arch with it, so +as to make the air fresh inside. When Anthea thought the air +inside 'must be freshened by now,' Cyril led the way into the arch. + +The girls followed, and Robert came last, because Jane refused to +tail the procession lest 'something' should come in after her, and +catch at her from behind. Cyril advanced cautiously, lighting +match after match, and peerIng before him. + +'It's a vaulting roof,' he said, 'and it's all stone--all right, +Panther, don't keep pulling at my jacket! The air must be all +right because of the matches, silly, and there are--look out--there +are steps down.' + +'Oh, don't let's go any farther,' said Jane, in an agony of +reluctance (a very painful thing, by the way, to be in). 'I'm sure +there are snakes, or dens of lions, or something. Do let's go +back, and come some other time, with candles, and bellows for the +fire-damp.' + +'Let me get in front of you, then,' said the stern voice of Robert, +from behind. 'This is exactly the place for buried treasure, and +I'm going on, anyway; you can stay behind if you like.' + +And then, of course, Jane consented to go on. + +So, very slowly and carefully, the children went down the +steps--there were seventeen of them--and at the bottom of the steps +were more passages branching four ways, and a sort of low arch on +the right-hand side made Cyril wonder what it could be, for it was +too low to be the beginning of another passage. + +So he knelt down and lit a match, and stooping very low he peeped +in. + +'There's SOMETHING,' he said, and reached out his hand. It touched +something that felt more like a damp bag of marbles than anything +else that Cyril had ever touched. + +'I believe it IS a buried treasure,' he cried. + +And it was; for even as Anthea cried, 'Oh, hurry up, +Squirrel--fetch it out!' Cyril pulled out a rotting canvas +bag--about as big as the paper ones the greengrocer gives you with +Barcelona nuts in for sixpence. + +'There's more of it, a lot more,' he said. + +As he pulled the rotten bag gave way, and the gold coins ran and +span and jumped and bumped and chinked and clinked on the floor of +the dark passage. + +I wonder what you would say if you suddenly came upon a buried +treasure? What Cyril said was, 'Oh, bother--I've burnt my +fingers!' and as he spoke he dropped the match. 'AND IT WAS THE LAST!' +he added. + +There was a moment of desperate silence. Then Jane began to cry. + +'Don't,' said Anthea, 'don't, Pussy--you'll exhaust the air if you +cry. We can get out all right.' + +'Yes,' said Jane, through her sobs, 'and find the Phoenix has come +back and gone away again--because it thought we'd gone home some +other way, and--Oh, I WISH we hadn't come.' + +Every one stood quite still--only Anthea cuddled Jane up to her and +tried to wipe her eyes in the dark. + +'D-DON'T,' said Jane; 'that's my EAR--I'm not crying with my ears.' + +'Come, let's get on out,' said Robert; but that was not so easy, +for no one could remember exactly which way they had come. It is +very difficult to remember things in the dark, unless you have +matches with you, and then of course it is quite different, even if +you don't strike one. + +Every one had come to agree with Jane's constant wish--and despair +was making the darkness blacker than ever, when quite suddenly the +floor seemed to tip up--and a strong sensation of being in a +whirling lift came upon every one. All eyes were closed--one's +eyes always are in the dark, don't you think? When the whirling +feeling stopped, Cyril said 'Earthquakes!' and they all opened +their eyes. + +They were in their own dingy breakfast-room at home, and oh, how +light and bright and safe and pleasant and altogether delightful it +seemed after that dark underground tunnel! The carpet lay on the +floor, looking as calm as though it had never been for an excursion +in its life. On the mantelpiece stood the Phoenix, waiting with an +air of modest yet sterling worth for the thanks of the children. + +'But how DID you do it?' they asked, when every one had thanked the +Phoenix again and again. + +'Oh, I just went and got a wish from your friend the Psammead.' + +'But how DID you know where to find it?' + +'I found that out from the carpet; these wishing creatures always +know all about each other--they're so clannish; like the Scots, you +know--all related.' + +'But, the carpet can't talk, can it?' + +'No.' + +'Then how--' + +'How did I get the Psammead's address? I tell you I got it from +the carpet.' + +'DID it speak then?' + +'No,' said the Phoenix, thoughtfully, 'it didn't speak, but I +gathered my information from something in its manner. I was always +a singularly observant bird.' + +it was not till after the cold mutton and the jam tart, as well as +the tea and bread-and-butter, that any one found time to regret the +golden treasure which had been left scattered on the floor of the +underground passage, and which, indeed, no one had thought of till +now, since the moment when Cyril burnt his fingers at the flame of +the last match. + +'What owls and goats we were!' said Robert. 'Look how we've always +wanted treasure--and now--' + +'Never mind,' said Anthea, trying as usual to make the best of it. +'We'll go back again and get it all, and then we'll give everybody +presents.' + +More than a quarter of an hour passed most agreeably in arranging +what presents should be given to whom, and, when the claims of +generosity had been satisfied, the talk ran for fifty minutes on +what they would buy for themselves. + +It was Cyril who broke in on Robert's almost too technical account +of the motor-car on which he meant to go to and from school-- + +'There!' he said. 'Dry up. It's no good. We can't ever go back. +We don't know where it is.' + +'Don't YOU know?' Jane asked the Phoenix, wistfully. + +'Not in the least,' the Phoenix replied, in a tone of amiable +regret. + +'Then we've lost the treasure,' said Cyril. And they had. + +'But we've got the carpet and the Phoenix,' said Anthea. + +'Excuse me,' said the bird, with an air of wounded dignity, 'I do +SO HATE to seem to interfere, but surely you MUST mean the Phoenix +and the carpet?' + + + +CHAPTER 3 +THE QUEEN COOK + + +It was on a Saturday that the children made their first glorious +journey on the wishing carpet. Unless you are too young to read at +all, you will know that the next day must have been Sunday. + +Sunday at 18, Camden Terrace, Camden Town, was always a very pretty +day. Father always brought home flowers on Saturday, so that the +breakfast-table was extra beautiful. In November, of course, the +flowers were chrysanthemums, yellow and coppery coloured. Then +there were always sausages on toast for breakfast, and these are +rapture, after six days of Kentish Town Road eggs at fourteen a +shilling. + +On this particular Sunday there were fowls for dinner, a kind of +food that is generally kept for birthdays and grand occasions, and +there was an angel pudding, when rice and milk and oranges and +white icing do their best to make you happy. + +After dinner father was very sleepy indeed, because he had been +working hard all the week; but he did not yield to the voice that +said, 'Go and have an hour's rest.' He nursed the Lamb, who had a +horrid cough that cook said was whooping-cough as sure as eggs, and +he said-- + +'Come along, kiddies; I've got a ripping book from the library, +called The Golden Age, and I'll read it to you.' + +Mother settled herself on the drawing-room sofa, and said she could +listen quite nicely with her eyes shut. The Lamb snugged into the +'armchair corner' of daddy's arm, and the others got into a happy +heap on the hearth-rug. At first, of course, there were too many +feet and knees and shoulders and elbows, but real comfort was +actually settling down on them, and the Phoenix and the carpet were +put away on the back top shelf of their minds (beautiful things +that could be taken out and played with later), when a surly solid +knock came at the drawing-room door. It opened an angry inch, and +the cook's voice said, 'Please, m', may I speak to you a moment?' + +Mother looked at father with a desperate expression. Then she put +her pretty sparkly Sunday shoes down from the sofa, and stood up in +them and sighed. + +'As good fish in the sea,' said father, cheerfully, and it was not +till much later that the children understood what he meant. + +Mother went out into the passage, which is called 'the hall', where +the umbrella-stand is, and the picture of the 'Monarch of the Glen' +in a yellow shining frame, with brown spots on the Monarch from the +damp in the house before last, and there was cook, very red and +damp in the face, and with a clean apron tied on all crooked over +the dirty one that she had dished up those dear delightful chickens +in. She stood there and she seemed to get redder and damper, and +she twisted the corner of her apron round her fingers, and she said +very shortly and fiercely-- + +'If you please ma'am, I should wish to leave at my day month.' +Mother leaned against the hatstand. The children could see her +looking pale through the crack of the door, because she had been +very kind to the cook, and had given her a holiday only the day +before, and it seemed so very unkind of the cook to want to go like +this, and on a Sunday too. + +'Why, what's the matter?' mother said. + +'It's them children,' the cook replied, and somehow the children +all felt that they had known it from the first. They did not +remember having done anything extra wrong, but it is so frightfully +easy to displease a cook. 'It's them children: there's that there +new carpet in their room, covered thick with mud, both sides, +beastly yellow mud, and sakes alive knows where they got it. And +all that muck to clean up on a Sunday! It's not my place, and it's +not my intentions, so I don't deceive you, ma'am, and but for them +limbs, which they is if ever there was, it's not a bad place, +though I says it, and I wouldn't wish to leave, but--' + +'I'm very sorry,' said mother, gently. 'I will speak to the +children. And you had better think it over, and if you REALLY wish +to go, tell me to-morrow.' + +Next day mother had a quiet talk with cook, and cook said she +didn't mind if she stayed on a bit, just to see. + +But meantime the question of the muddy carpet had been gone into +thoroughly by father and mother. Jane's candid explanation that +the mud had come from the bottom of a foreign tower where there was +buried treasure was received with such chilling disbelief that the +others limited their defence to an expression of sorrow, and of a +determination 'not to do it again'. But father said (and mother +agreed with him, because mothers have to agree with fathers, and +not because it was her own idea) that children who coated a carpet +on both sides with thick mud, and when they were asked for an +explanation could only talk silly nonsense--that meant Jane's +truthful statement--were not fit to have a carpet at all, and, +indeed, SHOULDN'T have one for a week! + +So the carpet was brushed (with tea-leaves, too) which was the only +comfort Anthea could think of) and folded up and put away in the +cupboard at the top of the stairs, and daddy put the key in his +trousers pocket. 'Till Saturday,' said he. + +'Never mind,' said Anthea, 'we've got the Phoenix.' + +But, as it happened, they hadn't. The Phoenix was nowhere to be +found, and everything had suddenly settled down from the rosy wild +beauty of magic happenings to the common damp brownness of ordinary +November life in Camden Town--and there was the nursery floor all +bare boards in the middle and brown oilcloth round the outside, and +the bareness and yellowness of the middle floor showed up the +blackbeetles with terrible distinctness, when the poor things came +out in the evening, as usual, to try to make friends with the +children. But the children never would. + +The Sunday ended in gloom, which even junket for supper in the blue +Dresden bowl could hardly lighten at all. Next day the Lamb's +cough was worse. It certainly seemed very whoopy, and the doctor +came in his brougham carriage. + +Every one tried to bear up under the weight of the sorrow which it +was to know that the wishing carpet was locked up and the Phoenix +mislaid. A good deal of time was spent in looking for the Phoenix. + +'It's a bird of its word,' said Anthea. 'I'm sure it's not +deserted us. But you know it had a most awfully long fly from +wherever it was to near Rochester and back, and I expect the poor +thing's feeling tired out and wants rest. I am sure we may trust +it.' + +The others tried to feel sure of this, too, but it was hard. + +No one could be expected to feel very kindly towards the cook, +since it was entirely through her making such a fuss about a little +foreign mud that the carpet had been taken away. + +'She might have told us,' said Jane, 'and Panther and I would have +cleaned it with tea-leaves.' + +'She's a cantankerous cat,' said Robert. + +'I shan't say what I think about her,' said Anthea, primly, +'because it would be evil speaking, lying, and slandering.' + +'It's not lying to say she's a disagreeable pig, and a beastly +blue-nosed Bozwoz,' said Cyril, who had read The Eyes of Light, and +intended to talk like Tony as soon as he could teach Robert to talk +like Paul. + +And all the children, even Anthea, agreed that even if she wasn't +a blue-nosed Bozwoz, they wished cook had never been born. + +But I ask you to believe that they didn't do all the things on +purpose which so annoyed the cook during the following week, though +I daresay the things would not have happened if the cook had been +a favourite. This is a mystery. Explain it if you can. The +things that had happened were as follows: + +Sunday.--Discovery of foreign mud on both sides of the carpet. + +Monday.--Liquorice put on to boil with aniseed balls in a saucepan. +Anthea did this, because she thought it would be good for the +Lamb's cough. The whole thing forgotten, and bottom of saucepan +burned out. It was the little saucepan lined with white that was +kept for the baby's milk. + +Tuesday.--A dead mouse found in pantry. Fish-slice taken to dig +grave with. By regrettable accident fish-slice broken. Defence: +'The cook oughtn't to keep dead mice in pantries.' + +Wednesday.--Chopped suet left on kitchen table. Robert added +chopped soap, but he says he thought the suet was soap too. + +Thursday.--Broke the kitchen window by falling against it during a +perfectly fair game of bandits in the area. + +Friday.--Stopped up grating of kitchen sink with putty and filled +sink with water to make a lake to sail paper boats in. Went away +and left the tap running. Kitchen hearthrug and cook's shoes +ruined. + +On Saturday the carpet was restored. There had been plenty of time +during the week to decide where it should be asked to go when they +did get it back. + +Mother had gone over to granny's, and had not taken the Lamb +because he had a bad cough, which, cook repeatedly said, was +whooping-cough as sure as eggs is eggs. + +'But we'll take him out, a ducky darling,' said Anthea. 'We'll +take him somewhere where you can't have whooping-cough. Don't be +so silly, Robert. If he DOES talk about it no one'll take any +notice. He's always talking about things he's never seen.' + +So they dressed the Lamb and themselves in out-of-doors clothes, +and the Lamb chuckled and coughed, and laughed and coughed again, +poor dear, and all the chairs and tables were moved off the carpet +by the boys, while Jane nursed the Lamb, and Anthea rushed through +the house in one last wild hunt for the missing Phoenix. + +'It's no use waiting for it,' she said, reappearing breathless in +the breakfast-room. 'But I know it hasn't deserted us. It's a +bird of its word.' + +'Quite so,' said the gentle voice of the Phoenix from beneath the +table. + +Every one fell on its knees and looked up, and there was the +Phoenix perched on a crossbar of wood that ran across under the +table, and had once supported a drawer, in the happy days before +the drawer had been used as a boat, and its bottom unfortunately +trodden out by Raggett's Really Reliable School Boots on the feet +of Robert. + +'I've been here all the time,' said the Phoenix, yawning politely +behind its claw. 'If you wanted me you should have recited the ode +of invocation; it's seven thousand lines long, and written in very +pure and beautiful Greek.' + +'Couldn't you tell it us in English?' asked Anthea. + +'It's rather long, isn't it?' said Jane, jumping the Lamb on her +knee. + +'Couldn't you make a short English version, like Tate and Brady?' + +'Oh, come along, do,' said Robert, holding out his hand. 'Come +along, good old Phoenix.' + +'Good old BEAUTIFUL Phoenix,' it corrected shyly. + +'Good old BEAUTIFUL Phoenix, then. Come along, come along,' said +Robert, impatiently, with his hand still held out. + +The Phoenix fluttered at once on to his wrist. + +'This amiable youth,' it said to the others, 'has miraculously been +able to put the whole meaning of the seven thousand lines of Greek +invocation into one English hexameter--a little misplaced some of +the words--but + +'Oh, come along, come along, good old beautiful Phoenix!' + +'Not perfect, I admit--but not bad for a boy of his age.' + +'Well, now then,' said Robert, stepping back on to the carpet with +the golden Phoenix on his wrist. + +'You look like the king's falconer,' said Jane, sitting down on the +carpet with the baby on her lap. + +Robert tried to go on looking like it. Cyril and Anthea stood on +the carpet. + +'We shall have to get back before dinner,' said Cyril, 'or cook +will blow the gaff.' + +'She hasn't sneaked since Sunday,' said Anthea. + +'She--' Robert was beginning, when the door burst open and the +cook, fierce and furious, came in like a whirlwind and stood on the +corner of the carpet, with a broken basin in one hand and a threat +in the other, which was clenched. + +'Look 'ere!' she cried, 'my only basin; and what the powers am I to +make the beefsteak and kidney pudding in that your ma ordered for +your dinners? You don't deserve no dinners, so yer don't.' + +'I'm awfully sorry, cook,' said Anthea gently; 'it was my fault, +and I forgot to tell you about it. It got broken when we were +telling our fortunes with melted lead, you know, and I meant to +tell you.' + +'Meant to tell me,' replied the cook; she was red with anger, and +really I don't wonder--'meant to tell! Well, _I_ mean to tell, too. +I've held my tongue this week through, because the missus she said +to me quiet like, "We mustn't expect old heads on young shoulders," +but now I shan't hold it no longer. There was the soap you put in +our pudding, and me and Eliza never so much as breathed it to your +ma--though well we might--and the saucepan, and the fish-slice, +and--My gracious cats alive! what 'ave you got that blessed child +dressed up in his outdoors for?' + +'We aren't going to take him out,' said Anthea; 'at least--' She +stopped short, for though they weren't going to take him out in the +Kentish Town Road, they certainly intended to take him elsewhere. +But not at all where cook meant when she said 'out'. This confused +the truthful Anthea. + +'Out!' said the cook, 'that I'll take care you don't;' and she +snatched the Lamb from the lap of Jane, while Anthea and Robert +caught her by the skirts and apron. 'Look here,' said Cyril, in +stern desperation, 'will you go away, and make your pudding in a +pie-dish, or a flower-pot, or a hot-water can, or something?' + +'Not me,' said the cook, briefly; 'and leave this precious poppet +for you to give his deathercold to.' + +'I warn you,' said Cyril, solemnly. 'Beware, ere yet it be too +late.' + +' Late yourself the little popsey-wopsey,' said the cook, with +angry tenderness. 'They shan't take it out, no more they shan't. +And--Where did you get that there yellow fowl?' She pointed to the +Phoenix. + +Even Anthea saw that unless the cook lost her situation the loss +would be theirs. + +'I wish,' she said suddenly, 'we were on a sunny southern shore, +where there can't be any whooping-cough.' + +She said it through the frightened howls of the Lamb, and the +sturdy scoldings of the cook, and instantly the +giddy-go-round-and-falling-lift feeling swept over the whole party, +and the cook sat down flat on the carpet, holding the screaming +Lamb tight to her stout print-covered self, and calling on St +Bridget to help her. She was an Irishwoman. + +The moment the tipsy-topsy-turvy feeling stopped, the cook opened +her eyes, gave one sounding screech and shut them again, and Anthea +took the opportunity to get the desperately howling Lamb into her +own arms. + +'It's all right,' she said; 'own Panther's got you. Look at the +trees, and the sand, and the shells, and the great big tortoises. +Oh DEAR, how hot it is!' + +It certainly was; for the trusty carpet had laid itself out on a +southern shore that was sunny and no mistake, as Robert remarked. +The greenest of green slopes led up to glorious groves where +palm-trees and all the tropical flowers and fruits that you read of +in Westward Ho! and Fair Play were growing in rich profusion. +Between the green, green slope and the blue, blue sea lay a stretch +of sand that looked like a carpet of jewelled cloth of gold, for it +was not greyish as our northern sand is, but yellow and +changing--opal-coloured like sunshine and rainbows. And at the +very moment when the wild, whirling, blinding, deafening, tumbling +upside-downness of the carpet-moving stopped, the children had the +happiness of seeing three large live turtles waddle down to the +edge of the sea and disappear in the water. And it was hotter than +you can possibly imagine, unless you think of ovens on a +baking-day. + +Every one without an instant's hesitation tore off its +London-in-November outdoor clothes, and Anthea took off the Lamb's +highwayman blue coat and his three-cornered hat, and then his +jersey, and then the Lamb himself suddenly slipped out of his +little blue tight breeches and stood up happy and hot in his little +white shirt. + +'I'm sure it's much warmer than the seaside in the summer,' said +Anthea. 'Mother always lets us go barefoot then.' + +So the Lamb's shoes and socks and gaiters came off, and he stood +digging his happy naked pink toes into the golden smooth sand. + +'I'm a little white duck-dickie,' said he--'a little white +duck-dickie what swims,' and splashed quacking into a sandy pool. + +'Let him,' said Anthea; 'it can't hurt him. Oh, how hot it is!' + +The cook suddenly opened her eyes and screamed, shut them, screamed +again, opened her eyes once more and said-- + +'Why, drat my cats alive, what's all this? It's a dream, I expect. + +Well, it's the best I ever dreamed. I'll look it up in the +dream-book to-morrow. Seaside and trees and a carpet to sit on. +I never did!' + +'Look here,' said Cyril, 'it isn't a dream; it's real.' + +'Ho yes!' said the cook; 'they always says that in dreams.' + +'It's REAL, I tell you,' Robert said, stamping his foot. 'I'm not +going to tell you how it's done, because that's our secret.' He +winked heavily at each of the others in turn. 'But you wouldn't go +away and make that pudding, so we HAD to bring you, and I hope you +like it.' + +'I do that, and no mistake,' said the cook unexpectedly; 'and it +being a dream it don't matter what I say; and I WILL say, if it's +my last word, that of all the aggravating little varmints--' +'Calm yourself, my good woman,' said the Phoenix. + +'Good woman, indeed,' said the cook; 'good woman yourself' Then she +saw who it was that had spoken. 'Well, if I ever,' said she; 'this +is something like a dream! Yellow fowls a-talking and all! I've +heard of such, but never did I think to see the day.' + +'Well, then,' said Cyril, impatiently, 'sit here and see the day +now. It's a jolly fine day. Here, you others--a council!' +They walked along the shore till they were out of earshot of the +cook, who still sat gazing about her with a happy, dreamy, vacant +smile. + +'Look here,' said Cyril, 'we must roll the carpet up and hide it, +so that we can get at it at any moment. The Lamb can be getting +rid of his whooping-cough all the morning, and we can look about; +and if the savages on this island are cannibals, we'll hook it, and +take her back. And if not, we'll LEAVE HER HERE.' + +'Is that being kind to servants and animals, like the clergyman +said?' asked Jane. + +'Nor she isn't kind,' retorted Cyril. + +'Well--anyway,' said Anthea, 'the safest thing is to leave the +carpet there with her sitting on it. Perhaps it'll be a lesson to +her, and anyway, if she thinks it's a dream it won't matter what +she says when she gets home.' + +So the extra coats and hats and mufflers were piled on the carpet. +Cyril shouldered the well and happy Lamb, the Phoenix perched on +Robert's wrist, and 'the party of explorers prepared to enter the +interior'. + +The grassy slope was smooth, but under the trees there were tangled +creepers with bright, strange-shaped flowers, and it was not easy +to walk. + +'We ought to have an explorer's axe,' said Robert. 'I shall ask +father to give me one for Christmas.' + +There were curtains of creepers with scented blossoms hanging from +the trees, and brilliant birds darted about quite close to their +faces. + +'Now, tell me honestly,' said the Phoenix, 'are there any birds +here handsomer than I am? Don't be afraid of hurting my +feelings--I'm a modest bird, I hope.' + +'Not one of them,' said Robert, with conviction, 'is a patch upon +you!' + +'I was never a vain bird,' said the Phoenix, 'but I own that you +confirm my own impression. I will take a flight.' It circled in +the air for a moment, and, returning to Robert's wrist, went on, +'There is a path to the left.' + +And there was. So now the children went on through the wood more +quickly and comfortably, the girls picking flowers and the Lamb +inviting the 'pretty dickies' to observe that he himself was a +'little white real-water-wet duck!' + +And all this time he hadn't whooping-coughed once. + +The path turned and twisted, and, always threading their way amid +a tangle of flowers, the children suddenly passed a corner and +found themselves in a forest clearing, where there were a lot of +pointed huts--the huts, as they knew at once, of SAVAGES. + +The boldest heart beat more quickly. Suppose they WERE cannibals. +It was a long way back to the carpet. + +'Hadn't we better go back?' said Jane. 'Go NOW,' she said, and her +voice trembled a little. 'Suppose they eat us.' + +'Nonsense, Pussy,' said Cyril, firmly. 'Look, there's a goat tied +up. That shows they don't eat PEOPLE.' + +'Let's go on and say we're missionaries,' Robert suggested. + +'I shouldn't advise THAT,' said the Phoenix, very earnestly. + +'Why not?' + +'Well, for one thing, it isn't true,' replied the golden bird. + +It was while they stood hesitating on the edge of the clearing that +a tall man suddenly came out of one of the huts. He had hardly any +clothes, and his body all over was a dark and beautiful coppery +colour--just like the chrysanthemums father had brought home on +Saturday. In his hand he held a spear. The whites of his eyes and +the white of his teeth were the only light things about him, except +that where the sun shone on his shiny brown body it looked white, +too. If you will look carefully at the next shiny savage you meet +with next to nothing on, you will see at once--if the sun happens +to be shining at the time--that I am right about this. + +The savage looked at the children. Concealment was impossible. He +uttered a shout that was more like 'Oo goggery bag-wag' than +anything else the children had ever heard, and at once brown +coppery people leapt out of every hut, and swarmed like ants about +the clearing. There was no time for discussion, and no one wanted +to discuss anything, anyhow. Whether these coppery people were +cannibals or not now seemed to matter very little. + +Without an instant's hesitation the four children turned and ran +back along the forest path; the only pause was Anthea's. She stood +back to let Cyril pass, because he was carrying the Lamb, who +screamed with delight. (He had not whooping-coughed a single once +since the carpet landed him on the island.) + +'Gee-up, Squirrel; gee-gee,' he shouted, and Cyril did gee-up. The +path was a shorter cut to the beach than the creeper-covered way by +which they had come, and almost directly they saw through the trees +the shining blue-and-gold-and-opal of sand and sea. + +'Stick to it,' cried Cyril, breathlessly. + +They did stick to it; they tore down the sands--they could hear +behind them as they ran the patter of feet which they knew, too +well, were copper-coloured. + +The sands were golden and opal-coloured--and BARE. There were +wreaths of tropic seaweed, there were rich tropic shells of the +kind you would not buy in the Kentish Town Road under at least +fifteen pence a pair. There were turtles basking lumpily on the +water's edge--but no cook, no clothes, and no carpet. + +'On, on! Into the sea!' gasped Cyril. 'They MUST hate water. +I've--heard--savages always--dirty.' + +Their feet were splashing in the warm shallows before his +breathless words were ended. The calm baby-waves were easy to go +through. It is warm work running for your life in the tropics, and +the coolness of the water was delicious. They were up to their +arm-pits now, and Jane was up to her chin. + +'Look!' said the Phoenix. 'What are they pointing at?' + +The children turned; and there, a little to the west was a head--a +head they knew, with a crooked cap upon it. It was the head of the +cook. + +For some reason or other the savages had stopped at the water's +edge and were all talking at the top of their voices, and all were +pointing copper-coloured fingers, stiff with interest and +excitement, at the head of the cook. + +The children hurried towards her as quickly as the water would let +them. + +'What on earth did you come out here for?' Robert shouted; 'and +where on earth's the carpet?' + +'It's not on earth, bless you,' replied the cook, happily; 'it's +UNDER ME--in the water. I got a bit warm setting there in the sun, +and I just says, "I wish I was in a cold bath"--just like that--and +next minute here I was! It's all part of the dream.' + +Every one at once saw how extremely fortunate it was that the +carpet had had the sense to take the cook to the nearest and +largest bath--the sea, and how terrible it would have been if the +carpet had taken itself and her to the stuffy little bath-room of +the house in Camden Town! + +'Excuse me,' said the Phoenix's soft voice, breaking in on the +general sigh of relief, 'but I think these brown people want your +cook.' + +'To--to eat?' whispered Jane, as well as she could through the +water which the plunging Lamb was dashing in her face with happy +fat hands and feet. + +'Hardly,' rejoined the bird. 'Who wants cooks to EAT? Cooks are +ENGAGED, not eaten. They wish to engage her.' + +'How can you understand what they say?' asked Cyril, doubtfully. + +'It's as easy as kissing your claw,' replied the bird. 'I speak +and understand ALL languages, even that of your cook, which is +difficult and unpleasing. It's quite easy, when you know how it's +done. It just comes to you. I should advise you to beach the +carpet and land the cargo--the cook, I mean. You can take my word +for it, the copper-coloured ones will not harm you now.' + +It is impossible not to take the word of a Phoenix when it tells +you to. So the children at once got hold of the corners of the +carpet, and, pulling it from under the cook, towed it slowly in +through the shallowing water, and at last spread it on the sand. +The cook, who had followed, instantly sat down on it, and at once +the copper-coloured natives, now strangely humble, formed a ring +round the carpet, and fell on their faces on the rainbow-and-gold +sand. The tallest savage spoke in this position, which must have +been very awkward for him; and Jane noticed that it took him quite +a long time to get the sand out of his mouth afterwards. + +'He says,' the Phoenix remarked after some time, 'that they wish to +engage your cook permanently.' + +'Without a character?' asked Anthea, who had heard her mother speak +of such things. + +'They do not wish to engage her as cook, but as queen; and queens +need not have characters.' + +There was a breathless pause. + +'WELL,' said Cyril, 'of all the choices! But there's no accounting +for tastes.' + +Every one laughed at the idea of the cook's being engaged as queen; +they could not help it. + +'I do not advise laughter,' warned the Phoenix, ruffling out his +golden feathers, which were extremely wet. 'And it's not their own +choice. It seems that there is an ancient prophecy of this +copper-coloured tribe that a great queen should some day arise out +of the sea with a white crown on her head, and--and--well, you see! +There's the crown!' + +It pointed its claw at cook's cap; and a very dirty cap it was, +because it was the end of the week. + +'That's the white crown,' it said; 'at least, it's nearly +white--very white indeed compared to the colour THEY are--and +anyway, it's quite white enough.' + +Cyril addressed the cook. 'Look here!' said he, 'these brown +people want you to be their queen. They're only savages, and they +don't know any better. Now would you really like to stay? or, if +you'll promise not to be so jolly aggravating at home, and not to +tell any one a word about to-day, we'll take you back to Camden +Town.' + +'No, you don't,' said the cook, in firm, undoubting tones. 'I've +always wanted to be the Queen, God bless her! and I always thought +what a good one I should make; and now I'm going to. IF it's only +in a dream, it's well worth while. And I don't go back to that +nasty underground kitchen, and me blamed for everything; that I +don't, not till the dream's finished and I wake up with that nasty +bell a rang-tanging in my ears--so I tell you.' + +'Are you SURE,' Anthea anxiously asked the Phoenix, 'that she will +be quite safe here?' + +'She will find the nest of a queen a very precious and soft thing,' +said the bird, solemnly. + +'There--you hear,' said Cyril. 'You're in for a precious soft +thing, so mind you're a good queen, cook. It's more than you'd any +right to expect, but long may you reign.' + +Some of the cook's copper-coloured subjects now advanced from the +forest with long garlands of beautiful flowers, white and +sweet-scented, and hung them respectfully round the neck of their +new sovereign. + +'What! all them lovely bokays for me!' exclaimed the enraptured +cook. 'Well, this here is something LIKE a dream, I must say.' + +She sat up very straight on the carpet, and the copper-coloured +ones, themselves wreathed in garlands of the gayest flowers, madly +stuck parrot feathers in their hair and began to dance. It was a +dance such as you have never seen; it made the children feel almost +sure that the cook was right, and that they were all in a dream. +Small, strange-shaped drums were beaten, odd-sounding songs were +sung, and the dance got faster and faster and odder and odder, till +at last all the dancers fell on the sand tired out. + +The new queen, with her white crown-cap all on one side, clapped +wildly. + +'Brayvo!' she cried, 'brayvo! It's better than the Albert Edward +Music-hall in the Kentish Town Road. Go it again!' + +But the Phoenix would not translate this request into the +copper-coloured language; and when the savages had recovered their +breath, they implored their queen to leave her white escort and +come with them to their huts. + +'The finest shall be yours, O queen,' said they. + +'Well--so long!' said the cook, getting heavily on to her feet, +when the Phoenix had translated this request. 