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diff --git a/837-h/837-h.htm b/837-h/837-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e79a07 --- /dev/null +++ b/837-h/837-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14476 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Story of the Amulet, by E. Nesbit</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Story of the Amulet, by E. Nesbit</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Story of the Amulet</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: E. Nesbit</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March, 1997 [eBook #837]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 7, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Jo Churcher and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF THE AMULET ***</div> + +<h1>The Story of the Amulet</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by E. Nesbit</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. THE PSAMMEAD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. THE HALF AMULET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. THE PAST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. EIGHT THOUSAND YEARS AGO</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. THE FIGHT IN THE VILLAGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. THE WAY TO BABYLON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. “THE DEEPEST DUNGEON BELOW THE CASTLE MOAT”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. THE QUEEN IN LONDON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. ATLANTIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. THE LITTLE BLACK GIRL AND JULIUS CAESAR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. BEFORE PHARAOH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. THE SORRY-PRESENT AND THE EXPELLED LITTLE BOY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. THE SHIPWRECK ON THE TIN ISLANDS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. THE HEART’S DESIRE</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<h4>TO<br /> +<br /> +Dr Wallis Budge<br /> +of the British Museum as a<br /> +small token of gratitude for his<br /> +unfailing kindness and help<br /> +in the making of it</h4> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +THE PSAMMEAD</h2> + +<p> +There were once four children who spent their summer holidays in a white house, +happily situated between a sandpit and a chalkpit. One day they had the good +fortune to find in the sandpit a strange creature. Its eyes were on long horns +like snail’s eyes, and it could move them in and out like telescopes. It +had ears like a bat’s ears, and its tubby body was shaped like a +spider’s and covered with thick soft fur—and it had hands and feet +like a monkey’s. It told the children—whose names were Cyril, +Robert, Anthea, and Jane—that it was a Psammead or sand-fairy. (Psammead +is pronounced Sammy-ad.) It was old, old, old, and its birthday was almost at +the very beginning of everything. And it had been buried in the sand for +thousands of years. But it still kept its fairylikeness, and part of this +fairylikeness was its power to give people whatever they wished for. You know +fairies have always been able to do this. Cyril, Robert, Anthea, and Jane now +found their wishes come true; but, somehow, they never could think of just the +right things to wish for, and their wishes sometimes turned out very oddly +indeed. In the end their unwise wishings landed them in what Robert called +“a very tight place indeed”, and the Psammead consented to help +them out of it in return for their promise never never to ask it to grant them +any more wishes, and never to tell anyone about it, because it did not want to +be bothered to give wishes to anyone ever any more. At the moment of parting +Jane said politely— +</p> + +<p> +“I wish we were going to see you again some day.” +</p> + +<p> +And the Psammead, touched by this friendly thought, granted the wish. The book +about all this is called <i>Five Children and It</i>, and it ends up in a most +tiresome way by saying— +</p> + +<p> +“The children <i>did</i> see the Psammead again, but it was not in the +sandpit; it was—but I must say no more—” +</p> + +<p> +The reason that nothing more could be said was that I had not then been able to +find out exactly when and where the children met the Psammead again. Of course +I knew they would meet it, because it was a beast of its word, and when it said +a thing would happen, that thing happened without fail. How different from the +people who tell us about what weather it is going to be on Thursday next, in +London, the South Coast, and Channel! +</p> + +<p> +The summer holidays during which the Psammead had been found and the wishes +given had been wonderful holidays in the country, and the children had the +highest hopes of just such another holiday for the next summer. The winter +holidays were beguiled by the wonderful happenings of <i>The Phœnix and the +Carpet</i>, and the loss of these two treasures would have left the children in +despair, but for the splendid hope of their next holiday in the country. The +world, they felt, and indeed had some reason to feel, was full of wonderful +things—and they were really the sort of people that wonderful things +happen to. So they looked forward to the summer holiday; but when it came +everything was different, and very, very horrid. Father had to go out to +Manchuria to telegraph news about the war to the tiresome paper he wrote +for—the <i>Daily Bellower</i>, or something like that, was its name. And +Mother, poor dear Mother, was away in Madeira, because she had been very ill. +And The Lamb—I mean the baby—was with her. And Aunt Emma, who was +Mother’s sister, had suddenly married Uncle Reginald, who was +Father’s brother, and they had gone to China, which is much too far off +for you to expect to be asked to spend the holidays in, however fond your aunt +and uncle may be of you. So the children were left in the care of old Nurse, +who lived in Fitzroy Street, near the British Museum, and though she was always +very kind to them, and indeed spoiled them far more than would be good for the +most grown-up of us, the four children felt perfectly wretched, and when the +cab had driven off with Father and all his boxes and guns and the sheepskin, +with blankets and the aluminium mess-kit inside it, the stoutest heart quailed, +and the girls broke down altogether, and sobbed in each other’s arms, +while the boys each looked out of one of the long gloomy windows of the +parlour, and tried to pretend that no boy would be such a muff as to cry. +</p> + +<p> +I hope you notice that they were not cowardly enough to cry till their Father +had gone; they knew he had quite enough to upset him without that. But when he +was gone everyone felt as if it had been trying not to cry all its life, and +that it must cry now, if it died for it. So they cried. +</p> + +<p> +Tea—with shrimps and watercress—cheered them a little. The +watercress was arranged in a hedge round a fat glass salt-cellar, a tasteful +device they had never seen before. But it was not a cheerful meal. +</p> + +<p> +After tea Anthea went up to the room that had been Father’s, and when she +saw how dreadfully he wasn’t there, and remembered how every minute was +taking him further and further from her, and nearer and nearer to the guns of +the Russians, she cried a little more. Then she thought of Mother, ill and +alone, and perhaps at that very moment wanting a little girl to put +eau-de-cologne on her head, and make her sudden cups of tea, and she cried more +than ever. And then she remembered what Mother had said, the night before she +went away, about Anthea being the eldest girl, and about trying to make the +others happy, and things like that. So she stopped crying, and thought instead. +And when she had thought as long as she could bear she washed her face and +combed her hair, and went down to the others, trying her best to look as though +crying were an exercise she had never even heard of. +</p> + +<p> +She found the parlour in deepest gloom, hardly relieved at all by the efforts +of Robert, who, to make the time pass, was pulling Jane’s hair—not +hard, but just enough to tease. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said Anthea. “Let’s have a palaver.” +This word dated from the awful day when Cyril had carelessly wished that there +were Red Indians in England—and there had been. The word brought back +memories of last summer holidays and everyone groaned; they thought of the +white house with the beautiful tangled garden—late roses, asters, +marigold, sweet mignonette, and feathery asparagus—of the wilderness +which someone had once meant to make into an orchard, but which was now, as +Father said, “five acres of thistles haunted by the ghosts of baby +cherry-trees”. They thought of the view across the valley, where the +lime-kilns looked like Aladdin’s palaces in the sunshine, and they +thought of their own sandpit, with its fringe of yellowy grasses and +pale-stringy-stalked wild flowers, and the little holes in the cliff that were +the little sand-martins’ little front doors. And they thought of the free +fresh air smelling of thyme and sweetbriar, and the scent of the wood-smoke +from the cottages in the lane—and they looked round old Nurse’s +stuffy parlour, and Jane said— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how different it all is!” +</p> + +<p> +It was. Old Nurse had been in the habit of letting lodgings, till Father gave +her the children to take care of. And her rooms were furnished “for +letting”. Now it is a very odd thing that no one ever seems to furnish a +room “for letting” in a bit the same way as one would furnish it +for living in. This room had heavy dark red stuff curtains—the colour +that blood would not make a stain on—with coarse lace curtains inside. +The carpet was yellow, and violet, with bits of grey and brown oilcloth in odd +places. The fireplace had shavings and tinsel in it. There was a very varnished +mahogany chiffonier, or sideboard, with a lock that wouldn’t act. There +were hard chairs—far too many of them—with crochet antimacassars +slipping off their seats, all of which sloped the wrong way. The table wore a +cloth of a cruel green colour with a yellow chain-stitch pattern round it. Over +the fireplace was a looking-glass that made you look much uglier than you +really were, however plain you might be to begin with. Then there was a +mantelboard with maroon plush and wool fringe that did not match the plush; a +dreary clock like a black marble tomb—it was silent as the grave too, for +it had long since forgotten how to tick. And there were painted glass vases +that never had any flowers in, and a painted tambourine that no one ever +played, and painted brackets with nothing on them. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“And maple-framed engravings of the Queen,<br /> +The Houses of Parliament, the Plains of Heaven,<br /> +And of a blunt-nosed woodman’s flat return.” +</p> + +<p> +There were two books—last December’s <i>Bradshaw</i>, and an odd +volume of Plumridge’s <i>Commentary on Thessalonians</i>. There +were—but I cannot dwell longer on this painful picture. It was indeed, as +Jane said, very different. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s have a palaver,” said Anthea again. +</p> + +<p> +“What about?” said Cyril, yawning. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing to have <i>anything</i> about,” said Robert +kicking the leg of the table miserably. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to play,” said Jane, and her tone was grumpy. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea tried very hard not to be cross. She succeeded. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” she said, “don’t think I want to be +preachy or a beast in any way, but I want to what Father calls define the +situation. Do you agree?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fire ahead,” said Cyril without enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +“Well then. We all know the reason we’re staying here is because +Nurse couldn’t leave her house on account of the poor learned gentleman +on the top-floor. And there was no one else Father could entrust to take care +of us—and you know it’s taken a lot of money, Mother’s going +to Madeira to be made well.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane sniffed miserably. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” said Anthea in a hurry, “but don’t +let’s think about how horrid it all is. I mean we can’t go to +things that cost a lot, but we must do <i>something</i>. And I know there are +heaps of things you can see in London without paying for them, and I thought +we’d go and see them. We are all quite old now, and we haven’t got +The Lamb—” +</p> + +<p> +Jane sniffed harder than before. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean no one can say ‘No’ because of him, dear pet. And I +thought we <i>must</i> get Nurse to see how quite old we are, and let us go out +by ourselves, or else we shall never have any sort of a time at all. And I vote +we see everything there is, and let’s begin by asking Nurse to give us +some bits of bread and we’ll go to St James’s Park. There are ducks +there, I know, we can feed them. Only we must make Nurse let us go by +ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hurrah for liberty!” said Robert, “but she +won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes she will,” said Jane unexpectedly. “<i>I</i> thought +about that this morning, and I asked Father, and he said yes; and what’s +more he told old Nurse we might, only he said we must always say where we +wanted to go, and if it was right she would let us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three cheers for thoughtful Jane,” cried Cyril, now roused at last +from his yawning despair. “I say, let’s go now.” +</p> + +<p> +So they went, old Nurse only begging them to be careful of crossings, and to +ask a policeman to assist in the more difficult cases. But they were used to +crossings, for they had lived in Camden Town and knew the Kentish Town Road +where the trams rush up and down like mad at all hours of the day and night, +and seem as though, if anything, they would rather run over you than not. +</p> + +<p> +They had promised to be home by dark, but it was July, so dark would be very +late indeed, and long past bedtime. +</p> + +<p> +They started to walk to St James’s Park, and all their pockets were +stuffed with bits of bread and the crusts of toast, to feed the ducks with. +They started, I repeat, but they never got there. +</p> + +<p> +Between Fitzroy Street and St James’s Park there are a great many +streets, and, if you go the right way you will pass a great many shops that you +cannot possibly help stopping to look at. The children stopped to look at +several with gold-lace and beads and pictures and jewellery and dresses, and +hats, and oysters and lobsters in their windows, and their sorrow did not seem +nearly so impossible to bear as it had done in the best parlour at No. 300, +Fitzroy Street. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, by some wonderful chance turn of Robert’s (who had been voted +Captain because the girls thought it would be good for him—and indeed he +thought so himself—and of course Cyril couldn’t vote against him +because it would have looked like a mean jealousy), they came into the little +interesting criss-crossy streets that held the most interesting shops of +all—the shops where live things were sold. There was one shop window +entirely filled with cages, and all sorts of beautiful birds in them. The +children were delighted till they remembered how they had once wished for wings +themselves, and had had them—and then they felt how desperately unhappy +anything with wings must be if it is shut up in a cage and not allowed to fly. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be fairly beastly to be a bird in a cage,” said Cyril. +“Come on!” +</p> + +<p> +They went on, and Cyril tried to think out a scheme for making his fortune as a +gold-digger at Klondyke, and then buying all the caged birds in the world and +setting them free. Then they came to a shop that sold cats, but the cats were +in cages, and the children could not help wishing someone would buy all the +cats and put them on hearthrugs, which are the proper places for cats. And +there was the dog-shop, and that was not a happy thing to look at either, +because all the dogs were chained or caged, and all the dogs, big and little, +looked at the four children with sad wistful eyes and wagged beseeching tails +as if they were trying to say, “Buy me! buy me! buy me! and let me go for +a walk with you; oh, do buy me, and buy my poor brothers too! Do! do! +do!” They almost said, “Do! do! do!” plain to the ear, as +they whined; all but one big Irish terrier, and he growled when Jane patted +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Grrrrr,” he seemed to say, as he looked at them from the back +corner of his eye—“<i>You</i> won’t buy me. Nobody +will—ever—I shall die chained up—and I don’t know that +I care how soon it is, either!” +</p> + +<p> +I don’t know that the children would have understood all this, only once +they had been in a besieged castle, so they knew how hateful it is to be kept +in when you want to get out. +</p> + +<p> +Of course they could not buy any of the dogs. They did, indeed, ask the price +of the very, very smallest, and it was sixty-five pounds—but that was +because it was a Japanese toy spaniel like the Queen once had her portrait +painted with, when she was only Princess of Wales. But the children thought, if +the smallest was all that money, the biggest would run into thousands—so +they went on. +</p> + +<p> +And they did not stop at any more cat or dog or bird shops, but passed them by, +and at last they came to a shop that seemed as though it only sold creatures +that did not much mind where they were—such as goldfish and white mice, +and sea-anemones and other aquarium beasts, and lizards and toads, and +hedgehogs and tortoises, and tame rabbits and guinea-pigs. And there they +stopped for a long time, and fed the guinea-pigs with bits of bread through the +cage-bars, and wondered whether it would be possible to keep a sandy-coloured +double-lop in the basement of the house in Fitzroy Street. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose old Nurse would mind <i>very</i> much,” said +Jane. “Rabbits are most awfully tame sometimes. I expect it would know +her voice and follow her all about.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’d tumble over it twenty times a day,” said Cyril; +“now a snake—” +</p> + +<p> +“There aren’t any snakes,” said Robert hastily, “and +besides, I never could cotton to snakes somehow—I wonder why.” +</p> + +<p> +“Worms are as bad,” said Anthea, “and eels and slugs—I +think it’s because we don’t like things that haven’t got +legs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father says snakes have got legs hidden away inside of them,” said +Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—and he says <i>we’ve</i> got tails hidden away inside +<i>us</i>—but it doesn’t either of it come to anything +<i>really</i>,” said Anthea. “I hate things that haven’t any +legs.