'No more kitchens +and attics for me, thank you. I'm off to my royal palace, I am; +and I only wish this here dream would keep on for ever and ever.' + +She picked up the ends of the garlands that trailed round her feet, +and the children had one last glimpse of her striped stockings and +worn elastic-side boots before she disappeared into the shadow of +the forest, surrounded by her dusky retainers, singing songs of +rejoicing as they went. + +'WELL!' said Cyril, 'I suppose she's all right, but they don't seem +to count us for much, one way or the other.' + +'Oh,' said the Phoenix, 'they think you're merely dreams. The +prophecy said that the queen would arise from the waves with a +white crown and surrounded by white dream-children. That's about +what they think YOU are!' + +'And what about dinner?' said Robert, abruptly. + +'There won't be any dinner, with no cook and no pudding-basin,' +Anthea reminded him; 'but there's always bread-and-butter.' + +'Let's get home,' said Cyril. + +The Lamb was furiously unwishful to be dressed in his warm clothes +again, but Anthea and Jane managed it, by force disguised as +coaxing, and he never once whooping-coughed. + +Then every one put on its own warm things and took its place on the +carpet. + +A sound of uncouth singing still came from beyond the trees where +the copper-coloured natives were crooning songs of admiration and +respect to their white-crowned queen. Then Anthea said 'Home,' +just as duchesses and other people do to their coachmen, and the +intelligent carpet in one whirling moment laid itself down in its +proper place on the nursery floor. And at that very moment Eliza +opened the door and said-- + +'Cook's gone! I can't find her anywhere, and there's no dinner +ready. She hasn't taken her box nor yet her outdoor things. She +just ran out to see the time, I shouldn't wonder--the kitchen clock +never did give her satisfaction--and she's got run over or fell +down in a fit as likely as not. You'll have to put up with the +cold bacon for your dinners; and what on earth you've got your +outdoor things on for I don't know. And then I'll slip out and see +if they know anything about her at the police-station.' + +But nobody ever knew anything about the cook any more, except the +children, and, later, one other person. + + +Mother was so upset at losing the cook, and so anxious about her, +that Anthea felt most miserable, as though she had done something +very wrong indeed. She woke several times in the night, and at +last decided that she would ask the Phoenix to let her tell her +mother all about it. But there was no opportunity to do this next +day, because the Phoenix, as usual, had gone to sleep in some +out-of-the-way spot, after asking, as a special favour, not to be +disturbed for twenty-four hours. + +The Lamb never whooping-coughed once all that Sunday, and mother +and father said what good medicine it was that the doctor had given +him. But the children knew that it was the southern shore where +you can't have whooping-cough that had cured him. The Lamb babbled +of coloured sand and water, but no one took any notice of that. He +often talked of things that hadn't happened. + +It was on Monday morning, very early indeed, that Anthea woke and +suddenly made up her mind. She crept downstairs in her night-gown +(it was very chilly), sat down on the carpet, and with a beating +heart wished herself on the sunny shore where you can't have +whooping-cough, and next moment there she was. + +The sand was splendidly warm. She could feel it at once, even +through the carpet. She folded the carpet, and put it over her +shoulders like a shawl, for she was determined not to be parted +from it for a single instant, no matter how hot it might be to +wear. + +Then trembling a little, and trying to keep up her courage by +saying over and over, 'It is my DUTY, it IS my duty,' she went up +the forest path. + +'Well, here you are again,' said the cook, directly she saw Anthea. + +'This dream does keep on!' + +The cook was dressed in a white robe; she had no shoes and +stockings and no cap and she was sitting under a screen of +palm-leaves, for it was afternoon in the island, and blazing hot. +She wore a flower wreath on her hair, and copper-coloured boys were +fanning her with peacock's feathers. + +'They've got the cap put away,' she said. 'They seem to think a +lot of it. Never saw one before, I expect.' + +'Are you happy?' asked Anthea, panting; the sight of the cook as +queen quite took her breath away. + +'I believe you, my dear,' said the cook, heartily. 'Nothing to do +unless you want to. But I'm getting rested now. Tomorrow I'm +going to start cleaning out my hut, if the dream keeps on, and I +shall teach them cooking; they burns everything to a cinder now +unless they eats it raw.' + +'But can you talk to them?' + +'Lor' love a duck, yes!' the happy cook-queen replied; 'it's quite +easy to pick up. I always thought I should be quick at foreign +languages. I've taught them to understand "dinner," and "I want a +drink," and "You leave me be," already.' + +'Then you don't want anything?' Anthea asked earnestly and +anxiously. + +'Not me, miss; except if you'd only go away. I'm afraid of me +waking up with that bell a-going if you keep on stopping here +a-talking to me. Long as this here dream keeps up I'm as happy as +a queen.' + +'Goodbye, then,' said Anthea, gaily, for her conscience was clear +now. + +She hurried into the wood, threw herself on the ground, and said +'Home'--and there she was, rolled in the carpet on the nursery +floor. + +'SHE'S all right, anyhow,' said Anthea, and went back to bed. 'I'm +glad somebody's pleased. But mother will never believe me when I +tell her.' + +The story is indeed a little difficult to believe. Still, you +might try. + + + +CHAPTER 4 +TWO BAZAARS + + +Mother was really a great dear. She was pretty and she was loving, +and most frightfully good when you were ill, and always kind, and +almost always just. That is, she was just when she understood +things. But of course she did not always understand things. No +one understands everything, and mothers are not angels, though a +good many of them come pretty near it. The children knew that +mother always WANTED to do what was best for them, even if she was +not clever enough to know exactly what was the best. That was why +all of them, but much more particularly Anthea, felt rather +uncomfortable at keeping the great secret from her of the wishing +carpet and the Phoenix. And Anthea, whose inside mind was made so +that she was able to be much more uncomfortable than the others, +had decided that she MUST tell her mother the truth, however little +likely it was that her mother would believe it. + +'Then I shall have done what's right,' said she to the Phoenix; +'and if she doesn't believe me it won't be my fault--will it?' + +'Not in the least,' said the golden bird. 'And she won't, so +you're quite safe.' + +Anthea chose a time when she was doing her home-lessons--they were +Algebra and Latin, German, English, and Euclid--and she asked her +mother whether she might come and do them in the drawing-room--'so +as to be quiet,' she said to her mother; and to herself she said, +'And that's not the real reason. I hope I shan't grow up a LIAR.' + +Mother said, 'Of course, dearie,' and Anthea started swimming +through a sea of x's and y's and z's. Mother was sitting at the +mahogany bureau writing letters. + +'Mother dear,' said Anthea. + +'Yes, love-a-duck,' said mother. + +'About cook,' said Anthea. '_I_ know where she is.' + +'Do you, dear?' said mother. 'Well, I wouldn't take her back after +the way she has behaved.' + +'It's not her fault,' said Anthea. 'May I tell you about it from +the beginning?' + +Mother laid down her pen, and her nice face had a resigned +expression. As you know, a resigned expression always makes you +want not to tell anybody anything. + +'It's like this,' said Anthea, in a hurry: 'that egg, you know, +that came in the carpet; we put it in the fire and it hatched into +the Phoenix, and the carpet was a wishing carpet--and--' + +'A very nice game, darling,' said mother, taking up her pen. 'Now +do be quiet. I've got a lot of letters to write. I'm going to +Bournemouth to-morrow with the Lamb--and there's that bazaar.' + +Anthea went back to x y z, and mother's pen scratched busily. + +'But, mother,' said Anthea, when mother put down the pen to lick an +envelope, 'the carpet takes us wherever we like--and--' + +'I wish it would take you where you could get a few nice Eastern +things for my bazaar,' said mother. 'I promised them, and I've no +time to go to Liberty's now.' + +'It shall,' said Anthea, 'but, mother--' + +'Well, dear,' said mother, a little impatiently, for she had taken +up her pen again. + +'The carpet took us to a place where you couldn't have +whooping-cough, and the Lamb hasn't whooped since, and we took cook +because she was so tiresome, and then she would stay and be queen +of the savages. They thought her cap was a crown, and--' + +'Darling one,' said mother, 'you know I love to hear the things you +make up--but I am most awfully busy.' + +'But it's true,' said Anthea, desperately. + +'You shouldn't say that, my sweet,' said mother, gently. And then +Anthea knew it was hopeless. + +'Are you going away for long?' asked Anthea. + +'I've got a cold,' said mother, 'and daddy's anxious about it, and +the Lamb's cough.' + +'He hasn't coughed since Saturday,' the Lamb's eldest sister +interrupted. + +'I wish I could think so,' mother replied. 'And daddy's got to go +to Scotland. I do hope you'll be good children.' + +'We will, we will,' said Anthea, fervently. 'When's the bazaar?' + +'On Saturday,' said mother, 'at the schools. Oh, don't talk any +more, there's a treasure! My head's going round, and I've +forgotten how to spell whooping-cough.' + + +Mother and the Lamb went away, and father went away, and there was +a new cook who looked so like a frightened rabbit that no one had +the heart to do anything to frighten her any more than seemed +natural to her. + +The Phoenix begged to be excused. It said it wanted a week's rest, +and asked that it might not be disturbed. And it hid its golden +gleaming self, and nobody could find it. + +So that when Wednesday afternoon brought an unexpected holiday, and +every one decided to go somewhere on the carpet, the journey had to +be undertaken without the Phoenix. They were debarred from any +carpet excursions in the evening by a sudden promise to mother, +exacted in the agitation of parting, that they would not be out +after six at night, except on Saturday, when they were to go to the +bazaar, and were pledged to put on their best clothes, to wash +themselves to the uttermost, and to clean their nails--not with +scissors, which are scratchy and bad, but with flat-sharpened ends +of wooden matches, which do no harm to any one's nails. + +'Let's go and see the Lamb,' said Jane. + +But every one was agreed that if they appeared suddenly in +Bournemouth it would frighten mother out of her wits, if not into +a fit. So they sat on the carpet, and thought and thought and +thought till they almost began to squint. + +'Look here,' said Cyril, 'I know. Please carpet, take us somewhere +where we can see the Lamb and mother and no one can see us.' + +'Except the Lamb,' said Jane, quickly. + +And the next moment they found themselves recovering from the +upside-down movement--and there they were sitting on the carpet, +and the carpet was laid out over another thick soft carpet of brown +pine-needles. There were green pine-trees overhead, and a swift +clear little stream was running as fast as ever it could between +steep banks--and there, sitting on the pine-needle carpet, was +mother, without her hat; and the sun was shining brightly, although +it was November--and there was the Lamb, as jolly as jolly and not +whooping at all. + +'The carpet's deceived us,' said Robert, gloomily; 'mother will see +us directly she turns her head.' + +But the faithful carpet had not deceived them. + +Mother turned her dear head and looked straight at them, and DID NOT SEE +THEM! + +'We're invisible,' Cyril whispered: 'what awful larks!' + +But to the girls it was not larks at all. It was horrible to have +mother looking straight at them, and her face keeping the same, +just as though they weren't there. + +'I don't like it,' said Jane. 'Mother never looked at us like that +before. Just as if she didn't love us--as if we were somebody +else's children, and not very nice ones either--as if she didn't +care whether she saw us or not.' + +'It is horrid,' said Anthea, almost in tears. + +But at this moment the Lamb saw them, and plunged towards the +carpet, shrieking, 'Panty, own Panty--an' Pussy, an' Squiggle--an' +Bobs, oh, oh!' + +Anthea caught him and kissed him, so did Jane; they could not help +it--he looked such a darling, with his blue three-cornered hat all +on one side, and his precious face all dirty--quite in the old +familiar way. + +'I love you, Panty; I love you--and you, and you, and you,' cried +the Lamb. + +It was a delicious moment. Even the boys thumped their baby +brother joyously on the back. + +Then Anthea glanced at mother--and mother's face was a pale +sea-green colour, and she was staring at the Lamb as if she thought +he had gone mad. And, indeed, that was exactly what she did think. + +'My Lamb, my precious! Come to mother,' she cried, and jumped up +and ran to the baby. + +She was so quick that the invisible children had to leap back, or +she would have felt them; and to feel what you can't see is the +worst sort of ghost-feeling. Mother picked up the Lamb and hurried +away from the pinewood. + +'Let's go home,' said Jane, after a miserable silence. 'It feels +just exactly as if mother didn't love us.' + +But they couldn't bear to go home till they had seen mother meet +another lady, and knew that she was safe. You cannot leave your +mother to go green in the face in a distant pinewood, far from all +human aid, and then go home on your wishing carpet as though +nothing had happened. + +When mother seemed safe the children returned to the carpet, and +said 'Home'--and home they went. + +'I don't care about being invisible myself,' said Cyril, 'at least, +not with my own family. It would be different if you were a +prince, or a bandit, or a burglar.' + +And now the thoughts of all four dwelt fondly on the dear greenish +face of mother. + +'I wish she hadn't gone away,' said Jane; 'the house is simply +beastly without her.' + +'I think we ought to do what she said,' Anthea put in. 'I saw +something in a book the other day about the wishes of the departed +being sacred.' + +'That means when they've departed farther off,' said Cyril. +'India's coral or Greenland's icy, don't you know; not Bournemouth. +Besides, we don't know what her wishes are.' + +'She SAID'--Anthea was very much inclined to cry--'she said, "Get +Indian things for my bazaar;" but I know she thought we couldn't, +and it was only play.' + +'Let's get them all the same,' said Robert. 'We'll go the first +thing on Saturday morning.' + +And on Saturday morning, the first thing, they went. + +There was no finding the Phoenix, so they sat on the beautiful +wishing carpet, and said-- + +'We want Indian things for mother's bazaar. Will you please take +us where people will give us heaps of Indian things?' + +The docile carpet swirled their senses away, and restored them on +the outskirts of a gleaming white Indian town. They knew it was +Indian at once, by the shape of the domes and roofs; and besides, +a man went by on an elephant, and two English soldiers went along +the road, talking like in Mr Kipling's books--so after that no one +could have any doubt as to where they were. They rolled up the +carpet and Robert carried it, and they walked bodily into the town. + +It was very warm, and once more they had to take off their +London-in-November coats, and carry them on their arms. + +The streets were narrow and strange, and the clothes of the people +in the streets were stranger and the talk of the people was +strangest of all. + +'I can't understand a word,' said Cyril. 'How on earth are we to +ask for things for our bazaar?' + +'And they're poor people, too,' said Jane; 'I'm sure they are. +What we want is a rajah or something.' + +Robert was beginning to unroll the carpet, but the others stopped +him, imploring him not to waste a wish. + +'We asked the carpet to take us where we could get Indian things +for bazaars,' said Anthea, 'and it will.' + +Her faith was justified. + +Just as she finished speaking a very brown gentleman in a turban +came up to them and bowed deeply. He spoke, and they thrilled to +the sound of English words. + +'My ranee, she think you very nice childs. She asks do you lose +yourselves, and do you desire to sell carpet? She see you from her +palkee. You come see her--yes?' + +They followed the stranger, who seemed to have a great many more +teeth in his smile than are usual, and he led them through crooked +streets to the ranee's palace. I am not going to describe the +ranee's palace, because I really have never seen the palace of a +ranee, and Mr Kipling has. So you can read about it in his books. +But I know exactly what happened there. + +The old ranee sat on a low-cushioned seat, and there were a lot of +other ladies with her--all in trousers and veils, and sparkling +with tinsel and gold and jewels. And the brown, turbaned gentleman +stood behind a sort of carved screen, and interpreted what the +children said and what the queen said. And when the queen asked to +buy the carpet, the children said 'No.' + +'Why?' asked the ranee. + +And Jane briefly said why, and the interpreter interpreted. The +queen spoke, and then the interpreter said-- + +'My mistress says it is a good story, and you tell it all through +without thought of time.' + +And they had to. It made a long story, especially as it had all to +be told twice--once by Cyril and once by the interpreter. Cyril +rather enjoyed himself. He warmed to his work, and told the tale +of the Phoenix and the Carpet, and the Lone Tower, and the +Queen-Cook, in language that grew insensibly more and more Arabian +Nightsy, and the ranee and her ladies listened to the interpreter, +and rolled about on their fat cushions with laughter. + +When the story was ended she spoke, and the interpreter explained +that she had said, 'Little one, thou art a heaven-born teller of +tales,' and she threw him a string of turquoises from round her +neck. + +'OH, how lovely!' cried Jane and Anthea. + +Cyril bowed several times, and then cleared his throat and said-- + +'Thank her very, very much; but I would much rather she gave me +some of the cheap things in the bazaar. Tell her I want them to +sell again, and give the money to buy clothes for poor people who +haven't any.' + +'Tell him he has my leave to sell my gift and clothe the naked with +its price,' said the queen, when this was translated. + +But Cyril said very firmly, 'No, thank you. The things have got to +be sold to-day at our bazaar, and no one would buy a turquoise +necklace at an English bazaar. They'd think it was sham, or else +they'd want to know where we got it.' + +So then the queen sent out for little pretty things, and her +servants piled the carpet with them. + +'I must needs lend you an elephant to carry them away,' she said, +laughing. + +But Anthea said, 'If the queen will lend us a comb and let us wash +our hands and faces, she shall see a magic thing. We and the +carpet and all these brass trays and pots and carved things and +stuffs and things will just vanish away like smoke.' + +The queen clapped her hands at this idea, and lent the children a +sandal-wood comb inlaid with ivory lotus-flowers. And they washed +their faces and hands in silver basins. +Then Cyril made a very polite farewell speech, and quite suddenly +he ended with the words-- + +'And I wish we were at the bazaar at our schools.' + +And of course they were. And the queen and her ladies were left +with their mouths open, gazing at the bare space on the inlaid +marble floor where the carpet and the children had been. + +'That is magic, if ever magic was!' said the queen, delighted with +the incident; which, indeed, has given the ladies of that court +something to talk about on wet days ever since. + +Cyril's stories had taken some time, so had the meal of strange +sweet foods that they had had while the little pretty things were +being bought, and the gas in the schoolroom was already lighted. +Outside, the winter dusk was stealing down among the Camden Town +houses. + +'I'm glad we got washed in India,' said Cyril. 'We should have +been awfully late if we'd had to go home and scrub.' + +'Besides,' Robert said, 'it's much warmer washing in India. I +shouldn't mind it so much if we lived there.' + +The thoughtful carpet had dumped the children down in a dusky space +behind the point where the corners of two stalls met. The floor +was littered with string and brown paper, and baskets and boxes +were heaped along the wall. + +The children crept out under a stall covered with all sorts of +table-covers and mats and things, embroidered beautifully by idle +ladies with no real work to do. They got out at the end, +displacing a sideboard-cloth adorned with a tasteful pattern of +blue geraniums. The girls got out unobserved, so did Cyril; but +Robert, as he cautiously emerged, was actually walked on by Mrs +Biddle, who kept the stall. Her large, solid foot stood firmly on +the small, solid hand of Robert and who can blame Robert if he DID +yell a little? + +A crowd instantly collected. Yells are very unusual at bazaars, +and every one was intensely interested. It was several seconds +before the three free children could make Mrs Biddle understand +that what she was walking on was not a schoolroom floor, or even, +as she presently supposed, a dropped pin-cushion, but the living +hand of a suffering child. When she became aware that she really +had hurt him, she grew very angry indeed. When people have hurt +other people by accident, the one who does the hurting is always +much the angriest. I wonder why. + +'I'm very sorry, I'm sure,' said Mrs Biddle; but she spoke more in +anger than in sorrow. 'Come out! whatever do you mean by creeping +about under the stalls, like earwigs?' + +'We were looking at the things in the corner.' + +'Such nasty, prying ways,' said Mrs Biddle, 'will never make you +successful in life. There's nothing there but packing and dust.' + +'Oh, isn't there!' said Jane. 'That's all you know.' + +'Little girl, don't be rude,' said Mrs Biddle, flushing violet. + +'She doesn't mean to be; but there ARE some nice things there, all +the same,' said Cyril; who suddenly felt how impossible it was to +inform the listening crowd that all the treasures piled on the +carpet were mother's contributions to the bazaar. No one would +believe it; and if they did, and wrote to thank mother, she would +think--well, goodness only knew what she would think. The other +three children felt the same. + +'I should like to see them,' said a very nice lady, whose friends +had disappointed her, and who hoped that these might be belated +contributions to her poorly furnished stall. + +She looked inquiringly at Robert, who said, 'With pleasure, don't +mention it,' and dived back under Mrs Biddle's stall. + +'I wonder you encourage such behaviour,' said Mrs Biddle. 'I +always speak my mind, as you know, Miss Peasmarsh; and, I must say, +I am surprised.' She turned to the crowd. 'There is no +entertainment here,' she said sternly. 'A very naughty little boy +has accidentally hurt himself, but only slightly. Will you please +disperse? It will only encourage him in naughtiness if he finds +himself the centre of attraction.' + +The crowd slowly dispersed. Anthea, speechless with fury, heard a +nice curate say, 'Poor little beggar!' and loved the curate at once +and for ever. + +Then Robert wriggled out from under the stall with some Benares +brass and some inlaid sandalwood boxes. + +'Liberty!' cried Miss Peasmarsh. 'Then Charles has not forgotten, +after all.' + +'Excuse me,' said Mrs Biddle, with fierce politeness, 'these +objects are deposited behind MY stall. Some unknown donor who does +good by stealth, and would blush if he could hear you claim the +things. Of course they are for me.' + +'My stall touches yours at the corner,' said poor Miss Peasmarsh, +timidly, 'and my cousin did promise--' + +The children sidled away from the unequal contest and mingled with +the crowd. Their feelings were too deep for words--till at last +Robert said-- + +'That stiff-starched PIG!' + +'And after all our trouble! I'm hoarse with gassing to that +trousered lady in India.' + +'The pig-lady's very, very nasty,' said Jane. + +It was Anthea who said, in a hurried undertone, 'She isn't very +nice, and Miss Peasmarsh is pretty and nice too. Who's got a +pencil?' + +it was a long crawl, under three stalls, but Anthea did it. A +large piece of pale blue paper lay among the rubbish in the corner. + +She folded it to a square and wrote upon it, licking the pencil at +every word to make it mark quite blackly: 'All these Indian things +are for pretty, nice Miss Peasmarsh's stall.' She thought of +adding, 'There is nothing for Mrs Biddle;' but she saw that this +might lead to suspicion, so she wrote hastily: 'From an unknown +donna,' and crept back among the boards and trestles to join the +others. + +So that when Mrs Biddle appealed to the bazaar committee, and the +corner of the stall was lifted and shifted, so that stout clergymen +and heavy ladies could get to the corner without creeping under +stalls, the blue paper was discovered, and all the splendid, +shining Indian things were given over to Miss Peasmarsh, and she +sold them all, and got thirty-five pounds for them. + +'I don't understand about that blue paper,' said Mrs Biddle. 'It +looks to me like the work of a lunatic. And saying you were nice +and pretty! It's not the work of a sane person.' + +Anthea and Jane begged Miss Peasmarsh to let them help her to sell +the things, because it was their brother who had announced the good +news that the things had come. Miss Peasmarsh was very willing, +for now her stall, that had been SO neglected, was surrounded by +people who wanted to buy, and she was glad to be helped. The +children noted that Mrs Biddle had not more to do in the way of +selling than she could manage quite well. I hope they were not +glad--for you should forgive your enemies, even if they walk on +your hands and then say it is all your naughty fault. But I am +afraid they were not so sorry as they ought to have been. + +It took some time to arrange the things on the stall. The carpet +was spread over it, and the dark colours showed up the brass and +silver and ivory things. It was a happy and busy afternoon, and +when Miss Peasmarsh and the girls had sold every single one of the +little pretty things from the Indian bazaar, far, far away, Anthea +and Jane went off with the boys to fish in the fishpond, and dive +into the bran-pie, and hear the cardboard band, and the phonograph, +and the chorus of singing birds that was done behind a screen with +glass tubes and glasses of water. + +They had a beautiful tea, suddenly presented to them by the nice +curate, and Miss Peasmarsh joined them before they had had more +than three cakes each. It was a merry party, and the curate was +extremely pleasant to every one, 'even to Miss Peasmarsh,' as Jane +said afterwards. + +'We ought to get back to the stall,' said Anthea, when no one could +possibly eat any more, and the curate was talking in a low voice to +Miss Peas marsh about 'after Easter'. + +'There's nothing to go back for,' said Miss Peasmarsh gaily; +'thanks to you dear children we've sold everything.' + +'There--there's the carpet,' said Cyril. + +'Oh,' said Miss Peasmarsh, radiantly, 'don't bother about the +carpet. I've sold even that. Mrs Biddle gave me ten shillings for +it. She said it would do for her servant's bedroom.' + +'Why,' said Jane, 'her servants don't HAVE carpets. We had cook +from her, and she told us so.' + +'No scandal about Queen Elizabeth, if YOU please,' said the curate, +cheerfully; and Miss Peasmarsh laughed, and looked at him as though +she had never dreamed that any one COULD be so amusing. But the +others were struck dumb. How could they say, 'The carpet is ours!' +For who brings carpets to bazaars? + +The children were now thoroughly wretched. But I am glad to say +that their wretchedness did not make them forget their manners, as +it does sometimes, even with grown-up people, who ought to know +ever so much better. + +They said, 'Thank you very much for the jolly tea,' and 'Thanks for +being so jolly,' and 'Thanks awfully for giving us such a jolly +time;' for the curate had stood fish-ponds, and bran-pies, and +phonographs, and the chorus of singing birds, and had stood them +like a man. The girls hugged Miss Peasmarsh, and as they went away +they heard the curate say-- + +'Jolly little kids, yes, but what about--you will let it be +directly after Easter. Ah, do say you will--' + +And Jane ran back and said, before Anthea could drag her away, +'What are you going to do after Easter?' + +Miss Peasmarsh smiled and looked very pretty indeed. And the +curate said-- + +'I hope I am going to take a trip to the Fortunate Islands.' + +'I wish we could take you on the wishing carpet,' said Jane. + +'Thank you,' said the curate, 'but I'm afraid I can't wait for +that. I must go to the Fortunate Islands before they make me a +bishop. I should have no time afterwards.' + +'I've always thought I should marry a bishop,' said Jane: 'his +aprons would come in so useful. Wouldn't YOU like to marry a +bishop, Miss Peasmarsh?' + +It was then that they dragged her away. + +As it was Robert's hand that Mrs Biddle had walked on, it was +decided that he had better not recall the incident to her mind, and +so make her angry again. Anthea and Jane had helped to sell things +at the rival stall, so they were not likely to be popular. + +A hasty council of four decided that Mrs Biddle would hate Cyril +less than she would hate the others, so the others mingled with the +crowd, and it was he who said to her-- + +'Mrs Biddle, WE meant to have that carpet. Would you sell it to +us? We would give you--' + +'Certainly not,' said Mrs Biddle. 'Go away, little boy.' + +There was that in her tone which showed Cyril, all too plainly, the +hopelessness of persuasion. He found the others and said-- + +'It's no use; she's like a lioness robbed of its puppies. We must +watch where it goes--and-- Anthea, I don't care what you say. It's +our own carpet. It wouldn't be burglary. It would be a sort of +forlorn hope rescue party--heroic and daring and dashing, and not +wrong at all.' + +The children still wandered among the gay crowd--but there was no +pleasure there for them any more. The chorus of singing birds +sounded just like glass tubes being blown through water, and the +phonograph simply made a horrid noise, so that you could hardly +hear yourself speak. And the people were buying things they +couldn't possibly want, and it all seemed very stupid. And Mrs +Biddle had bought the wishing carpet for ten shillings. And the +whole of life was sad and grey and dusty, and smelt of slight gas +escapes, and hot people, and cake and crumbs, and all the children +were very tired indeed. + +They found a corner within sight of the carpet, and there they +waited miserably, till it was far beyond their proper bedtime. And +when it was ten the people who had bought things went away, but the +people who had been selling stayed to count up their money. + +'And to jaw about it,' said Robert. 'I'll never go to another +bazaar as long as ever I live. My hand is swollen as big as a +pudding. I expect the nails in her horrible boots were poisoned.' + +Just then some one who seemed to have a right to interfere said-- + +'Everything is over now; you had better go home.' + +So they went. And then they waited on the pavement under the gas +lamp, where ragged children had been standing all the evening to +listen to the band, and their feet slipped about in the greasy mud +till Mrs Biddle came out and was driven away in a cab with the many +things she hadn't sold, and the few things she had bought--among +others the carpet. The other stall-holders left their things at +the school till Monday morning, but Mrs Biddle was afraid some one +would steal some of them, so she took them in a cab. + +The children, now too desperate to care for mud or appearances, +hung on behind the cab till it reached Mrs Biddle's house. When +she and the carpet had gone in and the door was shut Anthea said-- + +'Don't let's burgle--I mean do daring and dashing rescue acts--till +we've given her a chance. Let's ring and ask to see her.' + +The others hated to do this, but at last they agreed, on condition +that Anthea would not make any silly fuss about the burglary +afterwards, if it really had to come to that. + +So they knocked and rang, and a scared-looking parlourmaid opened +the front door. While they were asking for Mrs Biddle they saw +her. She was in the dining-room, and she had already pushed back +the table and spread out the carpet to see how it looked on the +floor. + +'I knew she didn't want it for her servants' bedroom,' Jane +muttered. + +Anthea walked straight past the uncomfortable parlourmaid, and the +others followed her. Mrs Biddle had her back to them, and was +smoothing down the carpet with the same boot that had trampled on +the hand of Robert. So that they were all in the room, and Cyril, +with great presence of mind, had shut the room door before she saw +them. + +'Who is it, Jane?' she asked in a sour voice; and then turning +suddenly, she saw who it was. Once more her face grew violet--a +deep, dark violet. 'You wicked daring little things!' she cried, +'how dare you come here? At this time of night, too. Be off, or +I'll send for the police.' + +'Don't be angry,' said Anthea, soothingly, 'we only wanted to ask +you to let us have the carpet. We have quite twelve shillings +between us, and--' + +'How DARE you?' cried Mrs Biddle, and her voice shook with +angriness. + +'You do look horrid,' said Jane suddenly. + +Mrs Biddle actually stamped that booted foot of hers. 'You rude, +barefaced child!' she said. + +Anthea almost shook Jane; but Jane pushed forward in spite of her. + +'It really IS our nursery carpet,' she said, 'you ask ANY ONE if it +isn't.' + +'Let's wish ourselves home,' said Cyril in a whisper. + +'No go,' Robert whispered back, 'she'd be there too, and raving mad +as likely as not. Horrid thing, I hate her!' + +'I wish Mrs Biddle was in an angelic good temper,' cried Anthea, +suddenly. 'It's worth trying,' she said to herself. + +Mrs Biddle's face grew from purple to violet, and from violet to +mauve, and from mauve to pink. Then she smiled quite a jolly +smile. + +'Why, so I am!' she said, 'what a funny idea! Why shouldn't I be +in a good temper, my dears.' + +Once more the carpet had done its work, and not on Mrs Biddle +alone. The children felt suddenly good and happy. + +'You're a jolly good sort,' said Cyril. 'I see that now. I'm +sorry we vexed you at the bazaar to-day.' + +'Not another word,' said the changed Mrs Biddle. 'Of course you +shall have the carpet, my dears, if you've taken such a fancy to +it. No, no; I won't have more than the ten shillings I paid.' + +'It does seem hard to ask you for it after you bought it at the +bazaar,' said Anthea; 'but it really IS our nursery carpet. It got +to the bazaar by mistake, with some other things.' + +'Did it really, now? How vexing!' said Mrs Biddle, kindly. 'Well, +my dears, I can very well give the extra ten shillings; so you take +your carpet and we'll say no more about it. Have a piece of cake +before you go! I'm so sorry I stepped on your hand, my boy. Is it +all right now?' + +'Yes, thank you,' said Robert. 'I say, you ARE good.' + +'Not at all,' said Mrs Biddle, heartily. 'I'm delighted to be able +to give any little pleasure to you dear children.' + +And she helped them to roll up the carpet, and the boys carried it +away between them. + +'You ARE a dear,' said Anthea, and she and Mrs Biddle kissed each +other heartily. + + +'WELL!' said Cyril as they went along the street. + +'Yes,' said Robert, 'and the odd part is that you feel just as if +it was REAL--her being so jolly, I mean--and not only the carpet +making her nice.' + +'Perhaps it IS real,' said Anthea, 'only it was covered up with +crossness and tiredness and things, and the carpet took them away.' + +'I hope it'll keep them away,' said Jane; 'she isn't ugly at all +when she laughs.' + +The carpet has done many wonders in its day; but the case of Mrs +Biddle is, I think, the most wonderful. For from that day she was +never anything like so disagreeable as she was before, and she sent +a lovely silver tea-pot and a kind letter to Miss Peasmarsh when +the pretty lady married the nice curate; just after Easter it was, +and they went to Italy for their honeymoon. + + + +CHAPTER 5 +THE TEMPLE + + +'I wish we could find the Phoenix,' said Jane. 'It's much better +company than the carpet.' + +'Beastly ungrateful, little kids are,' said Cyril. + +'No, I'm not; only the carpet never says anything, and it's so +helpless. It doesn't seem able to take care of itself. It gets +sold, and taken into the sea, and things like that. You wouldn't +catch the Phoenix getting sold.' + +It was two days after the bazaar. Every one was a little +cross--some days are like that, usually Mondays, by the way. And +this was a Monday. + +'I shouldn't wonder if your precious Phoenix had gone off for +good,' said Cyril; 'and I don't know that I blame it. Look at the +weather!' + +'It's not worth looking at,' said Robert. And indeed it wasn't. + +'The Phoenix hasn't gone--I'm sure it hasn't,' said Anthea. 'I'll +have another look for it.' + +Anthea looked under tables and chairs, and in boxes and baskets, in +mother's work-bag and father's portmanteau, but still the Phoenix +showed not so much as the tip of one shining feather. + +Then suddenly Robert remembered how the whole of the Greek +invocation song of seven thousand lines had been condensed by him +into one English hexameter, so he stood on the carpet and chanted-- + + 'Oh, come along, come along, you good old beautiful Phoenix,' + +and almost at once there was a rustle of wings down the kitchen +stairs, and the Phoenix sailed in on wide gold wings. + +'Where on earth HAVE you been?' asked Anthea. 'I've looked +everywhere for you.' + +'Not EVERYWHERE,' replied the bird, 'because you did not look in +the place where I was. Confess that that hallowed spot was +overlooked by you.' + +'WHAT hallowed spot?' asked Cyril, a little impatiently, for time +was hastening on, and the wishing carpet still idle. + +'The spot,' said the Phoenix, 'which I hallowed by my golden +presence was the Lutron.' + +'The WHAT?' + +'The bath--the place of washing.' + +'I'm sure you weren't,' said Jane. 'I looked there three times and +moved all the towels.' + +'I was concealed,' said the Phoenix, 'on the summit of a metal +column--enchanted, I should judge, for it felt warm to my golden +toes, as though the glorious sun of the desert shone ever upon it.' + +'Oh, you mean the cylinder,' said Cyril: 'it HAS rather a +comforting feel, this weather. And now where shall we go?' + +And then, of course, the usual discussion broke out as to where +they should go and what they should do. And naturally, every one +wanted to do something that the others did not care about. + +'I am the eldest,' Cyril remarked, 'let's go to the North Pole.' + +'This weather! Likely!' Robert rejoined. 'Let's go to the +Equator.' + +'I think the diamond mines of Golconda would be nice,' said Anthea; +'don't you agree, Jane?' + +'No, I don't,' retorted Jane, 'I don't agree with you. I don't +agree with anybody.' + +The Phoenix raised a warning claw. + +'If you cannot agree among yourselves, I fear I shall have to leave +you,' it said. + +'Well, where shall we go? You decide!' said all. + +'If I were you,' said the bird, thoughtfully, 'I should give the +carpet a rest. Besides, you'll lose the use of your legs if you go +everywhere by carpet. Can't you take me out and explain your ugly +city to me?' + +'We will if it clears up,' said Robert, without enthusiasm. 'Just +look at the rain. And why should we give the carpet a rest?' + +'Are you greedy and grasping, and heartless and selfish?' asked the +bird, sharply. + +'NO!' said Robert, with indignation. + +'Well then!' said the Phoenix. 'And as to the rain--well, I am not +fond of rain myself. If the sun knew _I_ was here--he's very fond of +shining on me because I look so bright and golden. He always says +I repay a little attention. Haven't you some form of words +suitable for use in wet weather?' + +'There's "Rain, rain, go away,"' said Anthea; 'but it never DOES +go.' + +'Perhaps you don't say the invocation properly,' said the bird. + + 'Rain, rain, go away, + Come again another day, + Little baby wants to play,' + +said Anthea. + +'That's quite wrong; and if you say it in that sort of dull way, I +can quite understand the rain not taking any notice. You should +open the window and shout as loud as you can-- + + 'Rain, rain, go away, + Come again another day; + Now we want the sun, and so, + Pretty rain, be kind and go! + +'You should always speak politely to people when you want them to +do things, and especially when it's going away that you want them +to do. And to-day you might add-- + + 'Shine, great sun, the lovely Phoe- + Nix is here, and wants to be + Shone on, splendid sun, by thee!' + +'That's poetry!' said Cyril, decidedly. + +'It's like it,' said the more cautious Robert. + +'I was obliged to put in "lovely",' said the Phoenix, modestly, 'to +make the line long enough.' + +'There are plenty of nasty words just that length,' said Jane; but +every one else said 'Hush!' And then they opened the window and +shouted the seven lines as loud as they could, and the Phoenix said +all the words with them, except 'lovely', and when they came to +that it looked down and coughed bashfully. + +The rain hesitated a moment and then went away. + +'There's true politeness,' said the Phoenix, and the next moment it +was perched on the window-ledge, opening and shutting its radiant +wings and flapping out its golden feathers in such a flood of +glorious sunshine as you sometimes have at sunset in autumn time. +People said afterwards that there had not been such sunshine in +December for years and years and years. + +'And now,' said the bird, 'we will go out into the city, and you +shall take me to see one of my temples.' + +'Your temples?' + +'I gather from the carpet that I have many temples in this land.' + +'I don't see how you CAN find anything out from it,' said Jane: 'it +never speaks.' + +'All the same, you can pick up things from a carpet,' said the +bird; 'I've seen YOU do it. And I have picked up several pieces of +information in this way. That papyrus on which you showed me my +picture--I understand that it bears on it the name of the street of +your city in which my finest temple stands, with my image graved in +stone and in metal over against its portal.' + +'You mean the fire insurance office,' said Robert. 'It's not +really a temple, and they don't--' + +'Excuse me,' said the Phoenix, coldly, 'you are wholly misinformed. +It IS a temple, and they do.' + +'Don't let's waste the sunshine,' said Anthea; 'we might argue as +we go along, to save time.' + +So the Phoenix consented to make itself a nest in the breast of +Robert's Norfolk jacket, and they all went out into the splendid +sunshine. The best way to the temple of the Phoenix seemed to be +to take the tram, and on the top of it the children talked, while +the Phoenix now and then put out a wary beak, cocked a cautious +eye, and contradicted what the children were saying. + +It was a delicious ride, and the children felt how lucky they were +to have had the money to pay for it. They went with the tram as +far as it went, and when it did not go any farther they stopped +too, and got off. The tram stops at the end of the Gray's Inn +Road, and it was Cyril who thought that one might well find a short +cut to the Phoenix Office through the little streets and courts +that lie tightly packed between Fetter Lane and Ludgate Circus. Of +course, he was quite mistaken, as Robert told him at the time, and +afterwards Robert did not forbear to remind his brother how he had +said so. The streets there were small and stuffy and ugly, and +crowded with printers' boys and binders' girls coming out from +work; and these stared so hard at the pretty red coats and caps of +the sisters that they wished they had gone some other way. And the +printers and binders made very personal remarks, advising Jane to +get her hair cut, and inquiring where Anthea had bought that hat. +Jane and Anthea scorned to reply, and Cyril and Robert found that +they were hardly a match for the rough crowd. They could think of +nothing nasty enough to say. They turned a corner sharply, and +then Anthea pulled Jane into an archway, and then inside a door; +Cyril and Robert quickly followed, and the jeering crowd passed by +without seein them. + +Anthea drew a long breath. + +'How awful!' she said. 'I didn't know there were such people, +except in books.' + +'It was a bit thick; but it's partly you girls' fault, coming out +in those flashy coats.' + +'We thought we ought to, when we were going out with the Phoenix,' +said Jane; and the bird said, 'Quite right, too'--and incautiously +put out his head to give her a wink of encouragement. + +And at the same instant a dirty hand reached through the grim +balustrade of the staircase beside them and clutched the Phoenix, +and a hoarse voice said-- + +'I say, Urb, blowed if this ain't our Poll parrot what we lost. +Thank you very much, lidy, for bringin' 'im home to roost.' + +The four turned swiftly. Two large and ragged boys were crouched +amid the dark shadows of the stairs. They were much larger than +Robert and Cyril, and one of them had snatched the Phoenix away and +was holding it high above their heads. + +'Give me that bird,' said Cyril, sternly: 'it's ours.' + +'Good arternoon, and thankin' you,' the boy went on, with maddening +mockery. 'Sorry I can't give yer tuppence for yer trouble--but +I've 'ad to spend my fortune advertising for my vallyable bird in +all the newspapers. You can call for the reward next year.' + +'Look out, Ike,' said his friend, a little anxiously; 'it 'ave a +beak on it.' + +'It's other parties as'll have the Beak on to 'em presently,' said +Ike, darkly, 'if they come a-trying to lay claims on my Poll +parrot. You just shut up, Urb. Now then, you four little gells, +get out er this.' + +'Little girls!' cried Robert. 'I'll little girl you!' + +He sprang up three stairs and hit out. + +There was a squawk--the most bird-like noise any one had ever heard +from the Phoenix--and a fluttering, and a laugh in the darkness, +and Ike said-- + +'There now, you've been and gone and strook my Poll parrot right in +the fevvers--strook 'im something crool, you 'ave.' + +Robert stamped with fury. Cyril felt himself growing pale with +rage, and with the effort of screwing up his brain to make it +clever enough to think of some way of being even with those boys. +Anthea and Jane were as angry as the boys, but it made them want to +cry. Yet it was Anthea who said-- + +'Do, PLEASE, let us have the bird.' + +'Dew, PLEASE, get along and leave us an' our bird alone.' + +'If you don't,' said Anthea, 'I shall fetch the police.' + +'You better!' said he who was named Urb. 'Say, Ike, you twist the +bloomin' pigeon's neck; he ain't worth tuppence.' + +'Oh, no,' cried Jane, 'don't hurt it. Oh, don't; it is such a +pet.' + +'I won't hurt it,' said Ike; 'I'm 'shamed of you, Urb, for to think +of such a thing. Arf a shiner, miss, and the bird is yours for +life.' + +'Half a WHAT?' asked Anthea. + +'Arf a shiner, quid, thick 'un--half a sov, then.' + +'I haven't got it--and, besides, it's OUR bird,' said Anthea. + +'Oh, don't talk to him,' said Cyril and then Jane said suddenly-- + +'Phoenix--dear Phoenix, we can't do anything. YOU must manage it.' + +'With pleasure,' said the Phoenix--and Ike nearly dropped it in his +amazement. + +'I say, it do talk, suthin' like,' said he. + +'Youths,' said the Phoenix, 'sons of misfortune, hear my words.' + +'My eyes!' said Ike. + +'Look out, Ike,' said Urb, 'you'll throttle the joker--and I see at +wunst 'e was wuth 'is weight in flimsies.'00 + +'Hearken, O Eikonoclastes, despiser of sacred images--and thou, +Urbanus, dweller in the sordid city. Forbear this adventure lest +a worse thing befall.' + +'Luv' us!' said Ike, 'ain't it been taught its schoolin' just!' + +'Restore me to my young acolytes and escape unscathed. Retain +me--and--' + +'They must ha' got all this up, case the Polly got pinched,' said +Ike. 'Lor' lumme, the artfulness of them young uns!' + +'I say, slosh 'em in the geseech and get clear off with the swag's +wot I say,' urged Herbert. + +'Right O,' said Isaac. + +'Forbear,' repeated the Phoenix, sternly. 'Who pinched the click +off of the old bloke in Aldermanbury?' it added, in a changed tone. + +'Who sneaked the nose-rag out of the young gell's 'and in Bell +Court? Who--' + +'Stow it,' said Ike. 'You! ugh! yah!--leave go of me. Bash him +off, Urb; 'e'll have my bloomin' eyes outer my ed.' + +There were howls, a scuffle, a flutter; Ike and Urb fled up the +stairs, and the Phoenix swept out through the doorway. The +children followed and the Phoenix settled on Robert, 'like a +butterfly on a rose,' as Anthea said afterwards, and wriggled into +the breast of his Norfolk jacket, 'like an eel into mud,' as Cyril +later said. + +'Why ever didn't you burn him? You could have, couldn't you?' +asked Robert, when the hurried flight through the narrow courts had +ended in the safe wideness of Farringdon Street. + +'I could have, of course,' said the bird, 'but I didn't think it +would be dignified to allow myself to get warm about a little thing +like that. The Fates, after all, have not been illiberal to me. +I have a good many friends among the London sparrows, and I have a +beak and claws.' + +These happenings had somewhat shaken the adventurous temper of the +children, and the Phoenix had to exert its golden self to hearten +them up. + +Presently the children came to a great house in Lombard Street, and +there, on each side of the door, was the image of the Phoenix +carved in stone, and set forth on shining brass were the words-- + + PHOENIX FIRE OFFICE + + +'One moment,' said the bird. 'Fire? For altars, I suppose?' + +'_I_ don't know,' said Robert; he was beginning to feel shy, and that +always made him rather cross. + +'Oh, yes, you do,' Cyril contradicted. 'When people's houses are +burnt down the Phoenix gives them new houses. Father told me; I +asked him.' + +'The house, then, like the Phoenix, rises from its ashes? Well +have my priests dealt with the sons of men!' + +'The sons of men pay, you know,' said Anthea; 'but it's only a +little every year.' + +'That is to maintain my priests,' said the bird, 'who, in the hour +of affliction, heal sorrows and rebuild houses. Lead on; inquire +for the High Priest. I will not break upon them too suddenly in +all my glory. Noble and honour-deserving are they who make as +nought the evil deeds of the lame-footed and unpleasing +Hephaestus.' + +'I don't know what you're talking about, and I wish you wouldn't +muddle us with new names. Fire just happens. Nobody does it--not +as a deed, you know,' Cyril explained. 'If they did the Phoenix +wouldn't help them, because its a crime to set fire to things. +Arsenic, or something they call it, because it's as bad as +poisoning people. The Phoenix wouldn't help THEM--father told me +it wouldn't.' + +'My priests do well,' said the Phoenix. 'Lead on.' + +'I don't know what to say,' said Cyril; and the Others said the +same. + +'Ask for the High Priest,' said the Phoenix. 'Say that you have a +secret to unfold that concerns my worship, and he will lead you to +the innermost sanctuary.' + +So the children went in, all four of them, though they didn't like +it, and stood in a large and beautiful hall adorned with Doulton +tiles, like a large and beautiful bath with no water in it, and +stately pillars supporting the roof. An unpleasing representation +of the Phoenix in brown pottery disfigured one wall. There were +counters and desks of mahogany and brass, and clerks bent over the +desks and walked behind the counters. There was a great clock over +an inner doorway. + +'Inquire for the High Priest,' whispered the Phoenix. + +An attentive clerk in decent black, who controlled his mouth but +not his eyebrows, now came towards them. He leaned forward on the +counter, and the children thought he was going to say, 'What can I +have the pleasure of showing you?' like in a draper's; instead of +which the young man said-- + +'And what do YOU want?' + +'We want to see the High Priest.' + +'Get along with you,' said the young man. + +An elder man, also decent in black coat, advanced. + +'Perhaps it's Mr Blank' (not for worlds would I give the name). +'He's a Masonic High Priest, you know.' + +A porter was sent away to look for Mr Asterisk (I cannot give his +name), and the children were left there to look on and be looked on +by all the gentlemen at the mahogany desks. Anthea and Jane +thought that they looked kind. The boys thought they stared, and +that it was like their cheek. + +The porter returned with the news that Mr Dot Dash Dot (I dare not +reveal his name) was out, but that Mr-- + +Here a really delightful gentleman appeared. He had a beard and a +kind and merry eye, and each one of the four knew at once that this +was a man who had kiddies of his own and could understand what you +were talking about. Yet it was a difficult thing to explain. + +'What is it?' he asked. 'Mr'--he named the name which I will never +reveal--'is out. Can I do anything?' + +'Inner sanctuary,' murmured the Phoenix. + +'I beg your pardon,' said the nice gentleman, who thought it was +Robert who had spoken. + +'We have something to tell you,' said Cyril, 'but'--he glanced at +the porter, who was lingering much nearer than he need have +done--'this is a very public place.' + +The nice gentleman laughed. + +'Come upstairs then,' he said, and led the way up a wide and +beautiful staircase. Anthea says the stairs were of white marble, +but I am not sure. On the corner-post of the stairs, at the top, +was a beautiful image of the Phoenix in dark metal, and on the wall +at each side was a flat sort of image of it. + +The nice gentleman led them into a room where the chairs, and even +the tables, were covered with reddish leather. He looked at the +children inquiringly. + +'Don't be frightened,' he said; 'tell me exactly what you want.' + +'May I shut the door?' asked Cyril. + +The gentleman looked surprised, but he shut the door. + +'Now,' said Cyril, firmly, 'I know you'll be awfully surprised, and +you'll think it's not true and we are lunatics; but we aren't, and +it is. Robert's got something inside his Norfolk--that's Robert, +he's my young brother. Now don't be upset and have a fit or +anything sir. Of course, I know when you called your shop the +"Phoenix" you never thought there was one; but there is--and +Robert's got it buttoned up against his chest!' + +'If it's an old curio in the form of a Phoenix, I dare say the +Board--' said the nice gentleman, as Robert began to fumble with +his buttons. + +'It's old enough,' said Anthea, 'going by what it says, but--' + +'My goodness gracious!' said the gentleman, as the Phoenix, with +one last wriggle that melted into a flutter, got out of its nest in +the breast of Robert and stood up on the leather-covered table. + +'What an extraordinarily fine bird!' he went on. 'I don't think I +ever saw one just like it.' + +'I should think not,' said the Phoenix, with pardonable pride. And +the gentleman jumped. + +'Oh, it's been taught to speak! Some sort of parrot, perhaps?' + +'I am,' said the bird, simply, 'the Head of your House, and I have +come to my temple to receive your homage. I am no parrot'--its +beak curved scornfully--'I am the one and only Phoenix, and I +demand the homage of my High Priest.' + +'In the absence of our manager,' the gentleman began, exactly as +though he were addressing a valued customer--'in the absence of our +manager, I might perhaps be able--What am I saying?' He turned +pale, and passed his hand across his brow. 'My dears,' he said, +'the weather is unusually warm for the time of year, and I don't +feel quite myself. Do you know, for a moment I really thought that +that remarkable bird of yours had spoken and said it was the +Phoenix, and, what's more, that I'd believed it.' + +'So it did, sir,' said Cyril, 'and so did you.' + +'It really--Allow me.' + +A bell was rung. The porter appeared. + +'Mackenzie,' said the gentleman, 'you see that golden bird?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +The other breathed a sigh of relief. + +'It IS real, then?' + +'Yes, sir, of course, sir. You take it in your hand, sir,' said +the porter, sympathetically, and reached out his hand to the +Phoenix, who shrank back on toes curved with agitated indignation. + +'Forbear!' it cried; 'how dare you seek to lay hands on me?' + +The porter saluted. + +'Beg pardon, sir,' he said, 'I thought you was a bird.' + +'I AM a bird--THE bird--the Phoenix.' + +'Of course you are, sir,' said the porter. 'I see that the first +minute, directly I got my breath, sir.' + +'That will do,' said the gentleman. 'Ask Mr Wilson and Mr Sterry +to step up here for a moment, please.' + +Mr Sterry and Mr Wilson were in their turn overcome by +amazement--quickly followed by conviction. To the surprise of the +children every one in the office took the Phoenix at its word, and +after the first shock of surprise it seemed to be perfectly natural +to every one that the Phoenix should be alive, and that, passing +through London, it should call at its temple. + +'We ought to have some sort of ceremony,' said the nicest +gentleman, anxiously. 'There isn't time to summon the directors +and shareholders--we might do that tomorrow, perhaps. Yes, the +board-room would be best. I shouldn't like it to feel we hadn't +done everything in our power to show our appreciation of its +condescension in looking in on us in this friendly way.' + +The children could hardly believe their ears, for they had never +thought that any one but themselves would believe in the Phoenix. +And yet every one did; all the men in the office were brought in by +twos and threes, and the moment the Phoenix opened its beak it +convinced the cleverest of them, as well as those who were not so +clever. Cyril wondered how the story would look in the papers next +day. He seemed to see the posters in the streets: + + PHOENIX FIRE OFFICE + THE PHOENIX AT ITS TEMPLE + MEETING TO WELCOME IT + DELIGHT OF THE MANAGER AND EVERYBODY. + +'Excuse our leaving you a moment,' said the nice gentleman, and he +went away with the others; and through the half-closed door the +children could hear the sound of many boots on stairs, the hum of +excited voices explaining, suggesting, arguing, the thumpy drag of +heavy furniture being moved about. + +The Phoenix strutted up and down the leather-covered table, looking +over its shoulder at its pretty back. + +'You see what a convincing manner I have,' it said proudly. + +And now a new gentleman came in and said, bowing low-- + +'Everything is prepared--we have done our best at so short a +notice; the meeting--the ceremony--will be in the board-room. Will +the Honourable Phoenix walk--it is only a few steps--or would it +like to be--would it like some sort of conveyance?' + +'My Robert will bear me to the board-room, if that be the unlovely +name of my temple's inmost court,' replied the bird. + +So they all followed the gentleman. There was a big table in the +board-room, but it had been pushed right up under the long windows +at one side, and chairs were arranged in rows across the room--like +those you have at schools when there is a magic lantern on 'Our +Eastern Empire', or on 'The Way We Do in the Navy'. The doors were +of carved wood, very beautiful, with a carved Phoenix above. +Anthea noticed that the chairs in the front rows were of the kind +that her mother so loved to ask the price of in old furniture +shops, and never could buy, because the price was always nearly +twenty pounds each. On the mantelpiece were some heavy bronze +candlesticks and a clock, and on the top of the clock was another +image of the Phoenix. + +'Remove that effigy,' said the Phoenix to the gentlemen who were +there, and it was hastily taken down. Then the Phoenix fluttered +to the middle of the mantelpiece and stood there, looking more +golden than ever. Then every one in the house and the office came +in--from the cashier to the women who cooked the clerks' dinners in +the beautiful kitchen at the top of the house. And every one bowed +to the Phoenix and then sat down in a chair. + +'Gentlemen,' said the nicest gentleman, 'we have met here today--' + +The Phoenix was turning its golden beak from side to side. + +'I don't notice any incense,' it said, with an injured sniff. A +hurried consultation ended in plates being fetched from the +kitchen. Brown sugar, sealing-wax, and tobacco were placed on +these, and something from a square bottle was poured over it all. +Then a match was applied. It was the only incense that was handy +in the Phoenix office, and it certainly burned very briskly and +smoked a great deal. + +'We have met here today,' said the gentleman again, 'on an occasion +unparalleled in the annals of this office. Our respected Phoenix--' + +'Head of the House,' said the Phoenix, in a hollow voice. + +'I was coming to that. Our respected Phoenix, the Head of this +ancient House, has at length done us the honour to come among us. +I think I may say, gentlemen, that we are not insensible to this +honour, and that we welcome with no uncertain voice one whom we +have so long desired to see in our midst.' + +Several of the younger clerks thought of saying 'Hear, hear,' but +they feared it might seem disrespectful to the bird. + +'I will not take up your time,' the speaker went on, 'by +recapitulating the advantages to be derived from a proper use of +our system of fire insurance. I know, and you know, gentlemen, +that our aim has ever been to be worthy of that eminent bird whose +name we bear, and who now adorns our mantelpiece with his presence. +Three cheers, gentlemen, for the winged Head of the House!' + +The cheers rose, deafening. When they had died away the Phoenix +was asked to say a few words. + +It expressed in graceful phrases the pleasure it felt in finding +itself at last in its own temple. + +'And,' it went on, 'You must not think me wanting in appreciation +of your very hearty and cordial reception when I ask that an ode +may be recited or a choric song sung. It is what I have always +been accustomed to.' + +The four children, dumb witnesses of this wonderful scene, glanced +a little nervously across the foam of white faces above the sea of +black coats. It seemed to them that the Phoenix was really asking +a little too much. + +'Time presses,' said the Phoenix, 'and the original ode of +invocation is long, as well as being Greek; and, besides, it's no +use invoking me when here I am; but is there not a song in your own +tongue for a great day such as this?' + +Absently the manager began to sing, and one by one the rest +joined-- + + 'Absolute security! + No liability! + All kinds of property + insured against fire. + Terms most favourable, + Expenses reasonable, + Moderate rates for annual + Insurance.' + +'That one is NOT my favourite,' interrupted the Phoenix, 'and I +think you've forgotten part of it.' + +The manager hastily began another-- + + 'O Golden Phoenix, fairest bird, + The whole great world has often heard + Of all the splendid things we do, + Great Phoenix, just to honour you.' + +'That's better,' said the bird. +And every one sang-- + + 'Class one, for private dwelling-house, + For household goods and shops allows; + Provided these are built of brick + Or stone, and tiled and slated thick.' + +'Try another verse,' said the Phoenix, 'further on.' + +And again arose the voices of all the clerks and employees and +managers and secretaries and cooks-- + 'In Scotland our insurance yields + The price of burnt-up stacks in fields.' + +'Skip that verse,' said the Phoenix. + + 'Thatched dwellings and their whole contents + We deal with--also with their rents; + Oh, glorious Phoenix, look and see + That these are dealt with in class three. + + 'The glories of your temple throng + Too thick to go in any song; + And we attend, O good and wise, + To "days of grace" and merchandise. + + 'When people's homes are burned away + They never have a cent to pay + If they have done as all should do, + O Phoenix, and have honoured you. + + 'So let us raise our voice and sing + The praises of the Phoenix King. + In classes one and two and three, + Oh, trust to him, for kind is he!' + +'I'm sure YOU'RE very kind,' said the Phoenix; 'and now we must be +going. An thank you very much for a very pleasant time. May you +all prosper as you deserve to do, for I am sure a nicer, +pleasanter-spoken lot of temple attendants I have never met, and +never wish to meet. I wish you all good-day!' + +It fluttered to the wrist of Robert and drew the four children from +the room. The whole of the office staff followed down the wide +stairs and filed into their accustomed places, and the two most +important officials stood on the steps bowing till Robert had +buttoned the golden bird in his Norfolk bosom, and it and he and +the three other children were lost in the crowd. + +The two most important gentlemen looked at each other earnestly and +strangely for a moment, and then retreated to those sacred inner +rooms, where they toil without ceasing for the good of the House. + +And the moment they were all in their places--managers, +secretaries, clerks, and porters--they all started, and each looked +cautiously round to see if any one was looking at him. For each +thought that he had fallen asleep for a few minutes, and had +dreamed a very odd dream about the Phoenix and the board-room. +And, of course, no one mentioned it to any one else, because going +to sleep at your office is a thing you simply MUST NOT do. + +The extraordinary confusion of the board-room, with the remains of +the incense in the plates, would have shown them at once that the +visit of the Phoenix had been no dream, but a radiant reality, but +no one went into the board-room again that day; and next day, +before the office was opened, it was all cleaned and put nice and +tidy by a lady whose business asking questions was not part of. +That is why Cyril read the papers in vain on the next day and the +day after that; because no sensible person thinks his dreams worth +putting in the paper, and no one will ever own that he has been +asleep in the daytime. + +The Phoenix was very pleased, but it decided to write an ode for +itself. It thought the ones it had heard at its temple had been +too hastily composed. Its own ode began-- + + 'For beauty and for modest worth + The Phoenix has not its equal on earth.' + +And when the children went to bed that night it was still trying to +cut down the last line to the proper length without taking out any +of what it wanted to say. + +That is what makes poetry so difficult. + + + +CHAPTER 6 +DOING GOOD + + +'We shan't be able to go anywhere on the carpet for a whole week, +though,' said Robert. + +'And I'm glad of it,' said Jane, unexpectedly. + +'Glad?' said Cyril; 'GLAD?' + +It was breakfast-time, and mother's letter, telling them how they +were all going for Christmas to their aunt's at Lyndhurst, and how +father and mother would meet them there, having been read by every +one, lay on the table, drinking hot bacon-fat with one corner and +eating marmalade with the other. + +'Yes, glad,' said Jane. 'I don't want any more things to happen +just now. I feel like you do when you've been to three parties in +a week--like we did at granny's once--and extras in between, toys +and chocs and things like that. I want everything to be just real, +and no fancy things happening at all.' +'I don't like being obliged to keep things from mother,' said +Anthea. 'I don't know why, but it makes me feel selfish and mean.' + +'If we could only get the mater to believe it, we might take her to +the jolliest places,' said Cyril, thoughtfully. 'As it is, we've +just got to be selfish and mean--if it is that--but I don't feel it +is.' + +'I KNOW it isn't, but I FEEL it is,' said Anthea, 'and that's just +as bad.' + +'It's worse,' said Robert; 'if you knew it and didn't feel it, it +wouldn't matter so much.' + +'That's being a hardened criminal, father says,' put in Cyril, and +he picked up mother's letter and wiped its corners with his +handkerchief, to whose colour a trifle of bacon-fat and marmalade +made but little difference. + +'We're going to-morrow, anyhow,' said Robert. 'Don't,' he added, +with a good-boy expression on his face--'don't let's be ungrateful +for our blessings; don't let's waste the day in saying how horrid +it is to keep secrets from mother, when we all know Anthea tried +all she knew to give her the secret, and she wouldn't take it. +Let's get on the carpet and have a jolly good wish. You'll have +time enough to repent of things all next week.' + +'Yes,' said Cyril, 'let's. It's not really wrong.' + +'Well, look here,' said Anthea. 'You know there's something about +Christmas that makes you want to be good--however little you wish +it at other times. Couldn't we wish the carpet to take us +somewhere where we should have the chance to do some good and kind +action? It would be an adventure just the same,' she pleaded. + +'I don't mind,' said Cyril. 'We shan't know where we're going, and +that'll be exciting. No one knows what'll happen. We'd best put +on our outers in case--' + +'We might rescue a traveller buried in the snow, like St Bernard +dogs, with barrels round our necks,' said Jane, beginning to be +interested. + +'Or we might arrive just in time to witness a will being +signed--more tea, please,' said Robert, 'and we should see the old +man hide it away in the secret cupboard; and then, after long +years, when the rightful heir was in despair, we should lead him to +the hidden panel and--' + +'Yes,' interrupted Anthea; 'or we might be taken to some freezing +garret in a German town, where a poor little pale, sick child--' + +'We haven't any German money,' interrupted Cyril, 'so THAT'S no go. +What I should like would be getting into the middle of a war and +getting hold of secret intelligence and taking it to the general, +and he would make me a lieutenant or a scout, or a hussar.' + +When breakfast was cleared away, Anthea swept the carpet, and the +children sat down on it, together with the Phoenix, who had been +especially invited, as a Christmas treat, to come with them and +witness the good and kind action they were about to do. + +Four children and one bird were ready, and the wish was wished. + +Every one closed its eyes, so as to feel the topsy-turvy swirl of +the carpet's movement as little as possible. + +When the eyes were opened again the children found themselves on +the carpet, and the carpet was in its proper place on the floor of +their own nursery at Camden Town. + +'I say,' said Cyril, 'here's a go!' + +'Do you think it's worn out? The wishing part of it, I mean?' +Robert anxiously asked the Phoenix. + +'It's not that,' said the Phoenix; 'but--well--what did you +wish--?' + +'Oh! I see what it means,' said Robert, with deep disgust; 'it's +like the end of a fairy story in a Sunday magazine. How perfectly +beastly!' + +'You mean it means we can do kind and good actions where we are? +I see. I suppose it wants us to carry coals for the cook or make +clothes for the bare heathens. Well, I simply won't. And the last +day and everything. Look here!' Cyril spoke loudly and firmly. +'We want to go somewhere really interesting, where we have a chance +of doing something good and kind; we don't want to do it here, but +somewhere else. See? Now, then.' + +The obedient carpet started instantly, and the four children and +one bird fell in a heap together, and as they fell were plunged in +perfect darkness. + +'Are you all there?' said Anthea, breathlessly, through the black +dark. Every one owned that it was there. + +'Where are we? Oh! how shivery and wet it is! Ugh!