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s worse when they have too many,” said Jane with a +shudder, “think of centipedes!” +</p> + +<p> +They stood there on the pavement, a cause of some inconvenience to the +passersby, and thus beguiled the time with conversation. Cyril was leaning his +elbow on the top of a hutch that had seemed empty when they had inspected the +whole edifice of hutches one by one, and he was trying to reawaken the interest +of a hedgehog that had curled itself into a ball earlier in the interview, when +a small, soft voice just below his elbow said, quietly, plainly and quite +unmistakably—not in any squeak or whine that had to be +translated—but in downright common English— +</p> + +<p> +“Buy me—do—please buy me!” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril started as though he had been pinched, and jumped a yard away from the +hutch. +</p> + +<p> +“Come back—oh, come back!” said the voice, rather louder but +still softly; “stoop down and pretend to be tying up your +bootlace—I see it’s undone, as usual.” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril mechanically obeyed. He knelt on one knee on the dry, hot dusty pavement, +peered into the darkness of the hutch and found himself face to face +with—the Psammead! +</p> + +<p> +It seemed much thinner than when he had last seen it. It was dusty and dirty, +and its fur was untidy and ragged. It had hunched itself up into a miserable +lump, and its long snail’s eyes were drawn in quite tight so that they +hardly showed at all. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” said the Psammead, in a voice that sounded as though it +would begin to cry in a minute, “I don’t think the creature who +keeps this shop will ask a very high price for me. I’ve bitten him more +than once, and I’ve made myself look as common as I can. He’s never +had a glance from my beautiful, beautiful eyes. Tell the others I’m +here—but tell them to look at some of those low, common beasts while +I’m talking to you. The creature inside mustn’t think you care much +about me, or he’ll put a price upon me far, far beyond your means. I +remember in the dear old days last summer you never had much money. Oh—I +never thought I should be so glad to see you—I never did.” It +sniffed, and shot out its long snail’s eyes expressly to drop a tear well +away from its fur. “Tell the others I’m here, and then I’ll +tell you exactly what to do about buying me.” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril tied his bootlace into a hard knot, stood up and addressed the others in +firm tones— +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he said, “I’m not kidding—and I +appeal to your honour,” an appeal which in this family was never made in +vain. “Don’t look at that hutch—look at the white rat. Now +you are not to look at that hutch whatever I say.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood in front of it to prevent mistakes. +</p> + +<p> +“Now get yourselves ready for a great surprise. In that hutch +there’s an old friend of ours—<i>don’t</i> look!—Yes; +it’s the Psammead, the good old Psammead! it wants us to buy it. It says +you’re not to look at it. Look at the white rat and count your money! On +your honour don’t look!” +</p> + +<p> +The others responded nobly. They looked at the white rat till they quite stared +him out of countenance, so that he went and sat up on his hind legs in a far +corner and hid his eyes with his front paws, and pretended he was washing his +face. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril stooped again, busying himself with the other bootlace and listened for +the Psammead’s further instructions. +</p> + +<p> +“Go in,” said the Psammead, “and ask the price of lots of +other things. Then say, ‘What do you want for that monkey that’s +lost its tail—the mangy old thing in the third hutch from the end.’ +Oh—don’t mind <i>my</i> feelings—call me a mangy +monkey—I’ve tried hard enough to look like one! I don’t think +he’ll put a high price on me—I’ve bitten him eleven times +since I came here the day before yesterday. If he names a bigger price than you +can afford, say you wish you had the money.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t give us wishes. I’ve promised never to have +another wish from you,” said the bewildered Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a silly little idiot,” said the Sand-fairy in +trembling but affectionate tones, “but find out how much money +you’ve got between you, and do exactly what I tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril, pointing a stiff and unmeaning finger at the white rat, so as to pretend +that its charms alone employed his tongue, explained matters to the others, +while the Psammead hunched itself, and bunched itself, and did its very best to +make itself look uninteresting. +</p> + +<p> +Then the four children filed into the shop. +</p> + +<p> +“How much do you want for that white rat?” asked Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Eightpence,” was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“And the guinea-pigs?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eighteenpence to five bob, according to the breed.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the lizards?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ninepence each.” +</p> + +<p> +“And toads?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fourpence. Now look here,” said the greasy owner of all this caged +life with a sudden ferocity which made the whole party back hurriedly on to the +wainscoting of hutches with which the shop was lined. “Lookee here. I +ain’t agoin’ to have you a comin’ in here a turnin’ the +whole place outer winder, an’ prizing every animile in the stock just for +your larks, so don’t think it! If you’re a buyer, <i>be</i> a +buyer—but I never had a customer yet as wanted to buy mice, and lizards, +and toads, and guineas all at once. So hout you goes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! wait a minute,” said the wretched Cyril, feeling how foolishly +yet well-meaningly he had carried out the Psammead’s instructions. +“Just tell me one thing. What do you want for the mangy old monkey in the +third hutch from the end?” +</p> + +<p> +The shopman only saw in this a new insult. +</p> + +<p> +“Mangy young monkey yourself,” said he; “get along with your +blooming cheek. Hout you goes!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! don’t be so cross,” said Jane, losing her head +altogether, “don’t you see he really <i>does</i> want to know +<i>that!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! does ’e indeed,” sneered the merchant. Then he scratched +his ear suspiciously, for he was a sharp business man, and he knew the ring of +truth when he heard it. His hand was bandaged, and three minutes before he +would have been glad to sell the “mangy old monkey” for ten +shillings. Now— +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! ’E does, does ’e,” he said, “then two pun +ten’s my price. He’s not got his fellow that monkey ain’t, +nor yet his match, not this side of the equator, which he comes from. And the +only one ever seen in London. Ought to be in the Zoo. Two pun ten, down on the +nail, or <i>hout</i> you goes!” +</p> + +<p> +The children looked at each other—twenty-three shillings and fivepence +was all they had in the world, and it would have been merely three and +fivepence, but for the sovereign which Father had given to them “between +them” at parting. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve only twenty-three shillings and fivepence,” said +Cyril, rattling the money in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-three farthings and somebody’s own cheek,” said the +dealer, for he did not believe that Cyril had so much money. +</p> + +<p> +There was a miserable pause. Then Anthea remembered, and said— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I <i>wish</i> I had two pounds ten.” +</p> + +<p> +“So do I, Miss, I’m sure,” said the man with bitter +politeness; “I wish you “ad, I’m sure!” +</p> + +<p> +Anthea’s hand was on the counter, something seemed to slide under it. She +lifted it. There lay five bright half sovereigns. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I <i>have</i> got it after all,” she said; +“here’s the money, now let’s have the Sammy,... the monkey I +mean.” +</p> + +<p> +The dealer looked hard at the money, but he made haste to put it in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“I only hope you come by it honest,” he said, shrugging his +shoulders. He scratched his ear again. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” he said, “I suppose I must let you have it, but +it’s worth thribble the money, so it is—” +</p> + +<p> +He slowly led the way out to the hutch—opened the door gingerly, and made +a sudden fierce grab at the Psammead, which the Psammead acknowledged in one +last long lingering bite. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, take the brute,” said the shopman, squeezing the Psammead so +tight that he nearly choked it. “It’s bit me to the marrow, it +have.” +</p> + +<p> +The man’s eyes opened as Anthea held out her arms. “Don’t +blame me if it tears your face off its bones,” he said, and the Psammead +made a leap from his dirty horny hands, and Anthea caught it in hers, which +were not very clean, certainly, but at any rate were soft and pink, and held it +kindly and closely. +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t take it home like that,” Cyril said, “we +shall have a crowd after us,” and indeed two errand boys and a policeman +had already collected. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t give you nothink only a paper-bag, like what we put the +tortoises in,” said the man grudgingly. +</p> + +<p> +So the whole party went into the shop, and the shopman’s eyes nearly came +out of his head when, having given Anthea the largest paper-bag he could find, +he saw her hold it open, and the Psammead carefully creep into it. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” he said, “if that there don’t beat +cockfighting! But p’raps you’ve met the brute afore.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Cyril affably, “he’s an old friend of +ours.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I’d a known that,” the man rejoined, “you +shouldn’t a had him under twice the money. ’Owever,” he +added, as the children disappeared, “I ain’t done so bad, seeing as +I only give five bob for the beast. But then there’s the bites to take +into account!” +</p> + +<p> +The children trembling in agitation and excitement, carried home the Psammead, +trembling in its paper-bag. +</p> + +<p> +When they got it home, Anthea nursed it, and stroked it, and would have cried +over it, if she hadn’t remembered how it hated to be wet. +</p> + +<p> +When it recovered enough to speak, it said— +</p> + +<p> +“Get me sand; silver sand from the oil and colour shop. And get me +plenty.” +</p> + +<p> +They got the sand, and they put it and the Psammead in the round bath together, +and it rubbed itself, and rolled itself, and shook itself and scraped itself, +and scratched itself, and preened itself, till it felt clean and comfy, and +then it scrabbled a hasty hole in the sand, and went to sleep in it. +</p> + +<p> +The children hid the bath under the girls’ bed, and had supper. Old Nurse +had got them a lovely supper of bread and butter and fried onions. She was full +of kind and delicate thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +When Anthea woke the next morning, the Psammead was snuggling down between her +shoulder and Jane’s. +</p> + +<p> +“You have saved my life,” it said. “I know that man would +have thrown cold water on me sooner or later, and then I should have died. I +saw him wash out a guinea-pig’s hutch yesterday morning. I’m still +frightfully sleepy, I think I’ll go back to sand for another nap. Wake +the boys and this dormouse of a Jane, and when you’ve had your breakfasts +we’ll have a talk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t <i>you</i> want any breakfast?” asked Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“I daresay I shall pick a bit presently,” it said; “but sand +is all I care about—it’s meat and drink to me, and coals and fire +and wife and children.” With these words it clambered down by the +bedclothes and scrambled back into the bath, where they heard it scratching +itself out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said Anthea, “anyhow our holidays won’t be dull +<i>now</i>. We’ve found the Psammead again.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Jane, beginning to put on her stockings. “We +shan’t be <i>dull</i>—but it’ll be only like having a pet dog +now it can’t give us wishes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t be so discontented,” said Anthea. “If it +can’t do anything else it can tell us about Megatheriums and +things.” +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +THE HALF AMULET</h2> + +<p> +Long ago—that is to say last summer—the children, finding +themselves embarrassed by some wish which the Psammead had granted them, and +which the servants had not received in a proper spirit, had wished that the +servants might not notice the gifts which the Psammead gave. And when they +parted from the Psammead their last wish had been that they should meet it +again. Therefore they <i>had</i> met it (and it was jolly lucky for the +Psammead, as Robert pointed out). Now, of course, you see that the +Psammead’s being where it was, was the consequence of one of their +wishes, and therefore was a Psammead-wish, and as such could not be noticed by +the servants. And it was soon plain that in the Psammead’s opinion old +Nurse was still a servant, although she had now a house of her own, for she +never noticed the Psammead at all. And that was as well, for she would never +have consented to allow the girls to keep an animal and a bath of sand under +their bed. +</p> + +<p> +When breakfast had been cleared away—it was a very nice breakfast with +hot rolls to it, a luxury quite out of the common way—Anthea went and +dragged out the bath, and woke the Psammead. It stretched and shook itself. +</p> + +<p> +“You must have bolted your breakfast most unwholesomely,” it said, +“you can’t have been five minutes over it.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve been nearly an hour,” said Anthea. +“Come—you know you promised.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now look here,” said the Psammead, sitting back on the sand and +shooting out its long eyes suddenly, “we’d better begin as we mean +to go on. It won’t do to have any misunderstanding, so I tell you plainly +that—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>please</i>,” Anthea pleaded, “do wait till we get to +the others. They’ll think it most awfully sneakish of me to talk to you +without them; do come down, there’s a dear.” +</p> + +<p> +She knelt before the sand-bath and held out her arms. The Psammead must have +remembered how glad it had been to jump into those same little arms only the +day before, for it gave a little grudging grunt, and jumped once more. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea wrapped it in her pinafore and carried it downstairs. It was welcomed in +a thrilling silence. +</p> + +<p> +At last Anthea said, “Now then!” +</p> + +<p> +“What place is this?” asked the Psammead, shooting its eyes out and +turning them slowly round. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a sitting-room, of course,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I don’t like it,” said the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” said Anthea kindly; “we’ll take you +anywhere you like if you want us to. What was it you were going to say upstairs +when I said the others wouldn’t like it if I stayed talking to you +without them?” +</p> + +<p> +It looked keenly at her, and she blushed. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be silly,” it said sharply. “Of course, +it’s quite natural that you should like your brothers and sisters to know +exactly how good and unselfish you were.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you wouldn’t,” said Jane. “Anthea was quite +right. What was it you were going to say when she stopped you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you,” said the Psammead, “since you’re +so anxious to know. I was going to say this. You’ve saved my +life—and I’m not ungrateful—but it doesn’t change your +nature or mine. You’re still very ignorant, and rather silly, and I am +worth a thousand of you any day of the week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you are!” Anthea was beginning but it interrupted her. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very rude to interrupt,” it said; “what I mean is +that I’m not going to stand any nonsense, and if you think what +you’ve done is to give you the right to pet me or make me demean myself +by playing with you, you’ll find out that what you think doesn’t +matter a single penny. See? It’s what <i>I</i> think that matters.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said Cyril, “it always was, if you remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the Psammead, “then that’s settled. +We’re to be treated as we deserve. I with respect, and all of you +with—but I don’t wish to be offensive. Do you want me to tell you +how I got into that horrible den you bought me out of? Oh, I’m not +ungrateful! I haven’t forgotten it and I shan’t forget it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do tell us,” said Anthea. “I know you’re awfully +clever, but even with all your cleverness, I don’t believe you can +possibly know how—how respectfully we do respect you. Don’t +we?” +</p> + +<p> +The others all said yes—and fidgeted in their chairs. Robert spoke the +wishes of all when he said— +</p> + +<p> +“I do wish you’d go on.” So it sat up on the green-covered +table and went on. +</p> + +<p> +“When you’d gone away,” it said, “I went to sand for a +bit, and slept. I was tired out with all your silly wishes, and I felt as +though I hadn’t really been to sand for a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“To sand?” Jane repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Where I sleep. You go to bed. I go to sand.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane yawned; the mention of bed made her feel sleepy. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said the Psammead, in offended tones. “I’m +sure <i>I</i> don’t want to tell you a long tale. A man caught me, and I +bit him. And he put me in a bag with a dead hare and a dead rabbit. And he took +me to his house and put me out of the bag into a basket with holes that I could +see through. And I bit him again. And then he brought me to this city, which I +am told is called the Modern Babylon—though it’s not a bit like the +old Babylon—and he sold me to the man you bought me from, and then I bit +them both. Now, what’s your news?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s not quite so much biting in our story,” said Cyril +regretfully; “in fact, there isn’t any. Father’s gone to +Manchuria, and Mother and The Lamb have gone to Madeira because Mother was ill, +and don’t I just wish that they were both safe home again.” +</p> + +<p> +Merely from habit, the Sand-fairy began to blow itself out, but it stopped +short suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I forgot,” it said; “I can’t give you any more +wishes.” +</p> + +<p> +“No—but look here,” said Cyril, “couldn’t we call +in old Nurse and get her to say <i>she</i> wishes they were safe home. +I’m sure she does.” +</p> + +<p> +“No go,” said the Psammead. “It’s just the same as your +wishing yourself if you get some one else to wish for you. It won’t +act.