--oh!--I've put +my hand in a puddle!' + +'Has any one got any matches?' said Anthea, hopelessly. She felt +sure that no one would have any. + +It was then that Robert, with a radiant smile of triumph that was +quite wasted in the darkness, where, of course, no one could see +anything, drew out of his pocket a box of matches, struck a match +and lighted a candle--two candles. And every one, with its mouth +open, blinked at the sudden light. + +'Well done Bobs,' said his sisters, and even Cyril's natural +brotherly feelings could not check his admiration of Robert's +foresight. + +'I've always carried them about ever since the lone tower day,' +said Robert, with modest pride. 'I knew we should want them some +day. I kept the secret well, didn't I?' + +'Oh, yes,' said Cyril, with fine scorn. 'I found them the Sunday +after, when I was feeling in your Norfolks for the knife you +borrowed off me. But I thought you'd only sneaked them for Chinese +lanterns, or reading in bed by.' + +'Bobs,' said Anthea, suddenly, 'do you know where we are? This is +the underground passage, and look there--there's the money and the +money-bags, and everything.' + +By this time the ten eyes had got used to the light of the candles, +and no one could help seeing that Anthea spoke the truth. + +'It seems an odd place to do good and kind acts in, though,' said +Jane. 'There's no one to do them to.' + +'Don't you be too sure,' said Cyril; 'just round the next turning +we might find a prisoner who has languished here for years and +years, and we could take him out on our carpet and restore him to +his sorrowing friends.' + +'Of course we could,' said Robert, standing up and holding the +candle above his head to see further off; 'or we might find the +bones of a poor prisoner and take them to his friends to be buried +properly--that's always a kind action in books, though I never +could see what bones matter.' + +'I wish you wouldn't,' said Jane. + +'I know exactly where we shall find the bones, too,' Robert went +on. 'You see that dark arch just along the passage? Well, just +inside there--' + +'If you don't stop going on like that,' said Jane, firmly, 'I shall +scream, and then I'll faint--so now then!' + +'And _I_ will, too,' said Anthea. + +Robert was not pleased at being checked in his flight of fancy. + +'You girls will never be great writers,' he said bitterly. 'They +just love to think of things in dungeons, and chains, and knobbly +bare human bones, and--' + +Jane had opened her mouth to scream, but before she could decide +how you began when you wanted to faint, the golden voice of the +Phoenix spoke through the gloom. + +'Peace!' it said; 'there are no bones here except the small but +useful sets that you have inside you. And you did not invite me to +come out with you to hear you talk about bones, but to see you do +some good and kind action.' + +'We can't do it here,' said Robert, sulkily. + +'No,' rejoined the bird. 'The only thing we can do here, it seems, +is to try to frighten our little sisters.' + +'He didn't, really, and I'm not so VERY little,' said Jane, rather +ungratefully. + +Robert was silent. It was Cyril who suggested that perhaps they +had better take the money and go. + +'That wouldn't be a kind act, except to ourselves; and it wouldn't +be good, whatever way you look at it,' said Anthea, 'to take money +that's not ours.' + +'We might take it and spend it all on benefits to the poor and +aged,' said Cyril. + +'That wouldn't make it right to steal,' said Anthea, stoutly. + +'I don't know,' said Cyril. They were all standing up now. +'Stealing is taking things that belong to some one else, and +there's no one else.' + +'It can't be stealing if--' + +'That's right,' said Robert, with ironical approval; 'stand here +all day arguing while the candles burn out. You'll like it awfully +when it's all dark again--and bony.' + +'Let's get out, then,' said Anthea. 'We can argue as we go.' So +they rolled up the carpet and went. But when they had crept along +to the place where the passage led into the topless tower they +found the way blocked by a great stone, which they could not move. + +'There!' said Robert. 'I hope you're satisfied!' + +'Everything has two ends,' said the Phoenix, softly; 'even a +quarrel or a secret passage.' + +So they turned round and went back, and Robert was made to go first +with one of the candles, because he was the one who had begun to +talk about bones. And Cyril carried the carpet. + +'I wish you hadn't put bones into our heads,' said Jane, as they +went along. + +'I didn't; you always had them. More bones than brains,' said +Robert. + +The passage was long, and there were arches and steps and turnings +and dark alcoves that the girls did not much like passing. The +passage ended in a flight of steps. Robert went up them. + +Suddenly he staggered heavily back on to the following feet of +Jane, and everybody screamed, 'Oh! what is it?' + +'I've only bashed my head in,' said Robert, when he had groaned for +some time; 'that's all. Don't mention it; I like it. The stairs +just go right slap into the ceiling, and it's a stone ceiling. You +can't do good and kind actions underneath a paving-stone.' + +'Stairs aren't made to lead just to paving-stones as a general +rule,' said the Phoenix. 'Put your shoulder to the wheel.' + +'There isn't any wheel,' said the injured Robert, still rubbing his +head. + +But Cyril had pushed past him to the top stair, and was already +shoving his hardest against the stone above. Of course, it did not +give in the least. + +'If it's a trap-door--' said Cyril. And he stopped shoving and +began to feel about with his hands. + +'Yes, there is a bolt. I can't move it.' + +By a happy chance Cyril had in his pocket the oil-can of his +father's bicycle; he put the carpet down at the foot of the stairs, +and he lay on his back, with his head on the top step and his feet +straggling down among his young relations, and he oiled the bolt +till the drops of rust and oil fell down on his face. One even +went into his mouth--open, as he panted with the exertion of +keeping up this unnatural position. Then he tried again, but still +the bolt would not move. So now he tied his handkerchief--the one +with the bacon-fat and marmalade on it--to the bolt, and Robert's +handkerchief to that, in a reef knot, which cannot come undone +however much you pull, and, indeed, gets tighter and tighter the +more you pull it. This must not be confused with a granny knot, +which comes undone if you look at it. And then he and Robert +pulled, and the girls put their arms round their brothers and +pulled too, and suddenly the bolt gave way with a rusty scrunch, +and they all rolled together to the bottom of the stairs--all but +the Phoenix, which had taken to its wings when the pulling began. + +Nobody was hurt much, because the rolled-up carpet broke their +fall; and now, indeed, the shoulders of the boys were used to some +purpose, for the stone allowed them to heave it up. They felt it +give; dust fell freely on them. + +'Now, then,' cried Robert, forgetting his head and his temper, +'push all together. One, two, three!' + +The stone was heaved up. It swung up on a creaking, unwilling +hinge, and showed a growing oblong of dazzling daylight; and it +fell back with a bang against something that kept it upright. +Every one climbed out, but there was not room for every one to +stand comfortably in the little paved house where they found +themselves, so when the Phoenix had fluttered up from the darkness +they let the stone down, and it closed like a trap-door, as indeed +it was. + +You can have no idea how dusty and dirty the children were. +Fortunately there was no one to see them but each other. The place +they were in was a little shrine, built on the side of a road that +went winding up through yellow-green fields to the topless tower. +Below them were fields and orchards, all bare boughs and brown +furrows, and little houses and gardens. The shrine was a kind of +tiny chapel with no front wall--just a place for people to stop and +rest in and wish to be good. So the Phoenix told them. There was +an image that had once been brightly coloured, but the rain and +snow had beaten in through the open front of the shrine, and the +poor image was dull and weather-stained. Under it was written: 'St +Jean de Luz. Priez pour nous.' It was a sad little place, very +neglected and lonely, and yet it was nice, Anthea thought, that +poor travellers should come to this little rest-house in the hurry +and worry of their journeyings and be quiet for a few minutes, and +think about being good. The thought of St Jean de Luz--who had, no +doubt, in his time, been very good and kind--made Anthea want more +than ever to do something kind and good. + +'Tell us,' she said to the Phoenix, 'what is the good and kind +action the carpet brought us here to do?' + +'I think it would be kind to find the owners of the treasure and +tell them about it,' said Cyril. + +'And give it them ALL?' said Jane. + +'Yes. But whose is it?' + +'I should go to the first house and ask the name of the owner of +the castle,' said the golden bird, and really the idea seemed a +good one. + +They dusted each other as well as they could and went down the +road. A little way on they found a tiny spring, bubbling out of +the hillside and falling into a rough stone basin surrounded by +draggled hart's-tongue ferns, now hardly green at all. Here the +children washed their hands and faces and dried them on their +pocket-handkerchiefs, which always, on these occasions, seem +unnaturally small. Cyril's and Robert's handkerchiefs, indeed, +rather undid the effects of the wash. But in spite of this the +party certainly looked cleaner than before. + +The first house they came to was a little white house with green +shutters and a slate roof. It stood in a prim little garden, and +down each side of the neat path were large stone vases for flowers +to grow in; but all the flowers were dead now. + +Along one side of the house was a sort of wide veranda, built of +poles and trellis-work, and a vine crawled all over it. It was +wider than our English verandas, and Anthea thought it must look +lovely when the green leaves and the grapes were there; but now +there were only dry, reddish-brown stalks and stems, with a few +withered leaves caught in them. + +The children walked up to the front door. It was green and narrow. +A chain with a handle hung beside it, and joined itself quite +openly to a rusty bell that hung under the porch. Cyril had pulled +the bell and its noisy clang was dying away before the terrible +thought came to all. Cyril spoke it. + +'My hat!' he breathed. 'We don't know any French!' + +At this moment the door opened. A very tall, lean lady, with pale +ringlets like whitey-brown paper or oak shavings, stood before +them. She had an ugly grey dress and a black silk apron. Her eyes +were small and grey and not pretty, and the rims were red, as +though she had been crying. + +She addressed the party in something that sounded like a foreign +language, and ended with something which they were sure was a +question. Of course, no one could answer it. + +'What does she say?' Robert asked, looking down into the hollow of +his jacket, where the Phoenix was nestling. But before the Phoenix +could answer, the whitey-brown lady's face was lighted up by a most +charming smile. + +'You--you ar-r-re fr-r-rom the England!' she cried. 'I love so +much the England. Mais entrez--entrez donc tous! Enter, +then--enter all. One essuyes his feet on the carpet.' She pointed +to the mat. + +'We only wanted to ask--' + +'I shall say you all that what you wish,' said the lady. 'Enter +only!' + +So they all went in, wiping their feet on a very clean mat, and +putting the carpet in a safe corner of the veranda. + +'The most beautiful days of my life,' said the lady, as she shut +the door, 'did pass themselves in England. And since long time I +have not heard an English voice to repeal me the past.' + +This warm welcome embarrassed every one, but most the boys, for the +floor of the hall was of such very clean red and white tiles, and +the floor of the sitting-room so very shiny--like a black +looking-glass--that each felt as though he had on far more boots +than usual, and far noisier. + +There was a wood fire, very small and very bright, on the +hearth--neat little logs laid on brass fire-dogs. Some portraits +of powdered ladies and gentlemen hung in oval frames on the pale +walls. There were silver candlesticks on the mantelpiece, and +there were chairs and a table, very slim and polite, with slender +legs. The room was extremely bare, but with a bright foreign +bareness that was very cheerful, in an odd way of its own. +At the end of the polished table a very un-English little boy sat +on a footstool in a high-backed, uncomfortable-looking chair. He +wore black velvet, and the kind of collar--all frills and lacey-- +that Robert would rather have died than wear; but then the little +French boy was much younger than Robert. + +'Oh, how pretty!' said every one. But no one meant the little +French boy, with the velvety short knickerbockers and the velvety +short hair. + +What every one admired was a little, little Christmas-tree, very +green, and standing in a very red little flower-pot, and hung round +with very bright little things made of tinsel and coloured paper. +There were tiny candles on the tree, but they were not lighted yet. + +'But yes--is it not that it is genteel?' said the lady. 'Sit down +you then, and let us see.' + +The children sat down in a row on the stiff chairs against the +wall, and the lady lighted a long, slim red taper at the wood +flame, and then she drew the curtains and lit the little candles, +and when they were all lighted the little French boy suddenly +shouted, 'Bravo, ma tante! Oh, que c'est gentil,' and the English +children shouted 'Hooray!' + +Then there was a struggle in the breast of Robert, and out +fluttered the Phoenix--spread his gold wings, flew to the top of +the Christmas-tree, and perched there. + +'Ah! catch it, then,' cried the lady; 'it will itself burn--your +genteel parrakeet!' + +'It won't,' said Robert, 'thank you.' + +And the little French boy clapped his clean and tidy hands; but the +lady was so anxious that the Phoenix fluttered down and walked up +and down on the shiny walnut-wood table. + +'Is it that it talks?' asked the lady. + +And the Phoenix replied in excellent French. It said, +'Parfaitement, madame!' + +'Oh, the pretty parrakeet,' said the lady. 'Can it say still of +other things?' + +And the Phoenix replied, this time in English, 'Why are you sad so +near Christmas-time?' + +The children looked at it with one gasp of horror and surprise, for +the youngest of them knew that it is far from manners to notice +that strangers have been crying, and much worse to ask them the +reason of their tears. And, of course, the lady began to cry +again, very much indeed, after calling the Phoenix a bird without +a heart; and she could not find her handkerchief, so Anthea offered +hers, which was still very damp and no use at all. She also hugged +the lady, and this seemed to be of more use than the handkerchief, +so that presently the lady stopped crying, and found her own +handkerchief and dried her eyes, and called Anthea a cherished angel. + +'I am sorry we came just when you were so sad,' said Anthea, 'but +we really only wanted to ask you whose that castle is on the hill.' + +'Oh, my little angel,' said the poor lady, sniffing, 'to-day and for +hundreds of years the castle is to us, to our family. To-morrow it +must that I sell it to some strangers--and my little Henri, who +ignores all, he will not have never the lands paternal. But what +will you? His father, my brother--Mr the Marquis--has spent much +of money, and it the must, despite the sentiments of familial +respect, that I admit that my sainted father he also--' + +'How would you feel if you found a lot of money--hundreds and +thousands of gold pieces?' asked Cyril. + +The lady smiled sadly. + +'Ah! one has already recounted to you the legend?' she said. 'It +is true that one says that it is long time; oh! but long time, one +of our ancestors has hid a treasure--of gold, and of gold, and of +gold--enough to enrich my little Henri for the life. But all that, +my children, it is but the accounts of fays--' + +'She means fairy stories,' whispered the Phoenix to Robert. 'Tell +her what you have found.' + +So Robert told, while Anthea and Jane hugged the lady for fear she +should faint for joy, like people in books, and they hugged her +with the earnest, joyous hugs of unselfish delight. + +'It's no use explaining how we got in,' said Robert, when he had +told of the finding of the treasure, 'because you would find it a +little difficult to understand, and much more difficult to believe. +But we can show you where the gold is and help you to fetch it +away.' + +The lady looked doubtfully at Robert as she absently returned the +hugs of the girls. + +'No, he's not making it up,' said Anthea; 'it's true, TRUE, +TRUE!--and we are so glad.' + +'You would not be capable to torment an old woman?' she said; 'and +it is not possible that it be a dream.' + +'It really IS true,' said Cyril; 'and I congratulate you very +much.' + +His tone of studied politeness seemed to convince more than the +raptures of the others. + +'If I do not dream,' she said, 'Henri come to Manon--and you--you +shall come all with me to Mr the Curate. Is it not?' + +Manon was a wrinkled old woman with a red and yellow handkerchief +twisted round her head. She took Henri, who was already sleepy +with the excitement of his Christmas-tree and his visitors, and +when the lady had put on a stiff black cape and a wonderful black +silk bonnet and a pair of black wooden clogs over her black +cashmere house-boots, the whole party went down the road to a +little white house--very like the one they had left--where an old +priest, with a good face, welcomed them with a politeness so great +that it hid his astonishment. + +The lady, with her French waving hands and her shrugging French +shoulders and her trembling French speech, told the story. And now +the priest, who knew no English, shrugged HIS shoulders and waved +HIS hands and spoke also in French. + +'He thinks,' whispered the Phoenix, 'that her troubles have turned +her brain. What a pity you know no French!' + +'I do know a lot of French,' whispered Robert, indignantly; 'but +it's all about the pencil of the gardener's son and the penknife of +the baker's niece--nothing that anyone ever wants to say.' + +'If _I_ speak,' the bird whispered, 'he'll think HE'S mad, too.' + +'Tell me what to say.' + +'Say "C'est vrai, monsieur. Venez donc voir,"' said the Phoenix; +and then Robert earned the undying respect of everybody by suddenly +saying, very loudly and distinctly-- + +'Say vray, mossoo; venny dong vwaw.' + +The priest was disappointed when he found that Robert's French +began and ended with these useful words; but, at any rate, he saw +that if the lady was mad she was not the only one, and he put on a +big beavery hat, and got a candle and matches and a spade, and they +all went up the hill to the wayside shrine of St John of Luz. + +'Now,' said Robert, 'I will go first and show you where it is.' + +So they prised the stone up with a corner of the spade, and Robert +did go first, and they all followed and found the golden treasure +exactly as they had left it. And every one was flushed with the +joy of performing such a wonderfully kind action. + +Then the lady and the priest clasped hands and wept for joy, as +French people do, and knelt down and touched the money, and talked +very fast and both together, and the lady embraced all the children +three times each, and called them 'little garden angels,' and then +she and the priest shook each other by both hands again, and +talked, and talked, and talked, faster and more Frenchy than you +would have believed possible. And the children were struck dumb +with joy and pleasure. + +'Get away NOW,' said the Phoenix softly, breaking in on the radiant +dream. + +So the children crept away, and out through the little shrine, and +the lady and the priest were so tearfully, talkatively happy that +they never noticed that the guardian angels had gone. + +The 'garden angels' ran down the hill to the lady's little house, +where they had left the carpet on the veranda, and they spread it +out and said 'Home,' and no one saw them disappear, except little +Henri, who had flattened his nose into a white button against the +window-glass, and when he tried to tell his aunt she thought he had +been dreaming. So that was all right. + +'It is much the best thing we've done,' said Anthea, when they +talked it over at tea-time. 'In the future we'll only do kind +actions with the carpet.' + +'Ahem!' said the Phoenix. + +'I beg your pardon?' said Anthea. + +'Oh, nothing,' said the bird. 'I was only thinking!' + + + +CHAPTER 7 +MEWS FROM PERSIA + + +When you hear that the four children found themselves at Waterloo +Station quite un-taken-care-of, and with no one to meet them, it +may make you think that their parents were neither kind nor +careful. But if you think this you will be wrong. The fact is, +mother arranged with Aunt Emma that she was to meet the children at +Waterloo, when they went back from their Christmas holiday at +Lyndhurst. The train was fixed, but not the day. Then mother +wrote to Aunt Emma, giving her careful instructions about the day +and the hour, and about luggage and cabs and things, and gave the +letter to Robert to post. But the hounds happened to meet near +Rufus Stone that morning, and what is more, on the way to the meet +they met Robert, and Robert met them, and instantly forgot all +about posting Aunt Emma's letter, and never thought of it again +until he and the others had wandered three times up and down the +platform at Waterloo--which makes six in all--and had bumped +against old gentlemen, and stared in the faces of ladies, and been +shoved by people in a hurry, and 'by-your-leaved' by porters with +trucks, and were quite, quite sure that Aunt Emma was not there. +Then suddenly the true truth of what he had forgotten to do came +home to Robert, and he said, 'Oh, crikey!' and stood still with his +mouth open, and let a porter with a Gladstone bag in each hand and +a bundle of umbrellas under one arm blunder heavily into him, and +never so much as said, 'Where are you shoving to now?' or, 'Look +out where you're going, can't you?' The heavier bag smote him at +the knee, and he staggered, but he said nothing. + +When the others understood what was the matter I think they told +Robert what they thought of him. + +'We must take the train to Croydon,' said Anthea, 'and find Aunt +Emma.' + +'Yes,' said Cyril, 'and precious pleased those Jevonses would be to +see us and our traps.' + +Aunt Emma, indeed, was staying with some Jevonses--very prim +people. They were middle-aged and wore very smart blouses, and +they were fond of matinees and shopping, and they did not care +about children. + +'I know MOTHER would be pleased to see us if we went back,' said +Jane. + +'Yes, she would, but she'd think it was not right to show she was +pleased, because it's Bob's fault we're not met. Don't I know the +sort of thing?' said Cyril. 'Besides, we've no tin. No; we've got +enough for a growler among us, but not enough for tickets to the +New Forest. We must just go home. They won't be so savage when +they find we've really got home all right. You know auntie was +only going to take us home in a cab.' + +'I believe we ought to go to Croydon,' Anthea insisted. + +'Aunt Emma would be out to a dead cert,' said Robert. 'Those +Jevonses go to the theatre every afternoon, I believe. Besides, +there's the Phoenix at home, AND the carpet. I votes we call a +four-wheeled cabman.' + +A four-wheeled cabman was called--his cab was one of the +old-fashioned kind with straw in the bottom--and he was asked by +Anthea to drive them very carefully to their address. This he did, +and the price he asked for doing so was exactly the value of the +gold coin grandpapa had given Cyril for Christmas. This cast a +gloom; but Cyril would never have stooped to argue about a cab- +fare, for fear the cabman should think he was not accustomed to +take cabs whenever he wanted them. For a reason that was something +like this he told the cabman to put the luggage on the steps, and +waited till the wheels of the growler had grittily retired before +he rang the bell. + +'You see,' he said, with his hand on the handle, 'we don't want +cook and Eliza asking us before HIM how it is we've come home +alone, as if we were babies.' + +Here he rang the bell; and the moment its answering clang was +heard, every one felt that it would be some time before that bell +was answered. The sound of a bell is quite different, somehow, +when there is anyone inside the house who hears it. I can't tell +you why that is--but so it is. + +'I expect they're changing their dresses,' said Jane. + +'Too late,' said Anthea, 'it must be past five. I expect Eliza's +gone to post a letter, and cook's gone to see the time.' + +Cyril rang again. And the bell did its best to inform the +listening children that there was really no one human in the house. +They rang again and listened intently. The hearts of all sank low. +It is a terrible thing to be locked out of your own house, on a +dark, muggy January evening. + +'There is no gas on anywhere,' said Jane, in a broken voice. + +'I expect they've left the gas on once too often, and the draught +blew it out, and they're suffocated in their beds. Father always +said they would some day,' said Robert cheerfully. + +'Let's go and fetch a policeman,' said Anthea, trembling. + +'And be taken up for trying to be burglars--no, thank you,' said +Cyril. 'I heard father read out of the paper about a young man who +got into his own mother's house, and they got him made a burglar +only the other day.' + +'I only hope the gas hasn't hurt the Phoenix,' said Anthea. 'It +said it wanted to stay in the bathroom cupboard, and I thought it +would be all right, because the servants never clean that out. But +if it's gone and got out and been choked by gas--And besides, +directly we open the door we shall be choked, too. I KNEW we ought +to have gone to Aunt Emma, at Croydon. Oh, Squirrel, I wish we +had. Let's go NOW.' + +'Shut up,' said her brother, briefly. 'There's some one rattling +the latch inside.' Every one listened with all its ears, and every +one stood back as far from the door as the steps would allow. + +The latch rattled, and clicked. Then the flap of the letter-box +lifted itself--every one saw it by the flickering light of the +gas-lamp that shone through the leafless lime-tree by the gate--a +golden eye seemed to wink at them through the letter-slit, and a +cautious beak whispered-- + +'Are you alone?' + +'It's the Phoenix,' said every one, in a voice so joyous, and so +full of relief, as to be a sort of whispered shout. + +'Hush!' said the voice from the letter-box slit. 'Your slaves have +gone a-merry-making. The latch of this portal is too stiff for my +beak. But at the side--the little window above the shelf whereon +your bread lies--it is not fastened.' + +'Righto!' said Cyril. + +And Anthea added, 'I wish you'd meet us there, dear Phoenix.' + +The children crept round to the pantry window. It is at the side +of the house, and there is a green gate labelled 'Tradesmen's +Entrance', which is always kept bolted. But if you get one foot on +the fence between you and next door, and one on the handle of the +gate, you are over before you know where you are. This, at least, +was the experience of Cyril and Robert, and even, if the truth must +be told, of Anthea and Jane. So in almost no time all four were in +the narrow gravelled passage that runs between that house and the +next. + +Then Robert made a back, and Cyril hoisted himself up and got his +knicker-bockered knee on the concrete window-sill. He dived into +the pantry head first, as one dives into water, and his legs waved +in the air as he went, just as your legs do when you are first +beginning to learn to dive. The soles of his boots--squarish muddy +patches--disappeared. + +'Give me a leg up,' said Robert to his sisters. + +'No, you don't,' said Jane firmly. 'I'm not going to be left +outside here with just Anthea, and have something creep up behind +us out of the dark. Squirrel can go and open the back door.' + +A light had sprung awake in the pantry. Cyril always said the +Phoenix turned the gas on with its beak, and lighted it with a waft +of its wing; but he was excited at the time, and perhaps he really +did it himself with matches, and then forgot all about it. He let +the others in by the back door. And when it had been bolted again +the children went all over the house and lighted every single +gas-jet they could find. For they couldn't help feeling that this +was just the dark dreary winter's evening when an armed burglar +might easily be expected to appear at any moment. There is nothing +like light when you are afraid of burglars--or of anything else, +for that matter. + +And when all the gas-jets were lighted it was quite clear that the +Phoenix had made no mistake, and that Eliza and cook were really +out, and that there was no one in the house except the four +children, and the Phoenix, and the carpet, and the blackbeetles who +lived in the cupboards on each side of the nursery fire-place. +These last were very pleased that the children had come home again, +especially when Anthea had lighted the nursery fire. But, as +usual, the children treated the loving little blackbeetles with +coldness and disdain. + +I wonder whether you know how to light a fire? I don't mean how to +strike a match and set fire to the corners of the paper in a fire +someone has laid ready, but how to lay and light a fire all by +yourself. I will tell you how Anthea did it, and if ever you have +to light one yourself you may remember how it is done. First, she +raked out the ashes of the fire that had burned there a week +ago--for Eliza had actually never done this, though she had had +plenty of time. In doing this Anthea knocked her knuckle and made +it bleed. Then she laid the largest and handsomest cinders in the +bottom of the grate. Then she took a sheet of old newspaper (you +ought never to light a fire with to-day's newspaper--it will not +burn well, and there are other reasons against it), and tore it +into four quarters, and screwed each of these into a loose ball, +and put them on the cinders; then she got a bundle of wood and +broke the string, and stuck the sticks in so that their front ends +rested on the bars, and the back ends on the back of the paper +balls. In doing this she cut her finger slightly with the string, +and when she broke it, two of the sticks jumped up and hit her on +the cheek. Then she put more cinders and some bits of coal--no +dust. She put most of that on her hands, but there seemed to be +enough left for her face. Then she lighted the edges of the paper +balls, and waited till she heard the fizz-crack-crack-fizz of the +wood as it began to burn. Then she went and washed her hands and +face under the tap in the back kitchen. + +Of course, you need not bark your knuckles, or cut your finger, or +bruise your cheek with wood, or black yourself all over; but +otherwise, this is a very good way to light a fire in London. In +the real country fires are lighted in a different and prettier way. + +But it is always good to wash your hands and face afterwards, +wherever you are. + +While Anthea was delighting the poor little blackbeetles with the +cheerful blaze, Jane had set the table for--I was going to say tea, +but the meal of which I am speaking was not exactly tea. Let us +call it a tea-ish meal. There was tea, certainly, for Anthea's +fire blazed and crackled so kindly that it really seemed to be +affectionately inviting the kettle to come and sit upon its lap. +So the kettle was brought and tea made. But no milk could be +found--so every one had six lumps of sugar to each cup instead. +The things to eat, on the other hand, were nicer than usual. The +boys looked about very carefully, and found in the pantry some cold +tongue, bread, butter, cheese, and part of a cold pudding--very +much nicer than cook ever made when they were at home. And in the +kitchen cupboard was half a Christmassy cake, a pot of strawberry +jam, and about a pound of mixed candied fruit, with soft crumbly +slabs of delicious sugar in each cup of lemon, orange, or citron. + +It was indeed, as Jane said, 'a banquet fit for an Arabian Knight.' + +The Phoenix perched on Robert's chair, and listened kindly and +politely to all they had to tell it about their visit to Lyndhurst, +and underneath the table, by just stretching a toe down rather far, +the faithful carpet could be felt by all--even by Jane, whose legs +were very short. + +'Your slaves will not return to-night,' said the Phoenix. 'They +sleep under the roof of the cook's stepmother's aunt, who is, I +gather, hostess to a large party to-night in honour of her +husband's cousin's sister-in-law's mother's ninetieth birthday.' + +'I don't think they ought to have gone without leave,' said Anthea, +'however many relations they have, or however old they are; but I +suppose we ought to wash up.' + +'It's not our business about the leave,' said Cyril, firmly, 'but +I simply won't wash up for them. We got it, and we'll clear it +away; and then we'll go somewhere on the carpet. It's not often we +get a chance of being out all night. We can go right away to the +other side of the equator, to the tropical climes, and see the sun rise +over the great Pacific Ocean.' + +'Right you are,' said Robert. 'I always did want to see the +Southern Cross and the stars as big as gas-lamps.' + +'DON'T go,' said Anthea, very earnestly, 'because I COULDN'T. I'm +SURE mother wouldn't like us to leave the house and I should hate +to be left here alone.' + +'I'd stay with you,' said Jane loyally. + +'I know you would,' said Anthea gratefully, 'but even with you I'd +much rather not.' + +'Well,' said Cyril, trying to be kind and amiable, 'I don't want +you to do anything you think's wrong, BUT--' + +He was silent; this silence said many things. + +'I don't see,' Robert was beginning, when Anthea interrupted-- + +'I'm quite sure. Sometimes you just think a thing's wrong, and +sometimes you KNOW. And this is a KNOW time.' + +The Phoenix turned kind golden eyes on her and opened a friendly +beak to say-- + +'When it is, as you say, a "know time", there is no more to be +said. And your noble brothers would never leave you.' + +'Of course not,' said Cyril rather quickly. And Robert said so +too. + +'I myself,' the Phoenix went on, 'am willing to help in any way +possible. I will go personally--either by carpet or on the +wing--and fetch you anything you can think of to amuse you during +the evening. In order to waste no time I could go while you wash +up.--Why,' it went on in a musing voice, 'does one wash up teacups +and wash down the stairs?' + +'You couldn't wash stairs up, you know,' said Anthea, 'unless you +began at the bottom and went up feet first as you washed. I wish +cook would try that way for a change.' + +'I don't,' said Cyril, briefly. 'I should hate the look of her +elastic-side boots sticking up.' + +'This is mere trifling,' said the Phoenix. 'Come, decide what I +shall fetch for you. I can get you anything you like.' + +But of course they couldn't decide. Many things were suggested--a +rocking-horse, jewelled chessmen, an elephant, a bicycle, a +motor-car, books with pictures, musical instruments, and many other +things. But a musical instrument is agreeable only to the player, +unless he has learned to play it really well; books are not +sociable, bicycles cannot be ridden without going out of doors, and +the same is true of motor-cars and elephants. Only two people can +play chess at once with one set of chessmen (and anyway it's very +much too much like lessons for a game), and only one can ride on a +rocking-horse. Suddenly, in the midst of the discussion, the +Phoenix spread its wings and fluttered to the floor, and from there +it spoke. + +'I gather,' it said, 'from the carpet, that it wants you to let it +go to its old home, where it was born and brought up, and it will +return within the hour laden with a number of the most beautiful +and delightful products of its native land.' + +'What IS its native land?' + +'I didn't gather. But since you can't agree, and time is passing, +and the tea-things are not washed down--I mean washed up--' + +'I votes we do,' said Robert. 'It'll stop all this jaw, anyway. +And it's not bad to have surprises. Perhaps it's a Turkey carpet, +and it might bring us Turkish delight.' + +'Or a Turkish patrol,' said Robert. + +'Or a Turkish bath,' said Anthea. + +'Or a Turkish towel,' said Jane. + +'Nonsense,' Robert urged, 'it said beautiful and delightful, and +towels and baths aren't THAT, however good they may be for you. +Let it go. I suppose it won't give us the slip,' he added, pushing +back his chair and standing up. + +'Hush!' said the Phoenix; 'how can you? Don't trample on its +feelings just because it's only a carpet.' + +'But how can it do it--unless one of us is on it to do the +wishing?' asked Robert. He spoke with a rising hope that it MIGHT +be necessary for one to go and why not Robert? But the Phoenix +quickly threw cold water on his new-born dream. + +'Why, you just write your wish on a paper, and pin it on the +carpet.' + +So a leaf was torn from Anthea's arithmetic book, and on it Cyril +wrote in large round-hand the following: + + +We wish you to go to your dear native home, and bring back the most +beautiful and delightful productions of it you can--and not to be +gone long, please. + (Signed) CYRIL. + ROBERT. + ANTHEA. + JANE. + + +Then the paper was laid on the carpet. + +'Writing down, please,' said the Phoenix; 'the carpet can't read a +paper whose back is turned to it, any more than you can.' + +It was pinned fast, and the table and chairs having been moved, the +carpet simply and suddenly vanished, rather like a patch of water +on a hearth under a fierce fire. The edges got smaller and +smaller, and then it disappeared from sight. + +'It may take it some time to collect the beautiful and delightful +things,' said the Phoenix. 'I should wash up--I mean wash down.' + +So they did. There was plenty of hot water left in the kettle, and +every one helped--even the Phoenix, who took up cups by their +handles with its clever claws and dipped them in the hot water, and +then stood them on the table ready for Anthea to dry them. But the +bird was rather slow, because, as it said, though it was not above +any sort of honest work, messing about with dish-water was not +exactly what it had been brought up to. Everything was nicely +washed up, and dried, and put in its proper place, and the +dish-cloth washed and hung on the edge of the copper to dry, and +the tea-cloth was hung on the line that goes across the scullery. +(If you are a duchess's child, or a king's, or a person of high +social position's child, you will perhaps not know the difference +between a dish-cloth and a tea-cloth; but in that case your nurse +has been better instructed than you, and she will tell you all +about it.) And just as eight hands and one pair of claws were being +dried on the roller-towel behind the scullery door there came a +strange sound from the other side of the kitchen wall--the side +where the nursery was. It was a very strange sound, indeed--most +odd, and unlike any other sounds the children had ever heard. At +least, they had heard sounds as much like it as a toy engine's +whistle is like a steam siren's. + +'The carpet's come back,' said Robert; and the others felt that he +was right. + +'But what has it brought with it?' asked Jane. 'It sounds like +Leviathan, that great beast.' + +'It couldn't have been made in India, and have brought elephants? +Even baby ones would be rather awful in that room,' said Cyril. 'I +vote we take it in turns to squint through the keyhole.' + +They did--in the order of their ages. The Phoenix, being the +eldest by some thousands of years, was entitled to the first peep. +But-- + +'Excuse me,' it said, ruffling its golden feathers and sneezing +softly; 'looking through keyholes always gives me a cold in my +golden eyes.' + +So Cyril looked. + +'I see something grey moving,' said he. + +'It's a zoological garden of some sort, I bet,' said Robert, when +he had taken his turn. And the soft rustling, bustling, ruffling, +scuffling, shuffling, fluffling noise went on inside. + +'_I_ can't see anything,' said Anthea, 'my eye tickles so.' + +Then Jane's turn came, and she put her eye to the keyhole. + +'It's a giant kitty-cat,' she said; 'and it's asleep all over the +floor.' + +'Giant cats are tigers--father said so.' + +'No, he didn't. He said tigers were giant cats. It's not at all +the same thing.' + +'It's no use sending the carpet to fetch precious things for you if +you're afraid to look at them when they come,' said the Phoenix, +sensibly. And Cyril, being the eldest, said-- + +'Come on,' and turned the handle. + +The gas had been left full on after tea, and everything in the room +could be plainly seen by the ten eyes at the door. At least, not +everything, for though the carpet was there it was invisible, +because it was completely covered by the hundred and ninety-nine +beautiful objects which it had brought from its birthplace. + +'My hat!' Cyril remarked. 'I never thought about its being a +PERSIAN carpet.' + +Yet it was now plain that it was so, for the beautiful objects +which it had brought back were cats--Persian cats, grey Persian +cats, and there were, as I have said, 199 of them, and they were +sitting on the carpet as close as they could get to each other. +But the moment the children entered the room the cats rose and +stretched, and spread and overflowed from the carpet to the floor, +and in an instant the floor was a sea of moving, mewing +pussishness, and the children with one accord climbed to the table, +and gathered up their legs, and the people next door knocked on the +wall--and, indeed, no wonder, for the mews were Persian and +piercing. + +'This is pretty poor sport,' said Cyril. 'What's the matter with +the bounders?' + +'I imagine that they are hungry,' said the Phoenix. 'If you were +to feed them--' + +'We haven't anything to feed them with,' said Anthea in despair, +and she stroked the nearest Persian back. 'Oh, pussies, do be +quiet--we can't hear ourselves think.' + +She had to shout this entreaty, for the mews were growing +deafening, 'and it would take pounds' and pounds' worth of +cat's-meat.' + +'Let's ask the carpet to take them away,' said Robert. But the +girls said 'No.' + +'They are so soft and pussy,' said Jane. + +'And valuable,' said Anthea, hastily. 'We can sell them for lots +and lots of money.' + +'Why not send the carpet to get food for them?' suggested the +Phoenix, and its golden voice came harsh and cracked with the +effort it had to be make to be heard above the increasing +fierceness of the Persian mews. + +So it was written that the carpet should bring food for 199 Persian +cats, and the paper was pinned to the carpet as before. + +The carpet seemed to gather itself together, and the cats dropped +off it, as raindrops do from your mackintosh when you shake it. +And the carpet disappeared. + +Unless you have had one-hundred and ninety-nine well-grown Persian +cats in one small room, all hungry, and all saying so in +unmistakable mews, you can form but a poor idea of the noise that now +deafened the children and the Phoenix. The cats did not seem to have +been at all properly brought up. They seemed to have no idea of its +being a mistake in manners to ask for meals in a strange house--let +alone to howl for them--and they mewed, and they mewed, and they +mewed, and they mewed, till the children poked their fingers into their +ears and waited in silent agony, wondering why the whole of Camden +Town did not come knocking at the door to ask what was the matter, and +only hoping that the food for the cats would come before the neighbours +did--and before all the secret of the carpet and the Phoenix had to +be given away beyond recall to an indignant neighbourhood. + +The cats mewed and mewed and twisted their Persian forms in and out +and unfolded their Persian tails, and the children and the Phoenix +huddled together on the table. + +The Phoenix, Robert noticed suddenly, was trembling. + +'So many cats,' it said, 'and they might not know I was the +Phoenix. These accidents happen so quickly. It quite un-mans me.' + +This was a danger of which the children had not thought. + +'Creep in,' cried Robert, opening his jacket. + +And the Phoenix crept in--only just in time, for green eyes had +glared, pink noses had sniffed, white whiskers had twitched, and as +Robert buttoned his coat he disappeared to the waist in a wave of +eager grey Persian fur. And on the instant the good carpet slapped +itself down on the floor. And it was covered with rats--three hundred +and ninety-eight of them, I believe, two for each cat. + +'How horrible!' cried Anthea. 'Oh, take them away!' + +'Take yourself away,' said the Phoenix, 'and me.' + +'I wish we'd never had a carpet,' said Anthea, in tears. + +They hustled and crowded out of the door, and shut it, and locked +it. Cyril, with great presence of mind, lit a candle and turned +off the gas at the main. + +'The rats'll have a better chance in the dark,' he said. + +The mewing had ceased. Every one listened in breathless silence. +We all know that cats eat rats--it is one of the first things we +read in our little brown reading books; but all those cats eating +all those rats--it wouldn't bear thinking of. + +Suddenly Robert sniffed, in the silence of the dark kitchen, where +the only candle was burning all on one side, because of the +draught. + +'What a funny scent!' he said. + +And as he spoke, a lantern flashed its light through the window of +the kitchen, a face peered in, and a voice said-- + +'What's all this row about? You let me in.' + +It was the voice of the police! + +Robert tip-toed to the window, and spoke through the pane that had +been a little cracked since Cyril accidentally knocked it with a +walking-stick when he was playing at balancing it on his nose. (It +was after they had been to a circus.) + +'What do you mean?' he said. 'There's no row. You listen; +everything's as quiet as quiet.' And indeed it was. + +The strange sweet scent grew stronger, and the Phoenix put out its +beak. + +The policeman hesitated. + +'They're MUSK-rats,' said the Phoenix. 'I suppose some cats eat +them--but never Persian ones. What a mistake for a well-informed +carpet to make! Oh, what a night we're having!' + +'Do go away,' said Robert, nervously. 'We're +just going to bed--that's our bedroom candle; there isn't any row. +Everything's as quiet as a mouse.' + +A wild chorus of mews drowned his words, and with the mews were +mingled the shrieks of the musk-rats. What had happened? Had the +cats tasted them before deciding that they disliked the flavour? + +'I'm a-coming in,' said the policeman. 'You've got a cat shut up +there.' + +'A cat,' said Cyril. 'Oh, my only aunt! A cat!' + +'Come in, then,' said Robert. 'It's your own look out. I advise +you not. Wait a shake, and I'll undo the side gate.' + +He undid the side gate, and the policeman, very cautiously, came +in. And there in the kitchen, by the light of one candle, with the +mewing and the screaming going like a dozen steam sirens, twenty +waiting on motor-cars, and half a hundred squeaking pumps, four +agitated voices shouted to the policeman four mixed and wholly +different explanations of the very mixed events of the evening. + +Did you ever try to explain the simplest thing to a policeman? + + + +CHAPTER 8 +THE CATS, THE COW, AND THE BURGLAR + +The nursery was full of Persian cats and musk-rats that had been +brought there by the wishing carpet. The cats were mewing and the +musk-rats were squeaking so that you could hardly hear yourself +speak. In the kitchen were the four children, one candle, a +concealed Phoenix, and a very visible policeman. + +'Now then, look here,' said the Policeman, very loudly, and he +pointed his lantern at each child in turn, 'what's the meaning of +this here yelling and caterwauling. I tell you you've got a cat +here, and some one's a ill-treating of it. What do you mean by it, +eh?' + +It was five to one, counting the Phoenix; but the policeman, who +was one, was of unusually fine size, and the five, including the +Phoenix, were small. The mews and the squeaks grew softer, and in +the comparative silence, Cyril said-- + +'It's true. There are a few cats here. But we've not hurt them. +It's quite the opposite. We've just fed them.' + +'It don't sound like it,' said the policeman grimly. + +'I daresay they're not REAL cats,' said Jane madly, perhaps they're +only dream-cats.' + +'I'll dream-cat you, my lady,' was the brief response of the force. + +'If you understood anything except people who do murders and +stealings and naughty things like that, I'd tell you all about it,' +said Robert; 'but I'm certain you don't. You're not meant to shove +your oar into people's private cat-keepings. You're only supposed +to interfere when people shout "murder" and "stop thief" in the +street. So there!' + +The policeman assured them that he should see about that; and at +this point the Phoenix, who had been making itself small on the +pot-shelf under the dresser, among the saucepan lids and the fish- +kettle, walked on tip-toed claws in a noiseless and modest manner, +and left the room unnoticed by any one. + +'Oh, don't be so horrid,' Anthea was saying, gently and earnestly. +'We LOVE cats--dear pussy-soft things. We wouldn't hurt them for +worlds. Would we, Pussy?' + +And Jane answered that of course they wouldn't. And still the +policeman seemed unmoved by their eloquence. + +'Now, look here,' he said, 'I'm a-going to see what's in that room +beyond there, and--' + +His voice was drowned in a wild burst of mewing and squeaking. And +as soon as it died down all four children began to explain at once; +and though the squeaking and mewing were not at their very loudest, +yet there was quite enough of both to make it very hard for the +policeman to understand a single word of any of the four wholly +different explanations now poured out to him. + +'Stow it,' he said at last. 'I'm a-goin' into the next room in the +execution of my duty. I'm a-goin' to use my eyes--my ears have +gone off their chumps, what with you and them cats.' + +And he pushed Robert aside, and strode through the door. + +'Don't say I didn't warn you,' said Robert. + +'It's tigers REALLY,' said Jane. 'Father said so. I wouldn't go +in, if I were you.' + +But the policeman was quite stony; nothing any one said seemed to +make any difference to him. Some policemen are like this, I +believe. He strode down the passage, and in another moment he +would have been in the room with all the cats and all the rats +(musk), but at that very instant a thin, sharp voice screamed from +the street outside-- + +'Murder--murder! Stop thief!' + +The policeman stopped, with one regulation boot heavily poised in +the air. + +'Eh?' he said. + +And again the shrieks sounded shrilly and piercingly from the dark +street outside. + +'Come on,' said Robert. 'Come and look after cats while somebody's +being killed outside.' For Robert had an inside feeling that told +him quite plainly WHO it was that was screaming. + +'You young rip,' said the policeman, 'I'll settle up with you +bimeby.' + +And he rushed out, and the children heard his boots going weightily +along the pavement, and the screams also going along, rather ahead +of the policeman; and both the murder-screams and the policeman's +boots faded away in the remote distance. + +Then Robert smacked his knickerbocker loudly with his palm, and +said-- + +'Good old Phoenix! I should know its golden voice anywhere.' + +And then every one understood how cleverly the Phoenix had caught +at what Robert had said about the real work of a policeman being to +look after murderers and thieves, and not after cats, and all +hearts were filled with admiring affection. + +'But he'll come back,' said Anthea, mournfully, 'as soon as it +finds the murderer is only a bright vision of a dream, and there +isn't one at all really.' + +'No he won't,' said the soft voice of the clever Phoenix, as it +flew in. 'HE DOES NOT KNOW WHERE YOUR HOUSE IS. I heard him own +as much to a fellow mercenary. Oh! what a night we are having! +Lock the door, and let us rid ourselves of this intolerable smell +of the perfume peculiar to the musk-rat and to the house of the +trimmers of beards. If you'll excuse me, I will go to bed. I am +worn out.' + +It was Cyril who wrote the paper that told the carpet to take away +the rats and bring milk, because there seemed to be no doubt in any +breast that, however Persian cats may be, they must like milk. + +'Let's hope it won't be musk-milk,' said Anthea, in gloom, as she +pinned the paper face-downwards on the carpet. 'Is there such a +thing as a musk-cow?' she added anxiously, as the carpet shrivelled +and vanished. 'I do hope not. Perhaps really it WOULD have been +wiser to let the carpet take the cats away. It's getting quite +late, and we can't keep them all night.' + +'Oh, can't we?' was the bitter rejoinder of Robert, who had been +fastening the side door. 'You might have consulted me,' he went +on. 'I'm not such an idiot as some people.' + +'Why, whatever--' + +'Don't you see? We've jolly well GOT to keep the cats all +night--oh, get down, you furry beasts!--because we've had three +wishes out of the old carpet now, and we can't get any more till +to-morrow.' + +The liveliness of Persian mews alone prevented the occurrence of a +dismal silence. + +Anthea spoke first. + +'Never mind,' she said. 'Do you know, I really do think they're +quieting down a bit. Perhaps they heard us say milk.' + +'They can't understand English,' said Jane. 'You forget they're +Persian cats, Panther.' + +'Well,' said Anthea, rather sharply, for she was tired and anxious, +'who told you "milk" wasn't Persian for milk. Lots of English +words are just the same in French--at least I know "miaw" is, and +"croquet", and "fiance". Oh, pussies, do be quiet! Let's stroke +them as hard as we can with both hands, and perhaps they'll stop.' + +So every one stroked grey fur till their hands were tired, and as +soon as a cat had been stroked enough to make it stop mewing it was +pushed gently away, and another mewing mouser was approached by the +hands of the strokers. And the noise was really more than half +purr when the carpet suddenly appeared in its proper place, and on +it, instead of rows of milk-cans, or even of milk-jugs, there was +a COW. Not a Persian cow, either, nor, most fortunately, a +musk-cow, if there is such a thing, but a smooth, sleek, +dun-coloured Jersey cow, who blinked large soft eyes at the +gas-light and mooed in an amiable if rather inquiring manner. + +Anthea had always been afraid of cows; but now she tried to be +brave. + +'Anyway, it can't run after me,' she said to herself 'There isn't +room for it even to begin to run.' + +The cow was perfectly placid. She behaved like a strayed duchess +till some one brought a saucer for the milk, and some one else +tried to milk the cow into it. Milking is very difficult. You may +think it is easy, but it is not. All the children were by this +time strung up to a pitch of heroism that would have been +impossible to them in their ordinary condition. Robert and Cyril +held the cow by the horns; and Jane, when she was quite sure that +their end of the cow was quite secure, consented to stand by, ready +to hold the cow by the tail should occasion arise. Anthea, holding +the saucer, now advanced towards the cow. She remembered to have +heard that cows, when milked by strangers, are susceptible to the +soothing influence of the human voice. So, clutching her saucer +very tight, she sought for words to whose soothing influence the +cow might be susceptible. And her memory, troubled by the events +of the night, which seemed to go on and on for ever and ever, +refused to help her with any form of words suitable to address a +Jersey cow in. + +'Poor pussy, then. Lie down, then, good dog, lie down!' was all +that she could think of to say, and she said it. + +And nobody laughed. The situation, full of grey mewing cats, was +too serious for that. Then Anthea, with a beating heart, tried to +milk the cow. Next moment the cow had knocked the saucer out of +her hand and trampled on it with one foot, while with the other +three she had walked on a foot each of Robert, Cyril, and Jane. + +Jane burst into tears. 'Oh, how much too horrid everything is!' +she cried. 'Come away. Let's go to bed and leave the horrid cats +with the hateful cow. Perhaps somebody will eat somebody else. +And serve them right.' + +They did not go to bed, but they had a shivering council in the +drawing-room, which smelt of soot--and, indeed, a heap of this lay +in the fender. There had been no fire in the room since mother +went away, and all the chairs and tables were in the wrong places, +and the chrysanthemums were dead, and the water in the pot nearly +dried up. Anthea wrapped the embroidered woolly sofa blanket round +Jane and herself, while Robert and Cyril had a struggle, silent and +brief, but fierce, for the larger share of the fur hearthrug. + +'It is most truly awful,' said Anthea, 'and I am so tired. Let's +let the cats loose.' + +'And the cow, perhaps?' said Cyril. 'The police would find us at +once. That cow would stand at the gate and mew--I mean moo--to +come in. And so would the cats. No; I see quite well what we've +got to do. We must put them in baskets and leave them on people's +doorsteps, like orphan foundlings.' + +'We've got three baskets, counting mother's work one,' said Jane +brightening. + +'And there are nearly two hundred cats,' said Anthea, 'besides the +cow--and it would have to be a different-sized basket for her; and +then I don't know how you'd carry it, and you'd never find a +doorstep big enough to put it on. Except the church one--and--' + +'Oh, well,' said Cyril, 'if you simply MAKE difficulties--' + +'I'm with you,' said Robert. 'Don't fuss about the cow, Panther. +It's simply GOT to stay the night, and I'm sure I've read that the +cow is a remunerating creature, and that means it will sit still +and think for hours. The carpet can take it away in the morning. +And as for the baskets, we'll do them up in dusters, or +pillow-cases, or bath-towels. Come on, Squirrel. You girls can be +out of it if you like.' + +His tone was full of contempt, but Jane and Anthea were too tired +and desperate to care; even being 'out of it', which at other times +they could not have borne, now seemed quite a comfort. They +snuggled down in the sofa blanket, and Cyril threw the fur +hearthrug over them. + +'Ah, he said, 'that's all women are fit for--to keep safe and warm, +while the men do the work and run dangers and risks and things.' + +'I'm not,' said Anthea, 'you know I'm not.' But Cyril was gone. + +It was warm under the blanket and the hearthrug, and Jane snuggled +up close to her sister; and Anthea cuddled Jane closely and kindly, +and in a sort of dream they heard the rise of a wave of mewing as +Robert opened the door of the nursery. They heard the booted +search for baskets in the back kitchen. They heard the side door +open and close, and they knew that each brother had gone out with +at least one cat. Anthea's last thought was that it would take at +least all night to get rid of one hundred and ninety-nine cats by +twos. There would be ninety-nine journeys of two cats each, and one +cat over. + +'I almost think we might keep the one cat over,' said Anthea. 'I +don't seem to care for cats just now, but I daresay I shall again +some day.' And she fell asleep. Jane also was sleeping. + +It was Jane who awoke with a start, to find Anthea still asleep. +As, in the act of awakening, she kicked her sister, she wondered +idly why they should have gone to bed in their boots; but the next +moment she remembered where they were. + +There was a sound of muffled, shuffled feet on the stairs. Like +the heroine of the classic poem, Jane 'thought it was the boys', +and as she felt quite wide awake, and not nearly so tired as +before, she crept gently from Anthea's side and followed the +footsteps. They went down into the basement; the cats, who seemed +to have fallen into the sleep of exhaustion, awoke at the sound of +the approaching footsteps and mewed piteously. Jane was at the +foot of the stairs before she saw it was not her brothers whose +coming had roused her and the cats, but a burglar. She knew he was +a burglar at once, because he wore a fur cap and a red and black +charity-check comforter, and he had no business where he was. + +If you had been stood in jane's shoes you would no doubt have run +away in them, appealing to the police and neighbours with horrid +screams. But Jane knew better. She had read a great many nice +stories about burglars, as well as some affecting pieces of poetry, +and she knew that no burglar will ever hurt a little girl if he +meets her when burgling. Indeed, in all the cases Jane had read +of, his burglarishness was almost at once forgotten in the interest +he felt in the little girl's artless prattle. So if Jane hesitated +for a moment before addressing the burglar, it was only because she +could not at once think of any remark sufficiently prattling and +artless to make a beginning with. In the stories and the affecting +poetry the child could never speak plainly, though it always looked +old enough to in the pictures. And Jane could not make up her mind +to lisp and 'talk baby', even to a burglar. And while she +hesitated he softly opened the nursery door and went in. + +Jane followed--just in time to see him sit down flat on the floor, +scattering cats as a stone thrown into a pool splashes water. + +She closed the door softly and stood there, still wondering whether +she COULD bring herself to say, 'What's 'oo doing here, Mithter +Wobber?' and whether any other kind of talk would do. + +Then she heard the burglar draw a long breath, and he spoke. + +'It's a judgement,' he said, 'so help me bob if it ain't. Oh, +'ere's a thing to 'appen to a chap! Makes it come 'ome to you, +don't it neither? Cats an' cats an' cats. There couldn't be all +them cats. Let alone the cow. If she ain't the moral of the old +man's Daisy. She's a dream out of when I was a lad--I don't mind +'er so much. 'Ere, Daisy, Daisy?' + +The cow turned and looked at him. + +'SHE'S all right,' he went on. 'Sort of company, too. Though them +above knows how she got into this downstairs parlour. But them +cats--oh, take 'em away, take 'em away! I'll chuck the 'ole +show--Oh, take 'em away.' + +'Burglar,' said Jane, close behind him, and he started +convulsively, and turned on her a blank face, whose pale lips +trembled. 'I can't take those cats away.' + +'Lor' lumme!' exclaimed the man; 'if 'ere ain't another on 'em. +Are you real, miss, or something I'll wake up from presently?' + +'I am quite real,' said Jane, relieved to find that a lisp was not +needed to make the burglar understand her. 'And so,' she added, +'are the cats.' + +'Then send for the police, send for the police, and I'll go quiet. +If you ain't no realler than them cats, I'm done, spunchuck--out of +time. Send for the police. I'll go quiet. One thing, there'd not +be room for 'arf them cats in no cell as ever _I_ see.' + +He ran his fingers through his hair, which was short, and his eyes +wandered wildly round the roomful of cats. + +'Burglar,' said Jane, kindly and softly, 'if you didn't like cats, +what did you come here for?' + +'Send for the police,' was the unfortunate criminal's only reply. +'I'd rather you would--honest, I'd rather.' + +'I daren't,' said Jane, 'and besides, I've no one to send. I hate +the police. I wish he'd never been born.' + +'You've a feeling 'art, miss,' said the burglar; 'but them cats is +really a little bit too thick.' + +'Look here,' said Jane, 'I won't call the police. And I am quite +a real little girl, though I talk older than the kind you've met +before when you've been doing your burglings. And they are real +cats--and they want real milk--and--Didn't you say the cow was +like somebody's Daisy that you used to know?' + +'Wish I may die if she ain't the very spit of her,' replied the +man. + +'Well, then,' said Jane--and a thrill of joyful pride ran through +her--'perhaps you know how to milk cows?' + +'Perhaps I does,' was the burglar's cautious rejoinder. + +'Then,' said Jane, 'if you will ONLY milk ours--you don't know how +we shall always love you.' + +The burglar replied that loving was all very well. + +'If those cats only had a good long, wet, thirsty drink of milk,' +Jane went on with eager persuasion, 'they'd lie down and go to +sleep as likely as not, and then the police won't come back. But +if they go on mewing like this he will, and then I don't know +what'll become of us, or you either.' + +This argument seemed to decide the criminal. Jane fetched the +wash-bowl from the sink, and he spat on his hands and prepared to +milk the cow. At this instant boots were heard on the stairs. + +'It's all up,' said the man, desperately, 'this 'ere's a plant. +'ERE'S the police.' He made as if to open the window and leap from +it. + +'It's all right, I tell you,' whispered Jane, in anguish. 'I'll +say you're a friend of mine, or the good clergyman called in, or my +uncle, or ANYTHIING--only do, do, do milk the cow. Oh, DON'T +go--oh--oh, thank goodness it's only the boys!' + +It was; and their entrance had awakened Anthea, who, with her +brothers, now crowded through the doorway. The man looked about +him like a rat looks round a trap. + +'This is a friend of mine,' said Jane; 'he's just called in, and +he's going to milk the cow for us. ISN'T it good and kind of him?' + +She winked at the others, and though they did not understand they +played up loyally. + +'How do?' said Cyril, 'Very glad to meet you. Don't let us +interrupt the milking.' + +'I shall 'ave a 'ead and a 'arf in the morning, and no bloomin' +error,' remarked the burglar; but he began to milk the cow. + +Robert was winked at to stay and see that he did not leave off +milking or try to escape, and the others went to get things to put +the milk in; for it was now spurting and foaming in the wash-bowl, +and the cats had ceased from mewing and were crowding round the +cow, with expressions of hope and anticipation on their whiskered +faces. + +'We can't get rid of any more cats,' said Cyril, as he and his +sisters piled a tray high with saucers and soup-plates and platters +and pie-dishes, 'the police nearly got us as it was. Not the same +one--a much stronger sort. He thought it really was a foundling +orphan we'd got. If it hadn't been for me throwing the two bags of +cat slap in his eye and hauling Robert over a railing, and lying +like mice under a laurel-bush--Well, it's jolly lucky I'm a good +shot, that's all. He pranced off when he'd got the cat-bags off +his face--thought we'd bolted. And here we are.' + +The gentle samishness of the milk swishing into the hand-bowl +seemed to have soothed the burglar very much. He went on milking +in a sort of happy dream, while the children got a cap and ladled +the warm milk out into the pie-dishes and plates, and platters and +saucers, and set them down to the music of Persian purrs and +lappings. + +'It makes me think of old times,' said the burglar, smearing his +ragged coat-cuff across his eyes--'about the apples in the orchard +at home, and the rats at threshing time, and the rabbits and the +ferrets, and how pretty it was seeing the pigs killed.' + +Finding him in this softened mood, Jane said-- + +'I wish you'd tell us how you came to choose our house for your +burglaring to-night. I am awfully glad you did. You have been so +kind. I don't know what we should have done without you,' she +added hastily. 'We all love you ever so. Do tell us.' + +The others added their affectionate entreaties, and at last the +burglar said-- + +'Well, it's my first job, and I didn't expect to be made so +welcome, and that's the truth, young gents and ladies. And I don't +know but what it won't be my last. For this 'ere cow, she reminds +me of my father, and I know 'ow 'e'd 'ave 'ided me if I'd laid +'ands on a 'a'penny as wasn't my own.' + +'I'm sure he would,' Jane agreed kindly; 'but what made you come +here?' + +'Well, miss,' said the burglar, 'you know best 'ow you come by them +cats, and why you don't like the police, so I'll give myself away +free, and trust to your noble 'earts. (You'd best bale out a bit, +the pan's getting fullish.) I was a-selling oranges off of my +barrow--for I ain't a burglar by trade, though you 'ave used the +name so free--an' there was a lady bought three 'a'porth off me. +An' while she was a-pickin' of them out--very careful indeed, and +I'm always glad when them sort gets a few over-ripe ones--there was +two other ladies talkin' over the fence. An' one on 'em said to +the other on 'em just like this-- + +"'I've told both gells to come, and they can doss in with M'ria and +Jane, 'cause their boss and his missis is miles away and the kids +too. So they can just lock up the 'ouse and leave the gas +a-burning, so's no one won't know, and get back bright an' early by +'leven o'clock. And we'll make a night of it, Mrs Prosser, so we +will. I'm just a-going to run out to pop the letter in the post." +And then the lady what had chosen the three ha'porth so careful, +she said: "Lor, Mrs Wigson, I wonder at you, and your hands all +over suds. This good gentleman'll slip it into the post for yer, +I'll be bound, seeing I'm a customer of his." So they give me the +letter, and of course I read the direction what was written on it +afore I shoved it into the post. And then when I'd sold my +barrowful, I was a-goin' 'ome with the chink in my pocket, and I'm +blowed if some bloomin' thievin' beggar didn't nick the lot whilst +I was just a-wettin' of my whistle, for callin' of oranges is dry +work. Nicked the bloomin' lot 'e did--and me with not a farden to +take 'ome to my brother and his missus.' + +'How awful!' said Anthea, with much sympathy. + +'Horful indeed, miss, I believe yer,' the burglar rejoined, with +deep feeling. 'You don't know her temper when she's roused. An' +I'm sure I 'ope you never may, neither. And I'd 'ad all my oranges +off of 'em. So it came back to me what was wrote on the +ongverlope, and I says to myself, "Why not, seein' as I've been +done myself, and if they keeps two slaveys there must be some +pickings?" An' so 'ere I am. But them cats, they've brought me +back to the ways of honestness. Never no more.' + +'Look here,' said Cyril, 'these cats are very valuable--very +indeed. And we will give them all to you, if only you will take +them away.' + +'I see they're a breedy lot,' replied the burglar. 'But I don't +want no bother with the coppers. Did you come by them honest now? +Straight?' + +'They are all our very own,' said Anthea, 'we wanted them, but the +confidement--' + +'Consignment,' whispered Cyril. + +'was larger than we wanted, and they're an awful bother. If you +got your barrow, and some sacks or baskets, your brother's missus +would be awfully pleased. My father says Persian cats are worth +pounds and pounds each.' + +'Well,' said the burglar--and he was certainly moved by her +remarks--'I see you're in a hole--and I don't mind lending a helping +'and. I don't ask 'ow you come by them. But I've got a pal--'e's +a mark on cats. I'll fetch him along, and if he thinks they'd +fetch anything above their skins I don't mind doin' you a +kindness.' + +'You won't go away and never come back,' said Jane, 'because I +don't think I COULD bear that.' + +The burglar, quite touched by her emotion, swore sentimentally +that, alive or dead, he would come back. + +Then he went, and Cyril and Robert sent the girls to bed and sat up +to wait for his return. It soon seemed absurd to await him in a +state of wakefulness, but his stealthy tap on the window awoke them +readily enough. For he did return, with the pal and the barrow and +the sacks. The pal approved of the cats, now dormant in Persian +repletion, and they were bundled into the sacks, and taken away on +the barrow--mewing, indeed, but with mews too sleepy to attract +public attention. + +'I'm a fence--that's what I am,' said the burglar gloomily. 'I +never thought I'd come down to this, and all acause er my kind +'eart.' + +Cyril knew that a fence is a receiver of stolen goods, and he +replied briskly-- + +'I give you my sacred the cats aren't stolen. What do you make the +time?' + +'I ain't got the time on me,' said the pal--'but it was just about +chucking-out time as I come by the "Bull and Gate". I shouldn't +wonder if it was nigh upon one now.' + +When the cats had been removed, and the boys and the burglar had +parted with warm expressions of friendship, there remained only the +cow. + +'She must stay all night,' said Robert. 'Cook'll have a fit when +she sees her.' + +'All night?' said Cyril. 'Why--it's tomorrow morning if it's one. +We can have another wish!' + +So the carpet was urged, in a hastily written note, to remove the +cow to wherever she belonged, and to return to its proper place on +the nursery floor. But the cow could not be got to move on to the +carpet. So Robert got the clothes line out of the back kitchen, +and tied one end very firmly to the cow's horns, and the other end +to a bunched-up corner of the carpet, and said 'Fire away.' + +And the carpet and cow vanished together, and the boys went to bed, +tired out and only too thankful that the evening at last was over. + +Next morning the carpet lay calmly in its place, but one corner was +very badly torn. It was the corner that the cow had been tied on +to. + + + +CHAPTER 9 +THE BURGLAR'S BRIDE + + +The morning after the adventure of the Persian cats, the musk-rats, +the common cow, and the uncommon burglar, all the children slept +till it was ten o'clock; and then it was only Cyril who woke; but +he attended to the others, so that by half past ten every one was +ready to help to get breakfast. It was shivery cold, and there was +but little in the house that was really worth eating. + +Robert had arranged a thoughtful little surprise for the absent +servants. He had made a neat and delightful booby trap over the +kitchen door, and as soon as they heard the front door click open +and knew the servants had come back, all four children hid in the +cupboard under the stairs and listened with delight to the +entrance--the tumble, the splash, the scuffle, and the remarks of +the servants. They heard the cook say it was a judgement on them +for leaving the place to itself; she seemed to think that a booby +trap was a kind of plant that was quite likely to grow, all by +itself, in a dwelling that was left shut up. But the housemaid, +more acute, judged that someone must have been in the house--a view +confirmed by the sight of the breakfast things on the nursery +table. + +The cupboard under the stairs was very tight and paraffiny, +however, and a silent struggle for a place on top ended in the door +bursting open and discharging Jane, who rolled like a football to +the feet of the servants. + +'Now,' said Cyril, firmly, when the cook's hysterics had become +quieter, and the housemaid had time to say what she thought of +them, 'don't you begin jawing us. We aren't going to stand it. We +know too much. You'll please make an extra special treacle roley +for dinner, and we'll have a tinned tongue.' + +'I daresay,' said the housemaid, indignant, still in her outdoor +things and with her hat very much on one side. 'Don't you come +a-threatening me, Master Cyril, because I won't stand it, so I tell +you. You tell your ma about us being out? Much I care! She'll be +sorry for me when she hears about my dear great-aunt by marriage as +brought me up from a child and was a mother to me. She sent for +me, she did, she wasn't expected to last the night, from the spasms +going to her legs--and cook was that kind and careful she couldn't +let me go alone, so--' + +'Don't,' said Anthea, in real distress. 'You know where liars go +to, Eliza--at least if you don't--' + +'Liars indeed!' said Eliza, 'I won't demean myself talking to you.' + +'How's Mrs Wigson?' said Robert, 'and DID you keep it up last +night?' + +The mouth of the housemaid fell open. + +'Did you doss with Maria or Emily?' asked Cyril. + +'How did Mrs Prosser enjoy herself?' asked Jane. + +'Forbear,' said Cyril, 'they've had enough. Whether we tell or not +depends on your later life,' he went on, addressing the servants. +'If you are decent to us we'll be decent to you. You'd better make +that treacle roley--and if I were you, Eliza, I'd do a little +housework and cleaning, just for a change.' + +The servants gave in once and for all. + +'There's nothing like firmness,' Cyril went on, when the breakfast +things were cleared away and the children were alone in the +nursery. 'People are always talking of difficulties with servants. +It's quite simple, when you know the way. We can do what we like +now and they won't peach. I think we've broken THEIR proud spirit. +Let's go somewhere by carpet.' + +'I wouldn't if I were you,' said the Phoenix, yawning, as it +swooped down from its roost on the curtain pole. 'I've given you +one or two hints, but now concealment is at an end, and I see I +must speak out.' + +It perched on the back of a chair and swayed to and fro, like a +parrot on a swing. + +'What's the matter now?' said Anthea. She was not quite so gentle +as usual, because she was still weary from the excitement of last +night's cats. 'I'm tired of things happening. I shan't go +anywhere on the carpet. I'm going to darn my stockings.' + +'Darn!' said the Phoenix, 'darn! From those young lips these +strange expressions--' + +'Mend, then,' said Anthea, 'with a needle and wool.' + +The Phoenix opened and shut its wings thoughtfully. + +'Your stockings,' it said, 'are much less important than they now +appear to you. But the carpet--look at the bare worn patches, look +at the great rent at yonder corner. The carpet has been your +faithful friend--your willing servant. How have you requited its +devoted service?' + +'Dear Phoenix,' Anthea urged, 'don't talk in that horrid lecturing +tone. You make me feel as if I'd done something wrong. And really +it is a wishing carpet, and we haven't done anything else to +it--only wishes.' + +'Only wishes,' repeated the Phoenix, ruffling its neck feathers +angrily, 'and what sort of wishes? Wishing people to be in a good +temper, for instance. What carpet did you ever hear of that had +such a wish asked of it? But this noble fabric, on which you +trample so recklessly' (every one removed its boots from the carpet +and stood on the linoleum), 'this carpet never flinched. It did +what you asked, but the wear and tear must have been awful. And +then last night--I don't blame you about the cats and the rats, for +those were its own choice; but what carpet could stand a heavy cow +hanging on to it at one corner?' + +'I should think the cats and rats were worse,' said Robert, 'look +at all their claws.' + +'Yes,' said the bird, 'eleven thousand nine hundred and forty of +them--I daresay you noticed? I should be surprised if these had +not left their mark.' + +'Good gracious,' said Jane, sitting down suddenly on the floor, and +patting the edge of the carpet softly; 'do you mean it's WEARING OUT?' + +'Its life with you has not been a luxurious one,' said the Phoenix. + +'French mud twice. Sand of sunny shores twice. Soaking in +southern seas once. India once. Goodness knows where in Persia +once. musk-rat-land once. And once, wherever the cow came from. +Hold your carpet up to the light, and with cautious tenderness, if +YOU please.' + +With cautious tenderness the boys held the carpet up to the light; +the girls looked, and a shiver of regret ran through them as they +saw how those eleven thoousand nine hundred and forty claws had run +through the carpet. It was full of little holes: there were some +large ones, and more than one thin +place. At one corner a strip of it was torn, and hung forlornly. + +'We must mend it,' said Anthea; 'never mind about my stockings. I +can sew them up in lumps with sewing cotton if there's no time to +do them properly. I know it's awful and no girl would who +respected herself, and all that; but the poor dear carpet's more +important than my silly stockings. Let's go out now this very +minute.' + +So out they all went, and bought wool to mend the carpet; but there +is no shop in Camden Town where you can buy wishing-wool, no, nor +in Kentish Town either. However, ordinary Scotch heather-mixture +fingering seemed good enough, and this they bought, and all that +-day Jane and Anthea darned and darned and darned. The boys went +out for a walk in the afternoon, and the gentle Phoenix paced up +and down the table--for exercise, as it said--and talked to the +industrious girls about their carpet. + +'It is not an ordinary, ignorant, innocent carpet from +Kidderminster,' it said, 'it is a carpet with a past--a Persian +past. Do you know that in happier years, when that carpet was the +property of caliphs, viziers, kings, and sultans, it never lay on +a floor?' + +'I thought the floor was the proper home of a carpet,' Jane +interrupted. + +'Not of a MAGIC carpet,' said the Phoenix; 'why, if it had been +allowed to lie about on floors there wouldn't be much of it left +now. No, indeed! It has lived in chests of cedarwood, inlaid with +pearl and ivory, wrapped in priceless tissues of cloth of gold, +embroidered with gems of fabulous value. It has reposed in the +sandal-wood caskets of princesses, and in the rose-attar-scented +treasure-houses of kings. Never, never, had any one degraded it by +walking on it--except in the way of business, when wishes were +required, and then they always took their shoes off. And YOU--' + +'Oh, DON'T!' said Jane, very near tears. 'You know you'd never +have been hatched at all if it hadn't been for mother wanting a +carpet for us to walk on.' + +'You needn't have walked so much or so hard!' said the bird, 'but +come, dry that crystal tear, and I will relate to you the story of +the Princess Zulieka, the Prince of Asia, and the magic carpet.' + +'Relate away,' said Anthea--'I mean, please do.' + +'The Princess Zulieka, fairest of royal ladies,' began the bird, +'had in her cradle been the subject of several enchantments. Her +grandmother had been in her day--' + +But what in her day Zulieka's grandmother had been was destined +never to be revealed, for Cyril and Robert suddenly burst into the +room, and on each brow were the traces of deep emotion. On Cyril's +pale brow stood beads of agitation and perspiration, and on the +scarlet brow of Robert was a large black smear. + +'What ails ye both?' asked the Phoenix, and it added tartly that +story-telling was quite impossible if people would come +interrupting like that. + +'Oh, do shut up, for any sake!' said Cyril, sinking into a chair. + +Robert smoothed the ruffled golden feathers, adding kindly-- + +'Squirrel doesn't mean to be a beast. It's only that the MOST +AWFUL thing has happened, and stories don't seem to matter so much. +Don't be cross. You won't be when you've heard what's happened.' + +'Well, what HAS happened?' said the bird, still rather crossly; and +Anthea and Jane paused with long needles poised in air, and long +needlefuls of Scotch heather-mixture fingering wool drooping from +them. + +'The most awful thing you can possibly think of,' said Cyril. +'That nice chap--our own burglar--the police have got him, on +suspicion of stolen cats. That's what his brother's missis told +me.' + +'Oh, begin at the beginning!' cried Anthea impatiently. + +'Well, then, we went out, and down by where the undertaker's is, +with the china flowers in the window--you know. There was a crowd, +and of course we went to have a squint. And it was two bobbies and +our burglar between them, and he was being dragged along; and he +said, "I tell you them cats was GIVE me. I got 'em in exchange for +me milking a cow in a basement parlour up Camden Town way." + +'And the people laughed. Beasts! And then one of the policemen +said perhaps he could give the name and address of the cow, and he +said, no, he couldn't; but he could take them there if they'd only +leave go of his coat collar, and give him a chance to get his +breath. And the policeman said he could tell all that to the +magistrate in the morning. He didn't see us, and so we came away.' + +'Oh, Cyril, how COULD you?' said Anthea. + +'Don't be a pudding-head,' Cyril advised. 'A fat lot of good it +would have done if we'd let him see us. No one would have believed +a word we said. They'd have thought we were kidding. We did +better than let him see us. We asked a boy where he lived and he +told us, and we went there, and it's a little greengrocer's shop, +and we bought some Brazil nuts. Here they are.' The girls waved +away the Brazil nuts with loathing and contempt. + +'Well, we had to buy SOMETHING, and while we were making up our +minds what to buy we heard his brother's missis talking. She said +when he came home with all them miaoulers she thought there was +more in it than met the eye. But he WOULD go out this morning with +the two likeliest of them, one under each arm. She said he sent +her out to buy blue ribbon to put round their beastly necks, and +she said if he got three months' hard it was her dying word that +he'd got the blue ribbon to thank for it; that, and his own silly +thieving ways, taking cats that anybody would know he couldn't have +come by in the way of business, instead of things that wouldn't +have been missed, which Lord knows there are plenty such, and--' + +'Oh, STOP!' cried Jane. And indeed it was time, for Cyril seemed +like a clock that had been wound up, and could not help going on. +'Where is he now?' + +'At the police-station,' said Robert, for Cyril was out of breath. +'The boy told us they'd put him in the cells, and would bring him +up before the Beak in the morning. I thought it was a jolly lark +last night--getting him to take the cats--but now--' + +'The end of a lark,' said the Phoenix, 'is the Beak.' + +'Let's go to him,' cried both the girls jumping up. 'Let's go and +tell the truth. They MUST believe us.' + +'They CAN'T,' said Cyril. 'Just think! If any one came to you +with such a tale, you couldn't believe it, however much you tried. +We should only mix things up worse for him.' + +'There must be something we could do,' said Jane, sniffing very +much--'my own dear pet burglar! I can't bear it. And he was so +nice, the way he talked about his father, and how he was going to +be so extra honest. Dear Phoenix, you MUST be able to help us. +You're so good and kind and pretty and clever. Do, do tell us what +to do.' + +The Phoenix rubbed its beak thoughtfully with its claw. + +'You might rescue him,' it said, 'and conceal him here, till the +law-supporters had forgotten about him.' + +'That would be ages and ages,' said Cyril, 'and we couldn't conceal +him here. Father might come home at any moment, and if he found +the burglar here HE wouldn't believe the true truth any more than +the police would. That's the worst of the truth. Nobody ever +believes it. Couldn't we take him somewhere else?' + +Jane clapped her hands. + +'The sunny southern shore!' she cried, 'where the cook is being +queen. He and she would be company for each other!' + +And really the idea did not seem bad, if only he would consent to +go. + +So, all talking at once, the children arranged to wait till +evening, and then to seek the dear burglar in his lonely cell. + +Meantime Jane and Anthea darned away as hard as they could, to make +the carpet as strong as possible. For all felt how terrible it +would be if the precious burglar, while being carried to the sunny +southern shore, were to tumble through a hole in the carpet, and be +lost for ever in the sunny southern sea. + +The servants were tired after Mrs Wigson's party, so every one went +to bed early, and when the Phoenix reported that both servants were +snoring in a heartfelt and candid manner, the children got up--they +had never undressed; just putting their nightgowns on over their +things had been enough to deceive Eliza when she came to turn out +the gas. So they were ready for anything, and they stood on the +carpet and said-- + +'I wish we were in our burglar's lonely cell.' and instantly they +were. + +I think every one had expected the cell to be the 'deepest dungeon +below the castle moat'. I am sure no one had doubted that the +burglar, chained by heavy fetters to a ring in the damp stone wall, +would be tossing uneasily on a bed of straw, with a pitcher of +water and a mouldering crust, untasted, beside him. Robert, +remembering the underground passage and the treasure, had brought +a candle and matches, but these were not needed. + +The cell was a little white-washed room about twelve feet long and +six feet wide. On one side of it was a sort of shelf sloping a +little towards the wall. On this were two rugs, striped blue and +yellow, and a water-proof pillow. Rolled in the rugs, and with his +head on the pillow, lay the burglar, fast asleep. (He had had his +tea, though this the children did not know--it had come from the +coffee-shop round the corner, in very thick crockery.) The scene +was plainly revealed by the light of a gas-lamp in the passage +outside, which shone into the cell through a pane of thick glass +over the door. + +'I shall gag him,' said Cyril, 'and Robert will hold him down. +Anthea and Jane and the Phoenix can whisper soft nothings to him +while he gradually awakes.' + +This plan did not have the success it deserved, because the +burglar, curiously enough, was much stronger, even in his sleep, +than Robert and Cyril, and at the first touch of their hands he +leapt up and shouted out something very loud indeed. + +Instantly steps were heard outside. Anthea threw her arms round +the burglar and whispered-- + +'It's us--the ones that gave you the cats. We've come to save you, +only don't let on we're here. Can't we hide somewhere?' + +Heavy boots sounded on the flagged passage outside, and a firm +voice shouted-- + +'Here--you--stop that row, will you?' + +'All right, governor,' replied the burglar, still with Anthea's +arms round him; 'I was only a-talking in my sleep. No offence.' + +It was an awful moment. Would the boots and the voice come in. +Yes! No! The voice said-- + +'Well, stow it, will you?' + +And the boots went heavily away, along the passage and up some +sounding stone stairs. + +'Now then,' whispered Anthea. + +'How the blue Moses did you get in?' asked the burglar, in a hoarse +whisper of amazement. + +'On the carpet,' said Jane, truly. + +'Stow that,' said the burglar. 'One on you I could 'a' swallowed, +but four--AND a yellow fowl.' + +'Look here,' said Cyril, sternly, 'you wouldn't have believed any +one if they'd told you beforehand about your finding a cow and all +those cats in our nursery.' + +'That I wouldn't,' said the burglar, with whispered fervour, 'so +help me Bob, I wouldn't.' + +'Well, then,' Cyril went on, ignoring this appeal to his brother, +'just try to believe what we tell you and act accordingly. It +can't do you any HARM, you know,' he went on in hoarse whispered +earnestness. 'You can't be very much worse off than you are now, +you know. But if you'll just trust to us we'll get you out of this +right enough. No one saw us come in. The question is, where would +you like to go?' + +'I'd like to go to Boolong,' was the instant reply of the burglar. +'I've always wanted to go on that there trip, but I've never 'ad +the ready at the right time of the year.' + +'Boolong is a town like London,' said Cyril, well meaning, but +inaccurate, 'how could you get a living there?' + +The burglar scratched his head in deep doubt. + +'It's 'ard to get a 'onest living anywheres nowadays,' he said, and +his voice was sad. + +'Yes, isn't it?' said Jane, sympathetically; 'but how about a sunny +southern shore, where there's nothing to do at all unless you want +to.' + +'That's my billet, miss,' replied the burglar. 'I never did care +about work--not like some people, always fussing about.' + +'Did you never like any sort of work?' asked Anthea, severely. + +'Lor', lumme, yes,' he answered, 'gardening was my 'obby, so it +was. But father died afore 'e could bind me to a nurseryman, an'- +-' + +'We'll take you to the sunny southern shore,' said Jane; 'you've no +idea what the flowers are like.' + +'Our old cook's there,' said Anthea. 'She's queen--' + +'Oh, chuck it,' the burglar whispered, clutching at his head with +both hands. 'I knowed the first minute I see them cats and that +cow as it was a judgement on me. I don't know now whether I'm +a-standing on my hat or my boots, so help me I don't. If you CAN +get me out, get me, and if you can't, get along with you for +goodness' sake, and give me a chanst to think about what'll be most +likely to go down with the Beak in the morning.' + +'Come on to the carpet, then,' said Anthea, gently shoving. The +others quietly pulled, and the moment the feet of the burglar were +planted on the carpet Anthea wished: + +'I wish we were all on the sunny southern shore where cook is.' + +And instantly they were. There were the rainbow sands, the tropic +glories of leaf and flower, and there, of course, was the cook, +crowned with white flowers, and with all the wrinkles of crossness +and tiredness and hard work wiped out of her face. + +'Why, cook, you're quite pretty!' Anthea said, as soon as she had +got her breath after the tumble-rush-whirl of the carpet. The +burglar stood rubbing his eyes in the brilliant tropic sunlight, +and gazing wildly round him on the vivid hues of the tropic land. + +'Penny plain and tuppence coloured!' he exclaimed pensively, 'and +well worth any tuppence, however hard-earned.' + +The cook was seated on a grassy mound with her court of +copper-coloured savages around her. The burglar pointed a grimy +finger at these. + +'Are they tame?' he asked anxiously. 'Do they bite or scratch, or +do anything to yer with poisoned arrows or oyster shells or that?' + +'Don't you be so timid,' said the cook. 'Look'e 'ere, this 'ere's +only a dream what you've come into, an' as it's only a dream +there's no nonsense about what a young lady like me ought to say or +not, so I'll say you're the best-looking fellow I've seen this many +a day. And the dream goes on and on, seemingly, as long as you +behaves. The things what you has to eat and drink tastes just as +good as real ones, and--' + +'Look 'ere,' said the burglar, 'I've come 'ere straight outer the +pleece station. These 'ere kids'll tell you it ain't no blame er +mine.' + +'Well, you WERE a burglar, you know,' said the truthful Anthea +gently. + +'Only because I was druv to it by dishonest blokes, as well you +knows, miss,' rejoined the criminal. 'Blowed if this ain't the +'ottest January as I've known for years.' + +'Wouldn't you like a bath?' asked the queen, 'and some white +clothes like me?' + +'I should only look a juggins in 'em, miss, thanking you all the +same,' was the reply; 'but a bath I wouldn't resist, and my shirt +was only clean on week before last.' + +Cyril and Robert led him to a rocky pool, where he bathed +luxuriously. Then, in shirt and trousers he sat on the sand and +spoke. + +'That cook, or queen, or whatever you call her--her with the white +bokay on her 'ed--she's my sort. Wonder if she'd keep company!' + +'I should ask her.' + +'I was always a quick hitter,' the man went on; 'it's a word and a +blow with me. I will.' + +In shirt and trousers, and crowned with a scented flowery wreath +which Cyril hastily wove as they returned to the court of the +queen, the burglar stood before the cook and spoke. + +'Look 'ere, miss,' he said. 'You an' me being' all forlorn-like, +both on us, in this 'ere dream, or whatever you calls it, I'd like +to tell you straight as I likes yer looks.' + +The cook smiled and looked down bashfully. + +'I'm a single man--what you might call a batcheldore. I'm mild in +my 'abits, which these kids'll tell you the same, and I'd like to +'ave the pleasure of walkin' out with you next Sunday.' + +'Lor!' said the queen cook, ''ow sudden you are, mister.' + +'Walking out means you're going to be married,' said Anthea. 'Why +not get married and have done with it? _I_ would.' + +'I don't mind if I do,' said the burglar. But the cook said-- + +'No, miss. Not me, not even in a dream. I don't say anythink +ag'in the young chap's looks, but I always swore I'd be married in +church, if at all--and, anyway, I don't believe these here savages +would know how to keep a registering office, even if I was to show +them. No, mister, thanking you kindly, if you can't bring a +clergyman into the dream I'll live and die like what I am.' + +'Will you marry her if we get a clergyman?' asked the match-making +Anthea. + +'I'm agreeable, miss, I m sure,' said he, pulling his wreath +straight. ''Ow this 'ere bokay do tiddle a chap's ears to be +sure!' + +So, very hurriedly, the carpet was spread out, and instructed to +fetch a clergyman. The instructions were written on the inside of +Cyril's cap with a piece of billiard chalk Robert had got from the +marker at the hotel at Lyndhurst. The carpet disappeared, and more +quickly than you would have thought possible it came back, bearing +on its bosom the Reverend Septimus Blenkinsop. + +The Reverend Septimus was rather a nice young man, but very much +mazed and muddled, because when he saw a strange carpet laid out at +his feet, in his own study, he naturally walked on it to examine it +more closely. And he happened to stand on one of the thin places +that Jane and Anthea had darned, so that he was half on wishing +carpet and half on plain Scotch heather-mixture fingering, which +has no magic properties at all. + +The effect of this was that he was only half there--so that the +children could just see through him, as though he had been a ghost. +And as for him, he saw the sunny southern shore, the cook and the +burglar and the children quite plainly; but through them all he +saw, quite plainly also, his study at home, with the books and the +pictures and the marble clock that had been presented to him when +he left his last situation. + +He seemed to himself to be in a sort of insane fit, so that it did +not matter what he did--and he married the burglar to the cook. +The cook said that she would rather have had a solider kind of a +clergyman, one that you couldn't see through so plain, but perhaps +this was real enough for a dream. + +And of course the clergyman, though misty, was really real, and +able to marry people, and he did. When the ceremony was over the +clergyman wandered about the island collecting botanical specimens, +for he was a great botanist, and the ruling passion was strong even +in an insane fit. + +There was a splendid wedding feast. Can you fancy Jane and Anthea, +and Robert and Cyril, dancing merrily in a ring, hand-in-hand with +copper-coloured savages, round the happy couple, the queen cook and +the burglar consort? There were more flowers gathered and thrown +than you have ever even dreamed of, and before the children took +carpet for home the now married-and-settled burglar made a speech. + +'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'and savages of both kinds, only +I know you can't understand what I'm a saying of, but we'll let +that pass. If this is a dream, I'm on. If it ain't, I'm onner +than ever. If it's betwixt and between--well, I'm honest, and I +can't say more. I don't want no more 'igh London society--I've got +some one to put my arm around of; and I've got the whole lot of +this 'ere island for my allotment, and if I don't grow some +broccoli as'll open the judge's eye at the cottage flower shows, +well, strike me pink! All I ask is, as these young gents and +ladies'll bring some parsley seed into the dream, and a penn'orth +of radish seed, and threepenn'orth of onion, and I wouldn't mind +goin' to fourpence or fippence for mixed kale, only I ain't got a +brown, so I don't deceive you. And there's one thing more, you +might take away the parson. I don't like things what I can see +'alf through, so here's how!' He drained a coconut-shell of palm +wine. + +It was now past midnight--though it was tea-time on the island. + +With all good wishes the children took their leave. They also +collected the clergyman and took him back to his study and his +presentation clock. + +The Phoenix kindly carried the seeds next day to the burglar and +his bride, and returned with the most satisfactory news of the +happy pair. + +'He's made a wooden spade and started on his allotment,' it said, +'and she is weaving him a shirt and trousers of the most radiant +whiteness.' + +The police never knew how the burglar got away. In Kentish Town +Police Station his escape is still spoken of with bated breath as +the Persian mystery. + +As for the Reverend Septimus Blenkinsop, he felt that he had had a +very insane fit indeed, and he was sure it was due to over-study. +So he planned a little dissipation, and took his two maiden aunts +to Paris, where they enjoyed a dazzling round of museums and +picture galleries, and came back feeling that they had indeed seen +life. He never told his aunts or any one else about the marriage +on the island--because no one likes it to be generally known if he +has had insane fits, however interesting and unusual. + + + +CHAPTER 10 +THE HOLE IN THE CARPET + + + Hooray! hooray! hooray! + Mother comes home to-day; + Mother comes home to-day, + Hooray! hooray! hooray!' + +Jane sang this simple song directly after breakfast, and the +Phoenix shed crystal tears of affectionate sympathy. + +'How beautiful,' it said, 'is filial devotion!' + +'She won't be home till past bedtime, though,' said Robert. 'We +might have one more carpet-day.' + +He was glad that mother was coming home--quite glad, very glad; but +at the same time that gladness was rudely contradicted by a quite +strong feeling of sorrow, because now they could not go out all day +on the carpet. + +'I do wish we could go and get something nice for mother, only +she'd want to know where we got it,' said Anthea. 'And she'd +never, never believe it, the truth. People never do, somehow, if +it's at all interesting.' + +'I'll tell you what,' said Robert. 'Suppose we wished the carpet +to take us somewhere where we could find a purse with money in +it--then we could buy her something.' + +'Suppose it took us somewhere foreign, and the purse was covered +with strange Eastern devices, embroidered in rich silks, and full +of money that wasn't money at all here, only foreign curiosities, +then we couldn't spend it, and people would bother about where we +got it, and we shouldn't know how on earth to get out of it at +all.' + +Cyril moved the table off the carpet as he spoke, and its leg +caught in one of Anthea's darns and ripped away most of it, as well +as a large slit in the carpet. + +'Well, now you HAVE done it,' said Robert. + +But Anthea was a really first-class sister. She did not say a word +till she had got out the Scotch heather-mixture fingering wool and +the darning-needle and the thimble and the scissors, and by that +time she had been able to get the better of her natural wish to be +thoroughly disagreeable, and was able to say quite kindly-- + +'Never mind, Squirrel, I'll soon mend it.' + +Cyril thumped her on the back. He understood exactly how she had +felt, and he was not an ungrateful brother. + +'Respecting the purse containing coins,' the Phoenix said, +scratching its invisible ear thoughtfully with its shining claw, +'it might be as well, perhaps, to state clearly the amount which +you wish to find, as well as the country where you wish to find it, +and the nature of the coins which you prefer. It would be indeed +a cold moment when you should find a purse containing but three +oboloi.' + +'How much is an oboloi?' + +'An obol is about twopence halfpenny,' the Phoenix replied. + +'Yes,' said Jane, 'and if you find a purse I suppose it is only +because some one has lost it, and you ought to take it to the +policeman.' + +'The situation,' remarked the Phoenix, 'does indeed bristle with +difficulties.' + +'What about a buried treasure,' said Cyril, 'and every one was dead +that it belonged to?' + +'Mother wouldn't believe THAT,' said more than one voice. + +'Suppose,' said Robert--'suppose we asked to be taken where we +could find a purse and give it back to the person it belonged to, +and they would give us something for finding it?' + +'We aren't allowed to take money from strangers. You know we +aren't, Bobs,' said Anthea, making a knot at the end of a needleful +of Scotch heather-mixture fingering wool (which is very wrong, and +you must never do it when you are darning). + +'No, THAT wouldn't do,' said Cyril. 'Let's chuck it and go to the +North Pole, or somewhere really interesting.' + +'No,' said the girls together, 'there must be SOME way.' + +'Wait a sec,' Anthea added. 'I've got an idea coming. Don't +speak.' + +There was a silence as she paused with the darning-needle in the +air! Suddenly she spoke: + +'I see. Let's tell the carpet to take us somewhere where we can +get the money for mother's present, and--and--and get it some way +that she'll believe in and not think wrong.' + +'Well, I must say you are learning the way to get the most out of +the carpet,' said Cyril. He spoke more heartily and kindly than +usual, because he remembered how Anthea had refrained from snarking +him about tearing the carpet. + +'Yes,' said the Phoenix, 'you certainly are. And you have to +remember that if you take a thing out it doesn't stay in.' + +No one paid any attention to this remark at the time, but +afterwards every one thought of it. + +'Do hurry up, Panther,' said Robert; and that was why Anthea did +hurry up, and why the big darn in the middle of the carpet was all +open and webby like a fishing net, not tight and close like woven +cloth, which is what a good, well-behaved darn should be. + +Then every one put on its outdoor things, the Phoenix fluttered on +to the mantelpiece and arranged its golden feathers in the glass, +and all was ready. Every one got on to the carpet. + +'Please go slowly, dear carpet,' Anthea began; we like to see where +we're going.' And then she added the difficult wish that had been +decided on. + +Next moment the carpet, stiff and raftlike, was sailing over the +roofs of Kentish Town. + +'I wish--No, I don't mean that. I mean it's a PITY we aren't +higher up,' said Anthea, as the edge of the carpet grazed a +chimney-pot. + +'That's right. Be careful,' said the Phoenix, in warning tones. +'If you wish when you're on a wishing carpet, you DO wish, and +there's an end of it.' + +So for a short time no one spoke, and the carpet sailed on in calm +magnificence over St Pancras and King's Cross stations and over the +crowded streets of Clerkenwell. + +'We're going out Greenwich way,' said Cyril, as they crossed the +streak of rough, tumbled water that was the Thames. 'We might go +and have a look at the Palace.' + +On and on the carpet swept, still keeping much nearer to the +chimney-pots than the children found at all comfortable. And then, +just over New Cross, a terrible thing happened. + +Jane and Robert were in the middle of the carpet. Part of them was +on the carpet, and part of them--the heaviest part--was on the +great central darn. + +'It's all very misty,' said Jane; 'it looks partly like out of +doors and partly like in the nursery at home. I feel as if I was +going to have measles; everything looked awfully rum then, +remember.' + +'I feel just exactly the same,' Robert said. + +'It's the hole,' said the Phoenix; 'it's not measles whatever that +possession may be.' + +And at that both Robert and Jane suddenly, and at once, made a +bound to try and get on to the safer part of the carpet, and the +darn gave way and their boots went up, and the heavy heads and +bodies of them went down through the hole, and they landed in a +position something between sitting and sprawling on the flat leads +on the top of a high, grey, gloomy, respectable house whose address +was 705, Amersham Road, New Cross. + +The carpet seemed to awaken to new energy as soon as it had got rid +of their weight, and it rose high in the air. The others lay down +flat and peeped over the edge of the rising carpet. + +'Are you hurt?' cried Cyril, and Robert shouted 'No,' and next +moment the carpet had sped away, and Jane and Robert were hidden +from the sight of the others by a stack of smoky chimneys. + +'Oh, how awful!' said Anthea. + +'It might have been worse,' said the Phoenix. 'What would have +been the sentiments of the survivors if that darn had given way +when we were crossing the river?' + +'Yes, there's that,' said Cyril, recovering himself. 'They'll be +all right. They'll howl till some one gets them down, or drop +tiles into the front garden to attract attention of passersby. +Bobs has got my one-and-fivepence--lucky you forgot to mend that +hole in my pocket, Panther, or he wouldn't have had it. They can +tram it home.' + +But Anthea would not be comforted. + +'It's all my fault,' she said. 'I KNEW the proper way to darn, and +I didn't do it. It's all my fault. Let's go home and patch the +carpet with your Etons--something really strong--and send it to +fetch them.' + +'All right,' said Cyril; 'but your Sunday jacket is stronger than +my Etons. We must just chuck mother's present, that's all. I +wish--' + +'Stop!' cried the Phoenix; 'the carpet is dropping to earth.' + +And indeed it was. + +It sank swiftly, yet steadily, and landed on the pavement of the +Deptford Road. It tipped a little as it landed, so that Cyril and +Anthea naturally walked off it, and in an instant it had rolled +itself up and hidden behind a gate-post. It did this so quickly +that not a single person in the Deptford Road noticed it. The +Phoenix rustled its way into the breast of Cyril's coat, and almost +at the same moment a well-known voice remarked-- + +'Well, I never! What on earth are you doing here?' + +They were face to face with their pet uncle--their Uncle Reginald. + +'We DID think of going to Greenwich Palace and talking about +Nelson,' said Cyril, telling as much of the truth as he thought his +uncle could believe. + +'And where are the others?' asked Uncle Reginald. + +'I don't exactly know,' Cyril replied, this time quite truthfully. + +'Well,' said Uncle Reginald, 'I must fly. I've a case in the +County Court. That's the worst of being a beastly solicitor. One +can't take the chances of life when one gets them. If only I could +come with you to the Painted Hall and give you lunch at the "Ship" +afterwards! But, alas! it may not be.' + +The uncle felt in his pocket. + +'_I_ mustn't enjoy myself,' he said, 'but that's no reason why you +shouldn't. Here, divide this by four, and the product ought to +give you some desired result. Take care of yourselves. Adieu.' + +And waving a cheery farewell with his neat umbrella, the good and +high-hatted uncle passed away, leaving Cyril and Anthea to exchange +eloquent glances over the shining golden sovereign that lay in +Cyril's hand. + +'Well!' said Anthea. + +'Well!' said Cyril. + +'Well!' said the Phoenix. + +'Good old carpet!' said Cyril, joyously. + +'It WAS clever of it--so adequate and yet so simple,' said the +Phoenix, with calm approval. + +'Oh, come on home and let's mend the carpet. I am a beast. I'd +forgotten the others just for a minute,' said the +conscience-stricken Anthea. + +They unrolled the carpet quickly and slyly--they did not want to +attract public attention--and the moment their feet were on the +carpet Anthea wished to be at home, and instantly they were. + +The kindness of their excellent uncle had made it unnecessary for +them to go to such extremes as Cyril's Etons or Anthea's Sunday +jacket for the patching of the carpet. + +Anthea set to work at once to draw the edges of the broken darn +together, and Cyril hastily went out and bought a large piece of +the marble-patterned American oil-cloth which careful house-wives +use to cover dressers and kitchen tables. It was the strongest +thing he could think of. + +Then they set to work to line the carpet throughout with the +oil-cloth. The nursery felt very odd and empty without the others, +and Cyril did not feel so sure as he had done about their being +able to 'tram it' home. So he tried to help Anthea, which was very +good of him, but not much use to her. + +The Phoenix watched them for a time, but it was plainly growing +more and more restless. It fluffed up its splendid feathers, and +stood first on one gilded claw and then on the other, and at last +it said-- + +'I can bear it no longer. This suspense! My Robert--who set my +egg to hatch--in the bosom of whose Norfolk raiment I have nestled +so often and so pleasantly! I think, if you'll excuse me--' + +'Yes--DO,' cried Anthea, 'I wish we'd thought of asking you +before.' + +Cyril opened the window. The Phoenix flapped its sunbright wings +and vanished. + +'So THAT'S all right,' said Cyril, taking up his needle and +instantly pricking his hand in a new place. + + +Of course I know that what you have really wanted to know about all +this time is not what Anthea and Cyril did, but what happened to +Jane and Robert after they fell through the carpet on to the leads +of the house which was called number 705, Amersham Road. + +But I had to tell you the other first. That is one of the most +annoying things about stories, you cannot tell all the different +parts of them at the same time. + +Robert's first remark when he found himself seated on the damp, +cold, sooty leads was-- + +'Here's a go!' + +Jane's first act was tears. + +'Dry up, Pussy; don't be a little duffer,' said her brother, +kindly, 'it'll be all right.' + +And then he looked about, just as Cyril had known he would, for +something to throw down, so as to attract the attention of the +wayfarers far below in the street. He could not find anything. +Curiously enough, there were no stones on the leads, not even a +loose tile. The roof was of slate, and every single slate knew its +place and kept it. But, as so often happens, in looking for one +thing he found another. There was a trap-door leading down into +the house. + +And that trap-door was not fastened. + +'Stop snivelling and come here, Jane,' he cried, encouragingly. +'Lend a hand to heave this up. If we can get into the house, we +might sneak down without meeting any one, with luck. Come on.' + +They heaved up the door till it stood straight up, and, as they +bent to look into the hole below, the door fell back with a hollow +clang on the leads behind, and with its noise was mingled a +blood-curdling scream from underneath. + +'Discovered!' hissed Robert. 'Oh, my cats alive!' + +They were indeed discovered. + +They found themselves looking down into an attic, which was also a +lumber-room. It had boxes and broken chairs, old fenders and +picture-frames, and rag-bags hanging from nails. + +In the middle of the floor was a box, open, half full of clothes. +Other clothes lay on the floor in neat piles. In the middle of the +piles of clothes sat a lady, very fat indeed, with her feet +sticking out straight in front of her. And it was she who had +screamed, and who, in fact, was still screaming. + +'Don't!' cried Jane, 'please don't! We won't hurt you.' + +'Where are the rest of your gang?' asked the lady, stopping short +in the middle of a scream. + +'The others have gone on, on the wishing carpet,' said Jane +truthfully. + +'The wishing carpet?' said the lady. + +'Yes,' said Jane, before Robert could say 'You shut up!' 'You must +have read about it. The Phoenix is with them.' + +Then the lady got up, and picking her way carefully between the +piles of clothes she got to the door and through it. She shut it +behind her, and the two children could hear her calling 'Septimus! +Septimus!' in a loud yet frightened way. + +'Now,' said Robert quickly; 'I'll drop first.' + +He hung by his hands and dropped through the trap-door. + +'Now you. Hang by your hands. I'll catch you. Oh, there's no +time for jaw. Drop, I say.' + +Jane dropped. + +Robert tried to catch her, and even before they had finished the +breathless roll among the piles of clothes, which was what his +catching ended in, he whispered-- + +'We'll hide--behind those fenders and things; they'll think we've +gone along the roofs. Then, when all is calm, we'll creep down the +stairs and take our chance.' + +They hastily hid. A corner of an iron bedstead stuck into Robert's +side, and Jane had only standing room for one foot--but they bore +it--and when the lady came back, not with Septimus, but with +another lady, they held their breath and their hearts beat thickly. + +'Gone!' said the first lady; 'poor little things--quite mad, my +dear--and at large! We must lock this room and send for the +police.' + +'Let me look out,' said the second lady, who was, if possible, +older and thinner and primmer than the first. So the two ladies +dragged a box under the trap-door and put another box on the top of +it, and then they both climbed up very carefully and put their two +trim, tidy heads out of the trap-door to look for the 'mad +children'. + +'Now,' whispered Robert, getting the bedstead leg out of his side. + +They managed to creep out from their hiding-place and out through +the door before the two ladies had done looking out of the +trap-door on to the empty leads. + +Robert and Jane tiptoed down the stairs--one flight, two flights. +Then they looked over the banisters. Horror! a servant was coming +up with a loaded scuttle. + +The children with one consent crept swiftly through the first open +door. + +The room was a study, calm and gentlemanly, with rows of books, a +writing table, and a pair of embroidered slippers warming +themselves in the fender. The children hid behind the +window-curtains. As they passed the table they saw on it a +missionary-box with its bottom label torn off, open and empty. + +'Oh, how awful!' whispered Jane. 'We shall never get away alive.' + +'Hush!' said Robert, not a moment too soon, for there were steps on +the stairs, and next instant the two ladies came into the room. +They did not see the children, but they saw the empty missionary +box. + +'I knew it,' said one. 'Selina, it WAS a gang. I was certain of +it from the first. The children were not mad. They were sent to +distract our attention while their confederates robbed the house.' + +'I am afraid you are right,' said Selina; 'and WHERE ARE THEY NOW?' + +'Downstairs, no doubt, collecting the silver milk-jug and +sugar-basin and the punch-ladle that was Uncle Joe's, and Aunt +Jerusha's teaspoons. I shall go down.' + +'Oh, don't be so rash and heroic,' said Selina. 'Amelia, we must +call the police from the window. Lock the door. I WILL--I will--' + +The words ended in a yell as Selina, rushing to the window, came +face to face with the hidden children. + +'Oh, don't!' said Jane; 'how can you be so unkind? We AREN'T +burglars, and we haven't any gang, and we didn't open your +missionary-box. We opened our own once, but we didn't have to use +the money, so our consciences made us put it back and--DON'T! Oh, +I wish you wouldn't--' + +Miss Selina had seized Jane and Miss Amelia captured Robert. The +children found themselves held fast by strong, slim hands, pink at +the wrists and white at the knuckles. + +'We've got YOU, at any rate,' said Miss Amelia. 'Selina, your +captive is smaller than mine. You open the window at once and call +"Murder!" as loud as you can. + +Selina obeyed; but when she had opened the window, instead of +calling 'Murder!' she called 'Septimus!' because at that very +moment she saw her nephew coming in at the gate. + +In another minute he had let himself in with his latch-key and had +mounted the stairs. As he came into the room Jane and Robert each +uttered a shriek of joy so loud and so sudden that the ladies +leaped with surprise, and nearly let them go. + +'It's our own clergyman,' cried Jane. + +'Don't you remember us?' asked Robert. 'You married our burglar +for us--don't you remember?' + +'I KNEW it was a gang,' said Amelia. 'Septimus, these abandoned +children are members of a desperate burgling gang who are robbing +the house. They have already forced the missionary-box and +purloined its contents.' + +The Reverend Septimus passed his hand wearily over his brow. + +'I feel a little faint,' he said, 'running upstairs so quickly.' + +'We never touched the beastly box,' said Robert. + +'Then your confederates did,' said Miss Selina. + +'No, no,' said the curate, hastily. '_I_ opened the box myself. +This morning I found I had not enough small change for the Mothers' +Independent Unity Measles and Croup Insurance payments. I suppose +this is NOT a dream, is it?' + +'Dream? No, indeed. Search the house. I insist upon it.' + +The curate, still pale and trembling, searched the house, which, of +course, was blamelessly free of burglars. + +When he came back he sank wearily into his chair. + +'Aren't you going to let us go?' asked Robert, with furious +indignation, for there is something in being held by a strong lady +that sets the blood of a boy boiling in his veins with anger and +despair. 'We've never done anything to you. It's all the carpet. +It dropped us on the leads. WE couldn't help it. You know how it +carried you over to the island, and you had to marry the burglar to +the cook.' + +'Oh, my head!' said the curate. + +'Never mind your head just now,' said Robert; 'try to be honest and +honourable, and do your duty in that state of life!' + +'This is a judgement on me for something, I suppose,' said the +Reverend Septimus, wearily, 'but I really cannot at the moment +remember what.' + +'Send for the police,' said Miss Selina. + +'Send for a doctor,' said the curate. + +'Do you think they ARE mad, then,' said Miss Amelia. + +'I think I am,' said the curate. + +Jane had been crying ever since her capture. Now she said-- +'You aren't now, but perhaps you will be, if--And it would serve +you jolly well right, too.' + +'Aunt Selina,' said the curate, 'and Aunt Amelia, believe me, this +is only an insane dream. You will realize it soon. It has +happened to me before. But do not let us be unjust, even in a +dream. Do not hold the children; they have done no harm. As I +said before, it was I who opened the box.' + +The strong, bony hands unwillingly loosened their grasp. Robert +shook himself and stood in sulky resentment. But Jane ran to the +curate and embraced him so suddenly that he had not time to defend +himself. + +'You're a dear,' she said. 'It IS like a dream just at first, but +you get used to it. Now DO let us go. There's a good, kind, +honourable clergyman.' + +'I don't know,' said the Reverend Septimus; 'it's a difficult +problem. It is such a very unusual dream. Perhaps it's only a +sort of other life--quite real enough for you to be mad in. And if +you're mad, there might be a dream-asylum where you'd be kindly +treated, and in time restored, cured, to your sorrowing relatives. +It is very hard to see your duty plainly, even in ordinary life, +and these dream-circumstances are so complicated--' + +'If it's a dream,' said Robert, 'you will wake up directly, and +then you'd be sorry if you'd sent us into a dream-asylum, because +you might never get into the same dream again and let us out, and +so we might stay there for ever, and then what about our sorrowing +relatives who aren't in the dreams at all?' + +But all the curate could now say was, 'Oh, my head!' + +And Jane and Robert felt quite ill with helplessness and +hopelessness. A really conscientious curate is a very difficult +thing to manage. + +And then, just as the hopelessness and the helplessness were +getting to be almost more than they could bear, the two children +suddenly felt that extraordinary shrinking feeling that you always +have when you are just going to vanish. And the next moment they +had vanished, and the Reverend Septimus was left alone with his +aunts. + +'I knew it was a dream,' he cried, wildly. 'I've had something +like it before. Did you dream it too, Aunt Selina, and you, Aunt +Amelia? I dreamed that you did, you know.' + +Aunt Selina looked at him and then at Aunt Amelia. Then she said +boldly-- + +'What do you mean? WE haven't been dreaming anything. You must +have dropped off in your chair.' + +The curate heaved a sigh of relief. + +'Oh, if it's only _I_,' he said; 'if we'd all dreamed it I could +never have believed it, never!' + +Afterwards Aunt Selina said to the other aunt-- + +'Yes, I know it was an untruth, and I shall doubtless be punished +for it in due course. But I could see the poor dear fellow's brain +giving way before my very eyes. He couldn't have stood the strain +of three dreams. It WAS odd, wasn't it? All three of us dreaming +the same thing at the same moment. We must never tell dear Seppy. +But I shall send an account of it to the Psychical Society, with +stars instead of names, you know.' + +And she did. And you can read all about it in one of the society's +fat Blue-books. + +Of course, you understand what had happened? The intelligent +Phoenix had simply gone straight off to the Psammead, and had +wished Robert and Jane at home. And, of course, they were at home +at once. Cyril and Anthea had not half finished mending the +carpet. + +When the joyful emotions of reunion had calmed down a little, they +all went out and spent what was left of Uncle Reginald's sovereign +in presents for mother. They bought her a pink silk handkerchief, +a pair of blue and white vases, a bottle of scent, a packet of +Christmas candles, and a cake of soap shaped and coloured like a +tomato, and one that was so like an orange that almost any one you +had given it to would have tried to peel it--if they liked +oranges, of course. Also they bought a cake with icing on, and the +rest of the money they spent on flowers to put in the vases. + +When they had arranged all the things on a table, with the candles +stuck up on a plate ready to light the moment mother's cab was +heard, they washed themselves thoroughly and put on tidier clothes. + +Then Robert said, 'Good old Psammead,' and the others said so too. + +'But, really, it's just as much good old Phoenix,' said Robert. +'Suppose it hadn't thought of getting the wish!' + +'Ah!' said the Phoenix, 'it is perhaps fortunate for you that I am +such a competent bird.' + +'There's mother's cab,' cried Anthea, and the Phoenix hid and they +lighted the candles, and next moment mother was home again. + +She liked her presents very much, and found their story of Uncle +Reginald and the sovereign easy and even pleasant to believe. + +'Good old carpet,' were Cyril's last sleepy words. + +'What there is of it,' said the Phoenix, from the cornice-pole. + + + +CHAPTER 11 +THE BEGINNING OF THE END + + +'Well, I MUST say,' mother said, looking at the wishing carpet as +it lay, all darned and mended and backed with shiny American cloth, +on the floor of the nursery--'I MUST say I've never in my life +bought such a bad bargain as that carpet.' + +A soft 'Oh!' of contradiction sprang to the lips of Cyril, Robert, +Jane, and Anthea. Mother looked at them quickly, and said-- + +'Well, of course, I see you've mended it very nicely, and that was +sweet of you, dears.' + +'The boys helped too,' said the dears, honourably. + +'But, still--twenty-two and ninepence! It ought to have lasted for +years. It's simply dreadful now. Well, never mind, darlings, +you've done your best. I think we'll have coconut matting next +time. A carpet doesn't have an easy life of it in this room, does +it?' + +'It's not our fault, mother, is it, that our boots are the really +reliable kind?' Robert asked the question more in sorrow than in +anger. + +'No, dear, we can't help our boots,' said mother, cheerfully, 'but +we might change them when we come in, perhaps. It's just an idea +of mine. I wouldn't dream of scolding on the very first morning +after I've come home. Oh, my Lamb, how could you?' + +This conversation was at breakfast, and the Lamb had been +beautifully good until every one was looking at the carpet, and +then it was for him but the work of a moment to turn a glass dish +of syrupy blackberry jam upside down on his young head. It was the +work of a good many minutes and several persons to get the jam off +him again, and this interesting work took people's minds off the +carpet, and nothing more was said just then about its badness as a +bargain and about what mother hoped for from coconut matting. + +When the Lamb was clean again he had to be taken care of while +mother rumpled her hair and inked her fingers and made her head +ache over the difficult and twisted house-keeping accounts which +cook gave her on dirty bits of paper, and which were supposed to +explain how it was that cook had only fivepence-half-penny and a +lot of unpaid bills left out of all the money mother had sent her +for house-keeping. Mother was very clever, but even she could not +quite understand the cook's accounts. + +The Lamb was very glad to have his brothers and sisters to play +with him. He had not forgotten them a bit, and he made them play +all the old exhausting games: 'Whirling Worlds', where you swing +the baby round and round by his hands; and 'Leg and Wing', where +you swing him from side to side by one ankle and one wrist. There +was also climbing Vesuvius. In this game the baby walks up you, +and when he is standing on your shoulders, you shout as loud as you +can, which is the rumbling of the burning mountain, and then tumble +him gently on to the floor, and roll him there, which is the +destruction of Pompeii. + +'All the same, I wish we could decide what we'd better say next +time mother says anything about the carpet,' said Cyril, +breathlessly ceasing to be a burning mountain. + +'Well, you talk and decide,' said Anthea; 'here, you lovely ducky +Lamb. Come to Panther and play Noah's Ark.' + +The Lamb came with his pretty hair all tumbled and his face all +dusty from the destruction of Pompeii, and instantly became a baby +snake, hissing and wriggling and creeping in Anthea's arms, as she +said-- + + + 'I love my little baby snake, + He hisses when he is awake, + He creeps with such a wriggly creep, + He wriggles even in his sleep.' + + +'Crocky,' said the Lamb, and showed all his little teeth. So +Anthea went on-- + + + 'I love my little crocodile, + I love his truthful toothful smile; + It is so wonderful and wide, + I like to see it--FROM OUTSIDE.' + + +'Well, you see,' Cyril was saying; 'it's just the old bother. +Mother can't believe the real true truth about the carpet, and--' + +'You speak sooth, O Cyril,' remarked the Phoenix, coming out from +the cupboard where the blackbeetles lived, and the torn books, and +the broken slates, and odd pieces of toys that had lost the rest of +themselves. 'Now hear the wisdom of Phoenix, the son of the +Phoenix--' + +'There is a society called that,' said Cyril. + +'Where is it? And what is a society?' asked the bird. + +'It's a sort of joined-together lot of people--a sort of +brotherhood--a kind of--well, something very like your temple, you +know, only quite different.' + +'I take your meaning,' said the Phoenix. 'I would fain see these +calling themselves Sons of the Phoenix' + +'But what about your words of wisdom?' + +'Wisdom is always welcome,' said the Phoenix. + +'Pretty Polly!' remarked the Lamb, reaching his hands towards the +golden speaker. + +The Phoenix modestly retreated behind Robert, and Anthea hastened +to distract the attention of the Lamb by murmuring-- + + + "I love my little baby rabbit; + But oh! he has a dreadful habit + Of paddling out among the rocks + And soaking both his bunny socks.' + + +'I don't think you'd care about the sons of the Phoenix, really,' +said Robert. 'I have heard that they don't do anything fiery. +They only drink a great deal. Much more than other people, because +they drink lemonade and fizzy things, and the more you drink of +those the more good you get.' + +'In your mind, perhaps,' said Jane; 'but it wouldn't be good in +your body. You'd get too balloony.' + +The Phoenix yawned. + +'Look here,' said Anthea; 'I really have an idea. This isn't like +a common carpet. It's very magic indeed. Don't you think, if we +put Tatcho on it, and then gave it a rest, the magic part of it +might grow, like hair is supposed to do?' + +'It might,' said Robert; 'but I should think paraffin would do as +well--at any rate as far as the smell goes, and that seems to be +the great thing about Tatcho.' + +But with all its faults Anthea's idea was something to do, and they +did it. + +It was Cyril who fetched the Tatcho bottle from father's +washhand-stand. But the bottle had not much in it. + +'We mustn't take it all,' Jane said, 'in case father's hair began +to come off suddenly. If he hadn't anything to put on it, it might +all drop off before Eliza had time to get round to the chemist's +for another bottle. It would be dreadful to have a bald father, +and it would all be our fault.' + +'And wigs are very expensive, I believe,' said Anthea. 'Look here, +leave enough in the bottle to wet father's head all over with in +case any emergency emerges--and let's make up with paraffin. I +expect it's the smell that does the good really--and the smell's +exactly the same.' + +So a small teaspoonful of the Tatcho was put on the edges of the +worst darn in the carpet and rubbed carefully into the roots of the +hairs of it, and all the parts that there was not enough Tatcho for +had paraffin rubbed into them with a piece of flannel. Then the +flannel was burned. It made a gay flame, which delighted the +Phoenix and the Lamb. + +'How often,' said mother, opening the door--'how often am I to tell +you that you are NOT to play with paraffin? What have you been +doing?' + +'We have burnt a paraffiny rag,' Anthea answered. + +It was no use telling mother what they had done to the carpet. She +did not know it was a magic carpet, and no one wants to be laughed +at for trying to mend an ordinary carpet with lamp-oil. + +'Well, don't do it again,' said mother. 'And now, away with +melancholy! Father has sent a telegram. Look!' She held it out, +and the children, holding it by its yielding corners, read-- + + +'Box for kiddies at Garrick. Stalls for us, Haymarket. Meet +Charing Cross, 6.30.' + + +'That means,' said mother, 'that you're going to see "The Water +Babies" all by your happy selves, and father and I will take you +and fetch you. Give me the Lamb, dear, and you and Jane put clean +lace in your red evening frocks, and I shouldn't wonder if you +found they wanted ironing. This paraffin smell is ghastly. Run +and get out your frocks.' + +The frocks did want ironing--wanted it rather badly, as it +happened; for, being of tomato-Coloured Liberty silk, they had been +found very useful for tableaux vivants when a red dress was +required for Cardinal Richelieu. They were very nice tableaux, +these, and I wish I could tell you about them; but one cannot tell +everything in a story. You would have been specially interested in +hearing about the tableau of the Princes in the Tower, when one of +the pillows burst, and the youthful Princes were so covered with +feathers that the picture might very well have been called +'Michaelmas Eve; or, Plucking the Geese'. + +Ironing the dresses and sewing the lace in occupied some time, and +no one was dull, because there was the theatre to look forward to, +and also the possible growth of hairs on the carpet, for which +every one kept looking anxiously. By four o'clock Jane was almost +sure that several hairs were beginning to grow. + +The Phoenix perched on the fender, and its conversation, as usual, +was entertaining and instructive--like school prizes are said to +be. But it seemed a little absent-minded, and even a little sad. + +'Don't you feel well, Phoenix, dear?' asked Anthea, stooping to +take an iron off the fire. + +'I am not sick,' replied the golden bird, with a gloomy shake of +the head; 'but I am getting old.' + +'Why, you've hardly been hatched any time at all.' + +'Time,' remarked the Phoenix, 'is measured by heartbeats. I'm sure +the palpitations I've had since I've known you are enough to blanch +the feathers of any bird.' + +'But I thought you lived 500 years,' said Robert, and you've hardly +begun this set of years. Think of all the time that's before you.' + +'Time,' said the Phoenix, 'is, as you are probably aware, merely a +convenient fiction. There is no such thing as time. I have lived +in these two months at a pace which generously counterbalances 500 +years of life in the desert. I am old, I am weary. I feel as if +I ought to lay my egg, and lay me down to my fiery sleep. But +unless I'm careful I shall be hatched again instantly, and that is +a misfortune which I really do not think I COULD endure. But do +not let me intrude these desperate personal reflections on your +youthful happiness. What is the show at the theatre to-night? +Wrestlers? Gladiators? A combat of cameleopards and unicorns?' + +'I don't think so,' said Cyril; 'it's called "The Water Babies", +and if it's like the book there isn't any gladiating in it. There +are chimney-sweeps and professors, and a lobster and an otter and +a salmon, and children living in the water.' + +'It sounds chilly.' The Phoenix shivered, and went to sit on the +tongs. + +'I don't suppose there will be REAL water,' said Jane. 'And +theatres are very warm and pretty, with a lot of gold and lamps. +Wouldn't you like to come with us?' + +'_I_ was just going to say that,' said Robert, in injured tones, +'only I know how rude it is to interrupt. Do come, Phoenix, old +chap; it will cheer you up. It'll make you laugh like any thing. +Mr Bourchier always makes ripping plays. You ought to have seen +"Shock-headed Peter" last year.' + +'Your words are strange,' said the Phoenix, 'but I will come with +you. The revels of this Bourchier, of whom you speak, may help me +to forget the weight of my years.' +So that evening the Phoenix snugged inside the waistcoat of +Robert's Etons--a very tight fit it seemed both to Robert and to +the Phoenix--and was taken to the play. + +Robert had to pretend to be cold at the glittering, many-mirrored +restaurant where they ate dinner, with father in evening dress, +with a very shiny white shirt-front, and mother looking lovely in +her grey evening dress, that changes into pink and green when she +moves. Robert pretended that he was too cold to take off his +great-coat, and so sat sweltering through what would otherwise have +been a most thrilling meal. He felt that he was a blot on the +smart beauty of the family, and he hoped the Phoenix knew what he +was suffering for its sake. Of course, we are all pleased to +suffer for the sake of others, but we like them to know it unless +we are the very best and noblest kind of people, and Robert was +just ordinary. + +Father was full of jokes and fun, and every one laughed all the +time, even with their mouths full, which is not manners. Robert +thought father would not have been quite so funny about his keeping +his over-coat on if father had known all the truth. And there +Robert was probably right. + +When dinner was finished to the last grape and the last paddle in +the finger glasses--for it was a really truly grown-up dinner--the +children were taken to the theatre, guided to a box close to the +stage, and left. + +Father's parting words were: 'Now, don't you stir out of this box, +whatever you do. I shall be back before the end of the play. Be +good and you will be happy. Is this zone torrid enough for the +abandonment of great-coats, Bobs? No? Well, then, I should say +you were sickening for something--mumps or measles or thrush or +teething. Goodbye.' + +He went, and Robert was at last able to remove his coat, mop his +perspiring brow, and release the crushed and dishevelled Phoenix. +Robert had to arrange his damp hair at the looking-glass at the +back of the box, and the Phoenix had to preen its disordered +feathers for some time before either of them was fit to be seen. + +They were very, very early. When the lights went up fully, the +Phoenix, balancing itself on the gilded back of a chair, swayed in +ecstasy. + +'How fair a scene is this!' it murmured; 'how far fairer than my +temple! Or have I guessed aright? Have you brought me hither to +lift up my heart with emotions of joyous surprise? Tell me, my +Robert, is it not that this, THIS is my true temple, and the other +was but a humble shrine frequented by outcasts?' + +'I don't know about outcasts,' said Robert, 'but you can call this +your temple if you like. Hush! the music is beginning.' + +I am not going to tell you about the play. As I said before, one +can't tell everything, and no doubt you saw 'The Water Babies' +yourselves. If you did not it was a shame, or, rather, a pity. + +What I must tell you is that, though Cyril and Jane and Robert and +Anthea enjoyed it as much as any children possibly could, the +pleasure of the Phoenix was far, far greater than theirs. + +'This is indeed my temple,' it said again and again. 'What radiant +rites! And all to do honour to me!' + +The songs in the play it took to be hymns in its honour. The +choruses were choric songs in its praise. The electric lights, it +said, were magic torches lighted for its sake, and it was so +charmed with the footlights that the children could hardly persuade +it to sit still. But when the limelight was shown it could contain +its approval no longer. It flapped its golden wings, and cried in +a voice that could be heard all over the theatre: + +'Well done, my servants! Ye have my favour and my countenance!' + +Little Tom on the stage stopped short in what he was saying. A +deep breath was drawn by hundreds of lungs, every eye in the house +turned to the box where the luckless children cringed, and most +people hissed, or said 'Shish!' or 'Turn them out!' + +Then the play went on, and an attendant presently came to the box +and spoke wrathfully. + +'It wasn't us, indeed it wasn't,' said Anthea, earnestly; 'it was +the bird.' + +The man said well, then, they must keep their bird very quiet. +'Disturbing every one like this,' he said. + +'It won't do it again,' said Robert, glancing imploringly at the +golden bird; 'I'm sure it won't.' + +'You have my leave to depart,' said the Phoenix gently. + +'Well, he is a beauty, and no mistake,' said the attendant, 'only +I'd cover him up during the acts. It upsets the performance.' + +And he went. + +'Don't speak again, there's a dear,' said Anthea; 'you wouldn't +like to interfere with your own temple, would you?' + +So now the Phoenix was quiet, but it kept whispering to the +children. It wanted to know why there was no altar, no fire, no +incense, and became so excited and fretful and tiresome that four +at least of the party of five wished deeply that it had been left +at home. + +What happened next was entirely the fault of the Phoenix. It was +not in the least the fault of the theatre people, and no one could +ever understand afterwards how it did happen. No one, that is, +except the guilty bird itself and the four children. The Phoenix +was balancing itself on the gilt back of the chair, swaying +backwards and forwards and up and down, as you may see your own +domestic parrot do. I mean the grey one with the red tail. All +eyes were on the stage, where the lobster was delighting the +audience with that gem of a song, 'If you can't walk straight, walk +sideways!' when the Phoenix murmured warmly-- + +'No altar, no fire, no incense!' and then, before any of the +children could even begin to think of stopping it, it spread its +bright wings and swept round the theatre, brushing its gleaming +feathers against delicate hangings and gilded woodwork. + +It seemed to have made but one circular wing-sweep, such as you may +see a gull make over grey water on a stormy day. Next moment it +was perched again on the chair-back--and all round the theatre, +where it had passed, little sparks shone like tinsel seeds, then +little smoke wreaths curled up like growing plants--little flames +opened like flower-buds. People whispered--then people shrieked. + +'Fire! Fire!' The curtain went down--the lights went up. + +'Fire!' cried every one, and made for the doors. + +'A magnificent idea!' said the Phoenix, complacently. 'An enormous +altar--fire supplied free of charge. Doesn't the incense smell +delicious?' + +The only smell was the stifling smell of smoke, of burning silk, or +scorching varnish. + +The little flames had opened now into great flame-flowers. The +people in the theatre were shouting and pressing towards the doors. + +'Oh, how COULD you!' cried Jane. 'Let's get out.' + +'Father said stay here,' said Anthea, very pale, and trying to +speak in her ordinary voice. + +'He didn't mean stay and be roasted,' said Robert. 'No boys on +burning decks for me, thank you.' + +'Not much,' said Cyril, and he opened the door of the box. + +But a fierce waft of smoke and hot air made him shut it again. It +was not possible to get out that way. + +They looked over the front of the box. Could they climb down? + +It would be possible, certainly; but would they be much better off? + +'Look at the people,' moaned Anthea; 'we couldn't get through.' + +And, indeed, the crowd round the doors looked as thick as flies in +the jam-making season. + +'I wish we'd never seen the Phoenix,' cried Jane. + +Even at that awful moment Robert looked round to see if the bird +had overheard a speech which, however natural, was hardly polite or +grateful. + +The Phoenix was gone. + +'Look here,' said Cyril, 'I've read about fires in papers; I'm sure +it's all right. Let's wait here, as father said.' + +'We can't do anything else,' said Anthea bitterly. + +'Look here,' said Robert, 'I'm NOT frightened--no, I'm not. The +Phoenix has never been a skunk yet, and I'm certain it'll see us +through somehow. I believe in the Phoenix!' + +'The Phoenix thanks you, O Robert,' said a golden voice at his +feet, and there was the Phoenix itself, on the Wishing Carpet. + +'Quick!' it said. 'Stand on those portions of the carpet which are +truly antique and authentic--and--' + +A sudden jet of flame stopped its words. Alas! the Phoenix had +unconsciously warmed to its subject, and in the unintentional heat +of the moment had set fire to the paraffin with which that morning +the children had anointed the carpet. It burned merrily. The +children tried in vain to stamp it out. They had to stand back and +let it burn itself out. When the paraffin had burned away it was +found that it had taken with it all the darns of Scotch +heather-mixture fingering. Only the fabric of the old carpet was +left--and that was full of holes. + +'Come,' said the Phoenix, 'I'm cool now.' + +The four children got on to what was left of the carpet. Very +careful they were not to leave a leg or a hand hanging over one of +the holes. It was very hot--the theatre was a pit of fire. Every +one else had got out. + +Jane had to sit on Anthea's lap. + +'Home!' said Cyril, and instantly the cool draught from under the +nursery door played upon their legs as they sat. They were all on +the carpet still, and the carpet was lying in its proper place on +the nursery floor, as calm and unmoved as though it had never been +to the theatre or taken part in a fire in its life. + +Four long breaths of deep relief were instantly breathed. The +draught which they had never liked before was for the moment quite +pleasant. And they were safe. And every one else was safe. The +theatre had been quite empty when they left. Every one was sure of +that. + +They presently found themselves all talking at once. Somehow none +of their adventures had given them so much to talk about. None +other had seemed so real. + +'Did you notice--?' they said, and 'Do you remember--?' + +When suddenly Anthea's face turned pale under the dirt which it had +collected on it during the fire. + +'Oh,' she cried, 'mother and father! Oh, how awful! They'll think +we're burned to cinders. Oh, let's go this minute and tell them we +aren't.' + +'We should only miss them,' said the sensible Cyril. + +'Well--YOU go then,' said Anthea, 'or I will. Only do wash your +face first. Mother will be sure to think you are burnt to a cinder +if she sees you as black as that, and she'll faint or be ill or +something. Oh, I wish we'd never got to know that Phoenix.' + +'Hush!' said Robert; 'it's no use being rude to the bird. I +suppose it can't help its nature. Perhaps we'd better wash too. +Now I come to think of it my hands are rather--' + +No one had noticed the Phoenix since it had bidden them to step on +the carpet. And no one noticed that no one had noticed. + +All were partially clean, and Cyril was just plunging into his +great-coat to go and look for his parents--he, and not unjustly, +called it looking for a needle in a bundle of hay--when the sound +of father's latchkey in the front door sent every one bounding up +the stairs. + +'Are you all safe?' cried mother's voice; 'are you all safe?' and +the next moment she was kneeling on the linoleum of the hall, +trying to kiss four damp children at once, and laughing and crying +by turns, while father stood looking on and saying he was blessed +or something. + +'But how did you guess we'd come home,' said Cyril, later, when +every one was calm enough for talking. + +'Well, it was rather a rum thing. We heard the Garrick was on +fire, and of course we went straight there,' said father, briskly. +'We couldn't find you, of course--and we couldn't get in--but the +firemen told us every one was safely out. And then I heard a voice +at my ear say, "Cyril, Anthea, Robert, and Jane"--and something +touched me on the shoulder. It was a great yellow pigeon, and it +got in the way of my seeing who'd spoken. It fluttered off, and +then some one said in the other ear, "They're safe at home"; and +when I turned again, to see who it was speaking, hanged if there +wasn't that confounded pigeon on my other shoulder. Dazed by the +fire, I suppose. Your mother said it was the voice of--' + +'I said it was the bird that spoke,' said mother, 'and so it was. +Or at least I thought so then. It wasn't a pigeon. It was an +orange-coloured cockatoo. I don't care who it was that spoke. It +was true and you're safe.' + +Mother began to cry again, and father said bed was a good place +after the pleasures of the stage. + +So every one went there. + +Robert had a talk to the Phoenix that night. + +'Oh, very well,' said the bird, when Robert had said what he felt, +'didn't you know that I had power over fire? Do not distress +yourself. I, like my high priests in Lombard Street, can undo the +work of flames. Kindly open the casement.' + +It flew out. + +That was why the papers said next day that the fire at the theatre +had done less damage than had been anticipated. As a matter of +fact it had done none, for the Phoenix spent the night in putting +things straight. How the management accounted for this, and how +many of the theatre officials still believe that they were mad on +that night will never be known. + + +Next day mother saw the burnt holes in the carpet. + +'It caught where it was paraffiny,' said Anthea. + +'I must get rid of that carpet at once,' said mother. + +But what the children said in sad whispers to each other, as they +pondered over last night's events, was-- + +'We must get rid of that Phoenix.' + + + +CHAPTER 12 +THE END OF THE END + + +'Egg, toast, tea, milk, tea-cup and saucer, egg-spoon, knife, +butter--that's all, I think,' remarked Anthea, as she put the last +touches to mother's breakfast-tray, and went, very carefully up the +stairs, feeling for every step with her toes, and holding on to the +tray with all her fingers. She crept into mother's room and set +the tray on a chair. Then she pulled one of the blinds up very +softly. + +'Is your head better, mammy dear?' she asked, in the soft little +voice that she kept expressly for mother's headaches. 'I've +brought your brekkie, and I've put the little cloth with +clover-leaves on it, the one I made you.' + +'That's very nice,' said mother sleepily. + +Anthea knew exactly what to do for mothers with headaches who had +breakfast in bed. She fetched warm water and put just enough eau +de Cologne in it, and bathed mother's face and hands with the +sweet-scented water. Then mother was able to think about +breakfast. + +'But what's the matter with my girl?' she asked, when her eyes got +used to the light. + +'Oh, I'm so sorry you're ill,' Anthea said. 'It's that horrible +fire and you being so frightened. Father said so. And we all feel +as if it was our faults. I can't explain, but--' + +'It wasn't your fault a bit, you darling goosie,' mother said. +'How could it be?' + +'That's just what I can't tell you,' said Anthea. 'I haven't got +a futile brain like you and father, to think of ways of explaining +everything.' + +Mother laughed. + +'My futile brain--or did you mean fertile?--anyway, it feels very +stiff and sore this morning--but I shall be quite all right by and +by. And don't be a silly little pet girl. The fire wasn't your +faults. No; I don't want the egg, dear. I'll go to sleep again, +I think. Don't you worry. And tell cook not to bother me about +meals. You can order what you like for lunch.' + +Anthea closed the door very mousily, and instantly went downstairs +and ordered what she liked for lunch. She ordered a pair of +turkeys, a large plum-pudding, cheese-cakes, and almonds and +raisins. + +Cook told her to go along, do. And she might as well not have +ordered anything, for when lunch came it was just hashed mutton and +semolina pudding, and cook had forgotten the sippets for the mutton +hash and the semolina pudding was burnt. + +When Anthea rejoined the others she found them all plunged in the +gloom where she was herself. For every one knew that the days of +the carpet were now numbered. Indeed, so worn was it that you +could almost have numbered its threads. + +So that now, after nearly a month of magic happenings, the time was +at hand when life would have to go on in the dull, ordinary way and +Jane, Robert, Anthea, and Cyril would be just in the same position +as the other children who live in Camden Town, the children whom +these four had so often pitied, and perhaps a little despised. + +'We shall be just like them,' Cyril said. + +'Except,' said Robert, 'that we shall have more things to remember +and be sorry we haven't got.' + +'Mother's going to send away the carpet as soon as she's well +enough to see about that coconut matting. Fancy us with +coconut-matting--us! And we've walked under live coconut-trees on +the island where you can't have whooping-cough.' + +'Pretty island,' said the Lamb; 'paint-box sands and sea all shiny +sparkly.' + +His brothers and sisters had often wondered whether he remembered +that island. Now they knew that he did. + +'Yes,' said Cyril; 'no more cheap return trips by carpet for +us--that's a dead cert.' + +They were all talking about the carpet, but what they were all +thinking about was the Phoenix. + +The golden bird had been so kind, so friendly, so polite, so +instructive--and now it had set fire to a theatre and made mother +ill. + +Nobody blamed the bird. It had acted in a perfectly natural +manner. But every one saw that it must not be asked to prolong its +visit. Indeed, in plain English it must be asked to go! + +The four children felt like base spies and treacherous friends; and +each in its mind was saying who ought not to be the one to tell the +Phoenix that there could no longer be a place for it in that happy +home in Camden Town. Each child was quite sure that one of them +ought to speak out in a fair and manly way, but nobody wanted to be +the one. + +They could not talk the whole thing over as they would have liked +to do, because the Phoenix itself was in the cupboard, among the +blackbeetles and the odd shoes and the broken chessmen. + +But Anthea tried. + +'It's very horrid. I do hate thinking things about people, and not +being able to say the things you're thinking because of the way +they would feel when they thought what things you were thinking, +and wondered what they'd done to make you think things like that, +and why you were thinking them.' + +Anthea was so anxious that the Phoenix should not understand what +she said that she made a speech completely baffling to all. It was +not till she pointed to the cupboard in which all believed the +Phoenix to be that Cyril understood. + +'Yes,' he said, while Jane and Robert were trying to tell each +other how deeply they didn't understand what Anthea were saying; +'but after recent eventfulnesses a new leaf has to be turned over, +and, after all, mother is more important than the feelings of any +of the lower forms of creation, however unnatural.' + +'How beautifully you do do it,' said Anthea, absently beginning to +build a card-house for the Lamb--'mixing up what you're saying, I +mean. We ought to practise doing it so as to be ready for +mysterious occasions. We're talking about THAT,' she said to Jane +and Robert, frowning, and nodding towards the cupboard where the +Phoenix was. Then Robert and Jane understood, and each opened its +mouth to speak. + +'Wait a minute,' said Anthea quickly; 'the game is to twist up what +you want to say so that no one can understand what you're saying +except the people you want to understand it, and sometimes not +them.' + +'The ancient philosophers,' said a golden voice, 'Well understood +the art of which you speak.' + +Of course it was the Phoenix, who had not been in the cupboard at +all, but had been cocking a golden eye at them from the cornice +during the whole conversation. + +'Pretty dickie!' remarked the Lamb. 'CANARY dickie!' + +'Poor misguided infant,' said the Phoenix. + +There was a painful pause; the four could not but think it likely +that the Phoenix had understood their very veiled allusions, +accompanied as they had been by gestures indicating the cupboard. +For the Phoenix was not wanting in intelligence. + +'We were just saying--' Cyril began, and I hope he was not going to +say anything but the truth. Whatever it was he did not say it, for +the Phoenix interrupted him, and all breathed more freely as it +spoke. + +'I gather,' it said, 'that you have some tidings of a fatal nature +to communicate to our degraded black brothers who run to and fro +for ever yonder.' It pointed a claw at the cupboard, where the +blackbeetles lived. + +'Canary TALK,' said the Lamb joyously; 'go and show mammy.' + +He wriggled off Anthea's lap. + +'Mammy's asleep,' said Jane, hastily. 'Come and be wild beasts in +a cage under the table.' + +But the Lamb caught his feet and hands, and even his head, so often +and so deeply in the holes of the carpet that the cage, or table, +had to be moved on to the linoleum, and the carpet lay bare to +sight with all its horrid holes. + +'Ah,' said the bird, 'it isn't long for this world.' + +'No,' said Robert; 'everything comes to an end. It's awful.' + +'Sometimes the end is peace,' remarked the Phoenix. 'I imagine +that unless it comes soon the end of your carpet will be pieces.' + +'Yes,' said Cyril, respectfully kicking what was left of the +carpet. The movement of its bright colours caught the eye of the +Lamb, who went down on all fours instantly and began to pull at the +red and blue threads. + +'Aggedydaggedygaggedy,' murmured the Lamb; 'daggedy ag ag ag!' + +And before any one could have winked (even if they had wanted to, +and it would not have been of the slightest use) the middle of the +floor showed bare, an island of boards surrounded by a sea of +linoleum. The magic carpet was gone, AND SO WAS THE LAMB! + +There was a horrible silence. The Lamb--the baby, all alone--had +been wafted away on that untrustworthy carpet, so full of holes and +magic. And no one could know where he was. And no one could +follow him because there was now no carpet to follow on. + +Jane burst into tears, but Anthea, though pale and frantic, was +dry-eyed. + +'It MUST be a dream,' she said. + +'That's what the clergyman said,' remarked Robert forlornly; 'but +it wasn't, and it isn't.' + +'But the Lamb never wished,' said Cyril; 'he was only talking +Bosh.' + +'The carpet understands all speech,' said the Phoenix, 'even Bosh. +I know not this Boshland, but be assured that its tongue is not +unknown to the carpet.' + +'Do you mean, then,' said Anthea, in white terror, 'that when he +was saying "Agglety dag," or whatever it was, that he meant +something by it?' + +'All speech has meaning,' said the Phoenix. + +'There I think you're wrong,' said Cyril; 'even people who talk +English sometimes say things that don't mean anything in +particular.' + +'Oh, never mind that now,' moaned Anthea; 'you think "Aggety dag" +meant something to him and the carpet?' + +'Beyond doubt it held the same meaning to the carpet as to the +luckless infant,' the Phoenix said calmly. + +'And WHAT did it mean? Oh WHAT?' + +'Unfortunately,' the bird rejoined, 'I never studied Bosh.' + +Jane sobbed noisily, but the others were calm with what is +sometimes called the calmness of despair. The Lamb was gone--the +Lamb, their own precious baby brother--who had never in his happy +little life been for a moment out of the sight of eyes that loved +him--he was gone. He had gone alone into the great world with no +other companion and protector than a carpet with holes in it. The +children had never really understood before what an enormously big +place the world is. And the Lamb might be anywhere in it! + +'And it's no use going to look for him.' Cyril, in flat and +wretched tones, only said what the others were thinking. + +'Do you wish him to return?' the Phoenix asked; it seemed to speak +with some surprise. + +'Of course we do!' cried everybody. + +'Isn't he more trouble than he's worth?' asked the bird doubtfully. + +'No, no. Oh, we do want him back! We do!' + +'Then,' said the wearer of gold plumage, 'if you'll excuse me, I'll +just pop out and see what I can do.' + +Cyril flung open the window, and the Phoenix popped out. + +'Oh, if only mother goes on sleeping! Oh, suppose she wakes up and +wants the Lamb! Oh, suppose the servants come! Stop crying, Jane. +It's no earthly good. No, I'm not crying myself--at least I wasn't +till you said so, and I shouldn't anyway if--if there was any +mortal thing we could do. Oh, oh, oh!' + +Cyril and Robert were boys, and boys never cry, of course. Still, +the position was a terrible one, and I do not wonder that they made +faces in their efforts to behave in a really manly way. + +And at this awful moment mother's bell rang. + +A breathless stillness held the children. Then Anthea dried her +eyes. She looked round her and caught up the poker. She held it +out to Cyril. + +'Hit my hand hard,' she said; 'I must show mother some reason for +my eyes being like they are. Harder,' she cried as Cyril gently +tapped her with the iron handle. And Cyril, agitated and +trembling, nerved himself to hit harder, and hit very much harder +than he intended. + +Anthea screamed. + +'Oh, Panther, I didn't mean to hurt, really,' cried Cyril, +clattering the poker back into the fender. + +'It's--all--right,' said Anthea breathlessly, clasping the hurt +hand with the one that wasn't hurt; 'it's--getting--red.' + +It was--a round red and blue bump was rising on the back of it. +'Now, Robert,' she said, trying to breathe more evenly, 'you go +out--oh, I don't know where--on to the dustbin--anywhere--and I +shall tell mother you and the Lamb are out.' + +Anthea was now ready to deceive her mother for as long as ever she +could. Deceit is very wrong, we know, but it seemed to Anthea that +it was her plain duty to keep her mother from being frightened +about the Lamb as long as possible. And the Phoenix might help. + +'It always has helped,' Robert said; 'it got us out of the tower, +and even when it made the fire in the theatre it got us out all +right. I'm certain it will manage somehow.' + +Mother's bell rang again. + +'Oh, Eliza's never answered it,' cried Anthea; 'she never does. +Oh, I must go.' + +And she went. + +Her heart beat bumpingly as she climbed the stairs. Mother would +be certain to notice her eyes--well, her hand would account for +that. But the Lamb-- + +'No, I must NOT think of the Lamb, she said to herself, and bit her +tongue till her eyes watered again, so as to give herself something +else to think of. Her arms and legs and back, and even her +tear-reddened face, felt stiff with her resolution not to let +mother be worried if she could help it. + +She opened the door softly. + +'Yes, mother?' she said. + +'Dearest,' said mother, 'the Lamb--' + +Anthea tried to be brave. She tried to say that the Lamb and +Robert were out. Perhaps she tried too hard. Anyway, when she +opened her mouth no words came. So she stood with it open. It +seemed easier to keep from crying with one's mouth in that unusual +position. + +'The Lamb,' mother went on; 'he was very good at first, but he's +pulled the toilet-cover off the dressing-table with all the brushes +and pots and things, and now he's so quiet I'm sure he's in some +dreadful mischief. And I can't see him from here, and if I'd got +out of bed to see I'm sure I should have fainted.' + +'Do you mean he's HERE?' said Anthea. + +'Of course he's here,' said mother, a little impatiently. 'Where +did you think he was?' + +Anthea went round the foot of the big mahogany bed. There was a +pause. + +'He's not here NOW,' she said. + +That he had been there was plain, from the toilet-cover on the +floor, the scattered pots and bottles, the wandering brushes and +combs, all involved in the tangle of ribbons and laces which an +open drawer had yielded to the baby's inquisitive fingers. + +'He must have crept out, then,' said mother; 'do keep him with you, +there's a darling. If I don't get some sleep I shall be a wreck +when father comes home.' + +Anthea closed the door softly. Then she tore downstairs and burst +into the nursery, crying-- + +'He must have wished he was with mother. He's been there all the +time. "Aggety dag--"' + +The unusual word was frozen on her lip, as people say in books. + +For there, on the floor, lay the carpet, and on the carpet, +surrounded by his brothers and by Jane, sat the Lamb. He had +covered his face and clothes with vaseline and violet powder, but +he was easily recognizable in spite of this disguise. + +'You are right,' said the Phoenix, who was also present; 'it is +evident that, as you say, "Aggety dag" is Bosh for "I want to be +where my mother is," and so the faithful carpet understood it.' + +'But how,' said Anthea, catching up the Lamb and hugging him--'how +did he get back here?' + +'Oh,' said the Phoenix, 'I flew to the Psammead and wished that +your infant brother were restored to your midst, and immediately it +was so.' + +'Oh, I am glad, I am glad!' cried Anthea, still hugging the baby. +'Oh, you darling! Shut up, Jane! I don't care HOW much he comes +off on me! Cyril! You and Robert roll that carpet up and put it +in the beetle-cupboard. He might say "Aggety dag" again, and it +might mean something quite different next time. Now, my Lamb, +Panther'll clean you a little. Come on.' + +'I hope the beetles won't go wishing,' said Cyril, as they rolled +up the carpet. + + +Two days later mother was well enough to go out, and that evening +the coconut matting came home. The children had talked and talked, +and thought and thought, but they had not found any polite way of +telling the Phoenix that they did not want it to stay any longer. + +The days had been days spent by the children in embarrassment, and +by the Phoenix in sleep. + +And, now the matting was laid down, the Phoenix awoke and fluttered +down on to it. + +It shook its crested head. + +'I like not this carpet,' it said; 'it is harsh and unyielding, and +it hurts my golden feet.' + +'We've jolly well got to get used to its hurting OUR golden feet,' +said Cyril. + +'This, then,' said the bird, 'supersedes the Wishing Carpet.' + +'Yes,' said Robert, 'if you mean that it's instead of it.' + +'And the magic web?' inquired the Phoenix, with sudden eagerness. + +'It's the rag-and-bottle man's day to-morrow,' said Anthea, in a +low voice; 'he will take it away.' + +The Phoenix fluttered up to its favourite perch on the chair-back. + +'Hear me!' it cried, 'oh youthful children of men, and restrain +your tears of misery and despair, for what must be must be, and I +would not remember you, thousands of years hence, as base ingrates +and crawling worms compact of low selfishness.' + +'I should hope not, indeed,' said Cyril. + +'Weep not,' the bird went on; 'I really do beg that you won't weep. + +I will not seek to break the news to you gently. Let the blow fall +at once. The time has come when I must leave you.' + +All four children breathed forth a long sigh of relief. + +'We needn't have bothered so about how to break the news to it,' +whispered Cyril. + +'Ah, sigh not so,' said the bird, gently. 'All meetings end in +partings. I must leave you. I have sought to prepare you for +this. Ah, do not give way!' + +'Must you really go--so soon?' murmured Anthea. It was what she +had often heard her mother say to calling ladies in the afternoon. + +'I must, really; thank you so much, dear,' replied the bird, just +as though it had been one of the ladies. + +'I am weary,' it went on. 'I desire to rest--after all the +happenings of this last moon I do desire really to rest, and I ask +of you one last boon.' + +'Any little thing we can do,' said Robert. + +Now that it had really come to parting with the Phoenix, whose +favourite he had always been, Robert did feel almost as miserable +as the Phoenix thought they all did. + +'I ask but the relic designed for the rag-and-bottle man. Give me +what is left of the carpet and let me go.' + +'Dare we?' said Anthea. 'Would mother mind?' + +'I have dared greatly for your sakes,' remarked the bird. + +'Well, then, we will,' said Robert. + +The Phoenix fluffed out its feathers joyously. + +'Nor shall you regret it, children of golden hearts,' it said. +'Quick--spread the carpet and leave me alone; but first pile high +the fire. Then, while I am immersed in the sacred preliminary +rites, do ye prepare sweet-smelling woods and spices for the last +act of parting.' + +The children spread out what was left of the carpet. And, after +all, though this was just what they would have wished to have +happened, all hearts were sad. Then they put half a scuttle of +coal on the fire and went out, closing the door on the +Phoenix--left, at last, alone with the carpet. + +'One of us must keep watch,' said Robert, excitedly, as soon as +they were all out of the room, 'and the others can go and buy sweet +woods and spices. Get the very best that money can buy, and plenty +of them. Don't let's stand to a threepence or so. I want it to +have a jolly good send-off. It's the only thing that'll make us +feel less horrid inside.' + +It was felt that Robert, as the pet of the Phoenix, ought to have +the last melancholy pleasure of choosing the materials for its +funeral pyre. + +'I'll keep watch if you like,' said Cyril. 'I don't mind. And, +besides, it's raining hard, and my boots let in the wet. You might +call and see if my other ones are "really reliable" again yet.' + +So they left Cyril, standing like a Roman sentinel outside the door +inside which the Phoenix was getting ready for the great change, +and they all went out to buy the precious things for the last sad +rites. + +'Robert is right,' Anthea said; 'this is no time for being careful +about our money. Let's go to the stationer's first, and buy a +whole packet of lead-pencils. They're cheaper if you buy them by +the packet.' + +This was a thing that they had always wanted to do, but it needed +the great excitement of a funeral pyre and a parting from a beloved +Phoenix to screw them up to the extravagance. + +The people at the stationer's said that the pencils were real +cedar-wood, so I hope they were, for stationers should always speak +the truth. At any rate they cost one-and-fourpence. Also they +spent sevenpence three-farthings on a little sandal-wood box inlaid +with ivory. + +'Because,' said Anthea, 'I know sandalwood smells sweet, and when +it's burned it smells very sweet indeed.' + +'Ivory doesn't smell at all,' said Robert, 'but I expect when you +burn it it smells most awful vile, like bones.' + +At the grocer's they bought all the spices they could remember the +names of--shell-like mace, cloves like blunt nails, peppercorns, +the long and the round kind; ginger, the dry sort, of course; and +the beautiful bloom-covered shells of fragrant cinnamon. Allspice +too, and caraway seeds (caraway seeds that smelt most deadly when +the time came for burning them). + +Camphor and oil of lavender were bought at the chemist's, and also +a little scent sachet labelled 'Violettes de Parme'. + +They took the things home and found Cyril still on guard. When +they had knocked and the golden voice of the Phoenix had said 'Come +in,' they went in. + +There lay the carpet--or what was left of it--and on it lay an egg, +exactly like the one out of which the Phoenix had been hatched. + +The Phoenix was walking round and round the egg, clucking with joy +and pride. + +'I've laid it, you see,' it said, 'and as fine an egg as ever I +laid in all my born days.' + +Every one said yes, it was indeed a beauty. + +The things which the children had bought were now taken out of +their papers and arranged on the table, and when the Phoenix had +been persuaded to leave its egg for a moment and look at the +materials for its last fire it was quite overcome. + +'Never, never have I had a finer pyre than this will be. You shall +not regret it,' it said, wiping away a golden tear. 'Write +quickly: "Go and tell the Psammead to fulfil the last wish of the +Phoenix, and return instantly".' + +But Robert wished to be polite and he wrote-- + +'Please go and ask the Psammead to be so kind as to fulfil the +Phoenix's last wish, and come straight back, if you please.' +The paper was pinned to the carpet, which vanished and returned in +the flash of an eye. + +Then another paper was written ordering the carpet to take the egg +somewhere where it wouldn't be hatched for another two thousand +years. The Phoenix tore itself away from its cherished egg, which +it watched with yearning tenderness till, the paper being pinned +on, the carpet hastily rolled itself up round the egg, and both +vanished for ever from the nursery of the house in Camden Town. + +'Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!' said everybody. + +'Bear up,' said the bird; 'do you think _I_ don't suffer, being +parted from my precious new-laid egg like this? Come, conquer your +emotions and build my fire.' + +'OH!' cried Robert, suddenly, and wholly breaking down, 'I can't +BEAR you to go!' + +The Phoenix perched on his shoulder and rubbed its beak softly +against his ear. + +'The sorrows of youth soon appear but as dreams,' it said. +'Farewell, Robert of my heart. I have loved you well.' + +The fire had burnt to a red glow. One by one the spices and sweet +woods were laid on it. Some smelt nice and some--the caraway seeds +and the Violettes de Parme sachet among them--smelt worse than you +would think possible. + +'Farewell, farewell, farewell, farewell!' said the Phoenix, in a +far-away voice. + +'Oh, GOOD-BYE,' said every one, and now all were in tears. + +The bright bird fluttered seven times round the room and settled in +the hot heart of the fire. The sweet gums and spices and woods +flared and flickered around it, but its golden feathers did not +burn. It seemed to grow red-hot to the very inside heart of +it--and then before the eight eyes of its friends it fell together, +a heap of white ashes, and the flames of the cedar pencils and the +sandal-wood box met and joined above it. + + +'Whatever have you done with the carpet?' asked mother next day. + +'We gave it to some one who wanted it very much. The name began +with a P,' said Jane. + +The others instantly hushed her. + +'Oh, well, it wasn't worth twopence,' said mother. + +'The person who began with P said we shouldn't lose by it,' Jane +went on before she could be stopped. + +'I daresay!' said mother, laughing. + +But that very night a great box came, addressed to the children by +all their names. Eliza never could remember the name of the +carrier who brought it. It wasn't Carter Paterson or the Parcels +Delivery. + +It was instantly opened. It was a big wooden box, and it had to be +opened with a hammer and the kitchen poker; the long nails came +squeaking out, and boards scrunched as they were wrenched off. +Inside the box was soft paper, with beautiful Chinese patterns on +it--blue and green and red and violet. And under the paper--well, +almost everything lovely that you can think of. Everything of +reasonable size, I mean; for, of course, there were no motors or +flying machines or thoroughbred chargers. But there really was +almost everything else. Everything that the children had always +wanted--toys and games and books, and chocolate and candied +cherries and paint-boxes and photographic cameras, and all the +presents they had always wanted to give to father and mother and +the Lamb, only they had never had the money for them. At the very +bottom of the box was a tiny golden feather. No one saw it but +Robert, and he picked it up and hid it in the breast of his jacket, +which had been so often the nesting-place of the golden bird. When +he went to bed the feather was gone. It was the last he ever saw +of the Phoenix. + +Pinned to the lovely fur cloak that mother had always wanted was a +paper, and it said-- + +'In return for the carpet. With gratitude.--P.' + +You may guess how father and mother talked it over. They decided +at last the person who had had the carpet, and whom, curiously +enough, the children were quite unable to describe, must be an +insane millionaire who amused himself by playing at being a +rag-and-bone man. But the children knew better. + +They knew that this was the fulfilment, by the powerful Psammead, +of the last wish of the Phoenix, and that this glorious and +delightful boxful of treasures was really the very, very, very end +of the Phoenix and the Carpet. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Phoenix and the Carpet by Nesbit + diff --git a/old/phcar10.zip b/old/phcar10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c51b468 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/phcar10.zip |