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it did yesterday—with the man in the shop,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah yes,” said the creature, “but you didn’t <i>ask</i> +him to wish, and you didn’t know what would happen if he did. That +can’t be done again. It’s played out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you can’t help us at all,” said Jane; “oh—I +did think you could do something; I’ve been thinking about it ever since +we saved your life yesterday. I thought you’d be certain to be able to +fetch back Father, even if you couldn’t manage Mother.” +</p> + +<p> +And Jane began to cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Now <i>don’t</i>,” said the Psammead hastily; “you +know how it always upsets me if you cry. I can’t feel safe a moment. Look +here; you must have some new kind of charm.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s easier said than done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit of it,” said the creature; “there’s one of +the strongest charms in the world not a stone’s throw from where you +bought me yesterday. The man that I bit so—the first one, I +mean—went into a shop to ask how much something cost—I think he +said it was a concertina—and while he was telling the man in the shop how +much too much he wanted for it, I saw the charm in a sort of tray, with a lot +of other things. If you can only buy <i>that</i>, you will be able to have your +heart’s desire.” +</p> + +<p> +The children looked at each other and then at the Psammead. Then Cyril coughed +awkwardly and took sudden courage to say what everyone was thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“I do hope you won’t be waxy,” he said; “but it’s +like this: when you used to give us our wishes they almost always got us into +some row or other, and we used to think you wouldn’t have been pleased if +they hadn’t. Now, about this charm—we haven’t got over and +above too much tin, and if we blue it all on this charm and it turns out to be +not up to much—well—you see what I’m driving at, don’t +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see that <i>you</i> don’t see more than the length of your nose, +and <i>that’s</i> not far,” said the Psammead crossly. “Look +here, I <i>had</i> to give you the wishes, and of course they turned out badly, +in a sort of way, because you hadn’t the sense to wish for what was good +for you. But this charm’s quite different. I haven’t <i>got</i> to +do this for you, it’s just my own generous kindness that makes me tell +you about it. So it’s bound to be all right. See?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be cross,” said Anthea, “Please, <i>please</i> +don’t. You see, it’s all we’ve got; we shan’t have any +more pocket-money till Daddy comes home—unless he sends us some in a +letter. But we <i>do</i> trust you. And I say all of you,” she went on, +“don’t you think it’s worth spending <i>all</i> the money, if +there’s even the chanciest chance of getting Father and Mother back safe +<i>now?</i> Just think of it! Oh, do let’s!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> don’t care what you do,” said the Psammead; +“I’ll go back to sand again till you’ve made up your +minds.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, don’t!” said everybody; and Jane added, “We are +quite mind made-up—don’t you see we are? Let’s get our hats. +Will you come with us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said the Psammead; “how else would you find the +shop?” +</p> + +<p> +So everybody got its hat. The Psammead was put into a flat bass-bag that had +come from Farringdon Market with two pounds of filleted plaice in it. Now it +contained about three pounds and a quarter of solid Psammead, and the children +took it in turns to carry it. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not half the weight of The Lamb,” Robert said, and the +girls sighed. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead poked a wary eye out of the top of the basket every now and then, +and told the children which turnings to take. +</p> + +<p> +“How on earth do you know?” asked Robert. “I can’t +think how you do it.” +</p> + +<p> +And the Psammead said sharply, “No—I don’t suppose you +can.” +</p> + +<p> +At last they came to <i>the</i> shop. It had all sorts and kinds of things in +the window—concertinas, and silk handkerchiefs, china vases and tea-cups, +blue Japanese jars, pipes, swords, pistols, lace collars, silver spoons tied up +in half-dozens, and wedding-rings in a red lacquered basin. There were +officers’ epaulets and doctors’ lancets. There were tea-caddies +inlaid with red turtle-shell and brass curly-wurlies, plates of different kinds +of money, and stacks of different kinds of plates. There was a beautiful +picture of a little girl washing a dog, which Jane liked very much. And in the +middle of the window there was a dirty silver tray full of mother-of-pearl card +counters, old seals, paste buckles, snuff-boxes, and all sorts of little dingy +odds and ends. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead put its head quite out of the fish-basket to look in the window, +when Cyril said— +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a tray there with rubbish in it.” +</p> + +<p> +And then its long snail’s eyes saw something that made them stretch out +so much that they were as long and thin as new slate-pencils. Its fur bristled +thickly, and its voice was quite hoarse with excitement as it whispered— +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it! That’s it! There, under that blue and yellow +buckle, you can see a bit sticking out. It’s red. Do you see?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it that thing something like a horse-shoe?” asked Cyril. +“And red, like the common sealing-wax you do up parcels with?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s it,” said the Psammead. “Now, you do just +as you did before. Ask the price of other things. That blue buckle would do. +Then the man will get the tray out of the window. I think you’d better be +the one,” it said to Anthea. “We’ll wait out here.” +</p> + +<p> +So the others flattened their noses against the shop window, and presently a +large, dirty, short-fingered hand with a very big diamond ring came stretching +through the green half-curtains at the back of the shop window and took away +the tray. +</p> + +<p> +They could not see what was happening in the interview between Anthea and the +Diamond Ring, and it seemed to them that she had had time—if she had had +money—to buy everything in the shop before the moment came when she stood +before them, her face wreathed in grins, as Cyril said later, and in her hand +the charm. +</p> + +<p> +It was something like this: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/fig01.jpg" width="184" height="400" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p class="noindent"> +and it was made of a red, smooth, softly shiny stone. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got it,” Anthea whispered, just opening her hand to +give the others a glimpse of it. “Do let’s get home. We can’t +stand here like stuck-pigs looking at it in the street.” +</p> + +<p> +So home they went. The parlour in Fitzroy Street was a very flat background to +magic happenings. Down in the country among the flowers and green fields +anything had seemed—and indeed had been—possible. But it was hard +to believe that anything really wonderful could happen so near the Tottenham +Court Road. But the Psammead was there—and it in itself was wonderful. +And it could talk—and it had shown them where a charm could be bought +that would make the owner of it perfectly happy. So the four children hurried +home, taking very long steps, with their chins stuck out, and their mouths shut +very tight indeed. They went so fast that the Psammead was quite shaken about +in its fish-bag, but it did not say anything—perhaps for fear of +attracting public notice. +</p> + +<p> +They got home at last, very hot indeed, and set the Psammead on the green +tablecloth. +</p> + +<p> +“Now then!” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +But the Psammead had to have a plate of sand fetched for it, for it was quite +faint. When it had refreshed itself a little it said— +</p> + +<p> +“Now then! Let me see the charm,” and Anthea laid it on the green +table-cover. The Psammead shot out his long eyes to look at it, then it turned +them reproachfully on Anthea and said— +</p> + +<p> +“But there’s only half of it here!” +</p> + +<p> +This was indeed a blow. +</p> + +<p> +“It was all there was,” said Anthea, with timid firmness. She knew +it was not her fault. +</p> + +<p> +“There should be another piece,” said the Psammead, “and a +sort of pin to fasten the two together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t half any good?”—“Won’t it work +without the other bit?”—“It cost +seven-and-six.”—“Oh, bother, bother, +bother!”—“Don’t be silly little idiots!” said +everyone and the Psammead altogether. +</p> + +<p> +Then there was a wretched silence. Cyril broke it— +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Go back to the shop and see if they haven’t got the other +half,” said the Psammead. “I’ll go to sand till you come +back. Cheer up! Even the bit you’ve got is <i>some</i> good, but +it’ll be no end of a bother if you can’t find the other.” +</p> + +<p> +So Cyril went to the shop. And the Psammead to sand. And the other three went +to dinner, which was now ready. And old Nurse was very cross that Cyril was not +ready too. +</p> + +<p> +The three were watching at the windows when Cyril returned, and even before he +was near enough for them to see his face there was something about the slouch +of his shoulders and set of his knickerbockers and the way he dragged his boots +along that showed but too plainly that his errand had been in vain. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” they all said, hoping against hope on the front-door step. +</p> + +<p> +“No go,” Cyril answered; “the man said the thing was perfect. +He said it was a Roman lady’s locket, and people shouldn’t buy +curios if they didn’t know anything about arky—something or other, +and that he never went back on a bargain, because it wasn’t business, and +he expected his customers to act the same. He was simply +nasty—that’s what he was, and I want my dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +It was plain that Cyril was not pleased. +</p> + +<p> +The unlikeliness of anything really interesting happening in that parlour lay +like a weight of lead on everyone’s spirits. Cyril had his dinner, and +just as he was swallowing the last mouthful of apple-pudding there was a +scratch at the door. Anthea opened it and in walked the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” it said, when it had heard the news, “things might be +worse. Only you won’t be surprised if you have a few adventures before +you get the other half. You want to get it, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather,” was the general reply. “And we don’t mind +adventures.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the Psammead, “I seem to remember that about you. +Well, sit down and listen with all your ears. Eight, are there? Right—I +am glad you know arithmetic. Now pay attention, because I don’t intend to +tell you everything twice over.” +</p> + +<p> +As the children settled themselves on the floor—it was far more +comfortable than the chairs, as well as more polite to the Psammead, who was +stroking its whiskers on the hearth-rug—a sudden cold pain caught at +Anthea’s heart. Father—Mother—the darling Lamb—all far +away. Then a warm, comfortable feeling flowed through her. The Psammead was +here, and at least half a charm, and there were to be adventures. (If you +don’t know what a cold pain is, I am glad for your sakes, and I hope you +never may.) +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said the Psammead cheerily, “you are not particularly +nice, nor particularly clever, and you’re not at all good-looking. Still, +you’ve saved my life—oh, when I think of that man and his pail of +water!—so I’ll tell you all I know. At least, of course I +can’t do that, because I know far too much. But I’ll tell you all I +know about this red thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do! Do! Do! Do!” said everyone. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” said the Psammead. “This thing is half of an +Amulet that can do all sorts of things; it can make the corn grow, and the +waters flow, and the trees bear fruit, and the little new beautiful babies +come. (Not that babies <i>are</i> beautiful, of course,” it broke off to +say, “but their mothers think they are—and as long as you think a +thing’s true it <i>is</i> true as far as you’re concerned.)” +</p> + +<p> +Robert yawned. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead went on. +</p> + +<p> +“The complete Amulet can keep off all the things that make people +unhappy—jealousy, bad temper, pride, disagreeableness, greediness, +selfishness, laziness. Evil spirits, people called them when the Amulet was +made. Don’t you think it would be nice to have it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” said the children, quite without enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +“And it can give you strength and courage.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s better,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“And virtue.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it’s nice to have that,” said Jane, but not with +much interest. +</p> + +<p> +“And it can give you your heart’s desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now you’re talking,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I am,” retorted the Psammead tartly, “so +there’s no need for you to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Heart’s desire is good enough for me,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but,” Anthea ventured, “all that’s what the +<i>whole</i> charm can do. There’s something that the half we’ve +got can win off its own bat—isn’t there?” She appealed to the +Psammead. It nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” it said; “the half has the power to take you anywhere +you like to look for the other half.” +</p> + +<p> +This seemed a brilliant prospect till Robert asked— +</p> + +<p> +“Does it know where to look?” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead shook its head and answered, “I don’t think it’s +likely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Robert, “we might as well look for a needle in a +bottle of hay. Yes—it <i>is</i> bottle, and not bundle, Father said +so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said the Psammead briskly-, “you think you know +everything, but you are quite mistaken. The first thing is to get the thing to +talk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can it?” Jane questioned. Jane’s question did not mean that +she thought it couldn’t, for in spite of the parlour furniture the +feeling of magic was growing deeper and thicker, and seemed to fill the room +like a dream of a scented fog. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it can. I suppose you can read.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes!” Everyone was rather hurt at the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then—all you’ve got to do is to read the name +that’s written on the part of the charm that you’ve got. And as +soon as you say the name out loud the thing will have power to do—well, +several things.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence. The red charm was passed from hand to hand. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no name on it,” said Cyril at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense,” said the Psammead; “what’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>that!</i>” said Cyril, “it’s not reading. It +looks like pictures of chickens and snakes and things.” +</p> + +<p> +This was what was on the charm: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/fig02.jpg" width="600" height="85" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“I’ve no patience with you,” said the Psammead; “if you +can’t read you must find some one who can. A priest now?” +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t know any priests,” said Anthea; “we know a +clergyman—he’s called a priest in the prayer-book, you +know—but he only knows Greek and Latin and Hebrew, and this isn’t +any of those—I know.” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead stamped a furry foot angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I’d never seen you,” it said; “you aren’t +any more good than so many stone images. Not so much, if I’m to tell the +truth. Is there no wise man in your Babylon who can pronounce the names of the +Great Ones?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a poor learned gentleman upstairs,” said Anthea, +“we might try him. He has a lot of stone images in his room, and +iron-looking ones too—we peeped in once when he was out. Old Nurse says +he doesn’t eat enough to keep a canary alive. He spends it all on stones +and things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Try him,” said the Psammead, “only be careful. If he knows a +greater name than this and uses it against you, your charm will be of no use. +Bind him first with the chains of honour and upright dealing. And then ask his +aid—oh, yes, you’d better all go; you can put me to sand as you go +upstairs. I must have a few minutes’ peace and quietness.” +</p> + +<p> +So the four children hastily washed their hands and brushed their +hair—this was Anthea’s idea—and went up to knock at the door +of the “poor learned gentleman”, and to “bind him with the +chains of honour and upright dealing”. +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +THE PAST</h2> + +<p> +The learned gentleman had let his dinner get quite cold. It was mutton chop, +and as it lay on the plate it looked like a brown island in the middle of a +frozen pond, because the grease of the gravy had become cold, and consequently +white. It looked very nasty, and it was the first thing the children saw when, +after knocking three times and receiving no reply, one of them ventured to turn +the handle and softly to open the door. The chop was on the end of a long table +that ran down one side of the room. The table had images on it and queer-shaped +stones, and books. And there were glass cases fixed against the wall behind, +with little strange things in them. The cases were rather like the ones you see +in jewellers’ shops. +</p> + +<p> +The “poor learned gentleman” was sitting at a table in the window, +looking at something very small which he held in a pair of fine pincers. He had +a round spy-glass sort of thing in one eye—which reminded the children of +watchmakers, and also of the long snail’s eyes of the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman was very long and thin, and his long, thin boots stuck out under +the other side of his table. He did not hear the door open, and the children +stood hesitating. At last Robert gave the door a push, and they all started +back, for in the middle of the wall that the door had hidden was a +mummy-case—very, very, very big—painted in red and yellow and green +and black, and the face of it seemed to look at them quite angrily. +</p> + +<p> +You know what a mummy-case is like, of course? If you don’t you had +better go to the British Museum at once and find out. Anyway, it is not at all +the sort of thing that you expect to meet in a top-floor front in Bloomsbury, +looking as though it would like to know what business <i>you</i> had there. +</p> + +<p> +So everyone said, “Oh!” rather loud, and their boots clattered as +they stumbled back. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman took the glass out of his eye and said—“I beg +your pardon,” in a very soft, quiet pleasant voice—the voice of a +gentleman who has been to Oxford. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s us that beg yours,” said Cyril politely. “We are +sorry to disturb you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come in,” said the gentleman, rising—with the most +distinguished courtesy, Anthea told herself. “I am delighted to see you. +Won’t you sit down? No, not there; allow me to move that papyrus.” +</p> + +<p> +He cleared a chair, and stood smiling and looking kindly through his large, +round spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“He treats us like grown-ups,” whispered Robert, “and he +doesn’t seem to know how many of us there are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush,” said Anthea, “it isn’t manners to whisper. You +say, Cyril—go ahead.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re very sorry to disturb you,” said Cyril politely, +“but we did knock three times, and you didn’t say ‘Come +in’, or ‘Run away now’, or that you couldn’t be +bothered just now, or to come when you weren’t so busy, or any of the +things people do say when you knock at doors, so we opened it. We knew you were +in because we heard you sneeze while we were waiting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said the gentleman; “do sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has found out there are four of us,” said Robert, as the +gentleman cleared three more chairs. He put the things off them carefully on +the floor. The first chair had things like bricks that tiny, tiny birds’ +feet have walked over when the bricks were soft, only the marks were in regular +lines. The second chair had round things on it like very large, fat, long, pale +beads. And the last chair had a pile of dusty papers on it. +</p> + +<p> +The children sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“We know you are very, very learned,” said Cyril, “and we +have got a charm, and we want you to read the name on it, because it +isn’t in Latin or Greek, or Hebrew, or any of the languages <i>we</i> +know—” +</p> + +<p> +“A thorough knowledge of even those languages is a very fair foundation +on which to build an education,” said the gentleman politely. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Cyril blushing, “but we only know them to look at, +except Latin—and I’m only in Caesar with that.” +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman took off his spectacles and laughed. His laugh sounded rusty, +Cyril thought, as though it wasn’t often used. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course!” he said. “I’m sure I beg your pardon. I +think I must have been in a dream. You are the children who live downstairs, +are you not? Yes. I have seen you as I have passed in and out. And you have +found something that you think to be an antiquity, and you’ve brought it +to show me? That was very kind. I should like to inspect it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid we didn’t think about your liking to inspect +it,” said the truthful Anthea. “It was just for +<i>us</i>—because we wanted to know the name on it—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes—and, I say,” Robert interjected, “you +won’t think it rude of us if we ask you first, before we show it, to be +bound in the what-do-you-call-it of—” +</p> + +<p> +“In the bonds of honour and upright dealing,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you,” said the +gentleman, with gentle nervousness. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s this way,” said Cyril. “We’ve got +part of a charm. And the Sammy—I mean, something told us it would work, +though it’s only half a one; but it won’t work unless we can say +the name that’s on it. But, of course, if you’ve got another name +that can lick ours, our charm will be no go; so we want you to give us your +word of honour as a gentleman—though I’m sure, now I’ve seen +you, that it’s not necessary; but still I’ve promised to ask you, +so we must. Will you please give us your honourable word not to say any name +stronger than the name on our charm?” +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman had put on his spectacles again and was looking at Cyril through +them. He now said: “Bless me!” more than once, adding, “Who +told you all this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t tell you,” said Cyril. “I’m very sorry, +but I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Some faint memory of a far-off childhood must have come to the learned +gentleman just then, for he smiled. “I see,” he said. “It is +some sort of game that you are engaged in? Of course! Yes! Well, I will +certainly promise. Yet I wonder how you heard of the names of power?” +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t tell you that either,” said Cyril; and Anthea said, +“Here is our charm,” and held it out. +</p> + +<p> +With politeness, but without interest, the gentleman took it. But after the +first glance all his body suddenly stiffened, as a pointer’s does when he +sees a partridge. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” he said in quite a changed voice, and carried the +charm to the window. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at it; he turned it over. He fixed his spy-glass in his eye and +looked again. No one said anything. Only Robert made a shuffling noise with his +feet till Anthea nudged him to shut up. +</p> + +<p> +At last the learned gentleman drew a long breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you find this?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“We didn’t find it. We bought it at a shop. Jacob Absalom the name +is—not far from Charing Cross,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“We gave seven-and-sixpence for it,” added Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not for sale, I suppose? You do not wish to part with it? I ought +to tell you that it is extremely valuable—extraordinarily valuable, I may +say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Cyril, “we know that, so of course we want to +keep it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep it carefully, then,” said the gentleman impressively; +“and if ever you should wish to part with it, may I ask you to give me +the refusal of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“The refusal?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, do not sell it to anyone else until you have given me the +opportunity of buying it.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Cyril, “we won’t. But we don’t +want to sell it. We want to make it do things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you can play at that as well as at anything else,” said +the gentleman; “but I’m afraid the days of magic are over.” +</p> + +<p> +“They aren’t <i>really</i>,” said Anthea earnestly. +“You’d see they aren’t if I could tell you about our last +summer holidays. Only I mustn’t. Thank you very much. And can you read +the name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I can read it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell it us?” +</p> + +<p> +“The name,” said the gentleman, “is Ur Hekau Setcheh.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ur Hekau Setcheh,” repeated Cyril. “Thanks awfully. I do +hope we haven’t taken up too much of your time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said the gentleman. “And do let me entreat you +to be very, very careful of that most valuable specimen.” +</p> + +<p> +They said “Thank you” in all the different polite ways they could +think of, and filed out of the door and down the stairs. Anthea was last. +Half-way down to the first landing she turned and ran up again. +</p> + +<p> +The door was still open, and the learned gentleman and the mummy-case were +standing opposite to each other, and both looked as though they had stood like +that for years. +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman started when Anthea put her hand on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you won’t be cross and say it’s not my +business,” she said, “but do look at your chop! Don’t you +think you ought to eat it? Father forgets his dinner sometimes when he’s +writing, and Mother always says I ought to remind him if she’s not at +home to do it herself, because it’s so bad to miss your regular meals. So +I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind my reminding you, because you +don’t seem to have anyone else to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +She glanced at the mummy-case; <i>it</i> certainly did not look as though it +would ever think of reminding people of their meals. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman looked at her for a moment before he said— +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, my dear. It was a kindly thought. No, I haven’t anyone +to remind me about things like that.” +</p> + +<p> +He sighed, and looked at the chop. +</p> + +<p> +“It looks very nasty,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, “it does. I’ll eat it immediately, +before I forget.” +</p> + +<p> +As he ate it he sighed more than once. Perhaps because the chop was nasty, +perhaps because he longed for the charm which the children did not want to +sell, perhaps because it was so long since anyone cared whether he ate his +chops or forgot them. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea caught the others at the stair-foot. They woke the Psammead, and it +taught them exactly how to use the word of power, and to make the charm speak. +I am not going to tell you how this is done, because you might try to do it. +And for you any such trying would be almost sure to end in disappointment. +Because in the first place it is a thousand million to one against your ever +getting hold of the right sort of charm, and if you did, there would be hardly +any chance at all of your finding a learned gentleman clever enough and kind +enough to read the word for you. +</p> + +<p> +The children and the Psammead crouched in a circle on the floor—in the +girls’ bedroom, because in the parlour they might have been interrupted +by old Nurse’s coming in to lay the cloth for tea—and the charm was +put in the middle of the circle. +</p> + +<p> +The sun shone splendidly outside, and the room was very light. Through the open +window came the hum and rattle of London, and in the street below they could +hear the voice of the milkman. +</p> + +<p> +When all was ready, the Psammead signed to Anthea to say the word. And she said +it. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly the whole light of all the world seemed to go out. The room was dark. +The world outside was dark—darker than the darkest night that ever was. +And all the sounds went out too, so that there was a silence deeper than any +silence you have ever even dreamed of imagining. It was like being suddenly +deaf and blind, only darker and quieter even than that. +</p> + +<p> +But before the children had got over the sudden shock of it enough to be +frightened, a faint, beautiful light began to show in the middle of the circle, +and at the same moment a faint, beautiful voice began to speak. The light was +too small for one to see anything by, and the voice was too small for you to +hear what it said. You could just see the light and just hear the voice. +</p> + +<p> +But the light grew stronger. It was greeny, like glow-worms’ lamps, and +it grew and grew till it was as though thousands and thousands of glow-worms +were signalling to their winged sweethearts from the middle of the circle. And +the voice grew, not so much in loudness as in sweetness (though it grew louder, +too), till it was so sweet that you wanted to cry with pleasure just at the +sound of it. It was like nightingales, and the sea, and the fiddle, and the +voice of your mother when you have been a long time away, and she meets you at +the door when you get home. +</p> + +<p> +And the voice said— +</p> + +<p> +“Speak. What is it that you would hear?” +</p> + +<p> +I cannot tell you what language the voice used. I only know that everyone +present understood it perfectly. If you come to think of it, there must be some +language that everyone could understand, if we only knew what it was. Nor can I +tell you how the charm spoke, nor whether it was the charm that spoke, or some +presence in the charm. The children could not have told you either. Indeed, +they could not look at the charm while it was speaking, because the light was +too bright. They looked instead at the green radiance on the faded +Kidderminster carpet at the edge of the circle. They all felt very quiet, and +not inclined to ask questions or fidget with their feet. For this was not like +the things that had happened in the country when the Psammead had given them +their wishes. That had been funny somehow, and this was not. It was something +like <i>Arabian Nights</i> magic, and something like being in church. No one +cared to speak. +</p> + +<p> +It was Cyril who said at last— +</p> + +<p> +“Please we want to know where the other half of the charm is.” +</p> + +<p> +“The part of the Amulet which is lost,” said the beautiful voice, +“was broken and ground into the dust of the shrine that held it. It and +the pin that joined the two halves are themselves dust, and the dust is +scattered over many lands and sunk in many seas.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say!” murmured Robert, and a blank silence fell. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s all up?” said Cyril at last; “it’s no +use our looking for a thing that’s smashed into dust, and the dust +scattered all over the place.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you would find it,” said the voice, “You must seek it +where it still is, perfect as ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“In the Past you may find it,” said the voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish we <i>may</i> find it,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead whispered crossly, “Don’t you understand? The thing +existed in the Past. If you were in the Past, too, you could find it. +It’s very difficult to make you understand things. Time and space are +only forms of thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“No, you don’t,” said the Psammead, “and it +doesn’t matter if you don’t, either. What I mean is that if you +were only made the right way, you could see everything happening in the same +place at the same time. Now do you see?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid <i>I</i> don’t,” said Anthea; +“I’m sorry I’m so stupid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, at any rate, you see this. That lost half of the Amulet is in the +Past. Therefore it’s in the Past we must look for it. I mustn’t +speak to the charm myself. Ask it things! Find out!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where can we find the other part of you?” asked Cyril obediently. +</p> + +<p> +“In the Past,” said the voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What part of the Past?” +</p> + +<p> +“I may not tell you. If you will choose a time, I will take you to the +place that then held it. You yourselves must find it.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did you see it last?” asked Anthea—“I mean, when +was it taken away from you?” +</p> + +<p> +The beautiful voice answered— +</p> + +<p> +“That was thousands of years ago. The Amulet was perfect then, and lay in +a shrine, the last of many shrines, and I worked wonders. Then came strange men +with strange weapons and destroyed my shrine, and the Amulet they bore away +with many captives. But of these, one, my priest, knew the word of power, and +spoke it for me, so that the Amulet became invisible, and thus returned to my +shrine, but the shrine was broken down, and ere any magic could rebuild it one +spoke a word before which my power bowed down and was still. And the Amulet lay +there, still perfect, but enslaved. Then one coming with stones to rebuild the +shrine, dropped a hewn stone on the Amulet as it lay, and one half was sundered +from the other. I had no power to seek for that which was lost. And there being +none to speak the word of power, I could not rejoin it. So the Amulet lay in +the dust of the desert many thousand years, and at last came a small man, a +conqueror with an army, and after him a crowd of men who sought to seem wise, +and one of these found half the Amulet and brought it to this land. But none +could read the name. So I lay still. And this man dying and his son after him, +the Amulet was sold by those who came after to a merchant, and from him you +bought it, and it is here, and now, the name of power having been spoken, I +also am here.” +</p> + +<p> +This is what the voice said. I think it must have meant Napoleon by the small +man, the conqueror. Because I know I have been told that he took an army to +Egypt, and that afterwards a lot of wise people went grubbing in the sand, and +fished up all sorts of wonderful things, older than you would think possible. +And of these I believe this charm to have been one, and the most wonderful one +of all. +</p> + +<p> +Everyone listened: and everyone tried to think. It is not easy to do this +clearly when you have been listening to the kind of talk I have told you about. +</p> + +<p> +At last Robert said— +</p> + +<p> +“Can you take us into the Past—to the shrine where you and the +other thing were together. If you could take us there, we might find the other +part still there after all these thousands of years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still there? silly!” said Cyril. “Don’t you see, if we +go back into the Past it won’t be thousands of years ago. It will be +<i>now</i> for us—won’t it?” He appealed to the Psammead, who +said— +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not so far off the idea as you usually are!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Anthea, “will you take us back to when there was +a shrine and you were safe in it—all of you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the voice. “You must hold me up, and speak the +word of power, and one by one, beginning with the first-born, you shall pass +through me into the Past. But let the last that passes be the one that holds +me, and let him not lose his hold, lest you lose me, and so remain in the Past +for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a nasty idea,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“When you desire to return,” the beautiful voice went on, +“hold me up towards the East, and speak the word. Then, passing through +me, you shall return to this time and it shall be the present to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how—” +</p> + +<p> +A bell rang loudly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh crikey!” exclaimed Robert, “that’s tea! Will you +please make it proper daylight again so that we can go down. And thank you so +much for all your kindness.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve enjoyed ourselves very much indeed, thank you!” added +Anthea politely. +</p> + +<p> +The beautiful light faded slowly. The great darkness and silence came and these +suddenly changed to the dazzlement of day and the great soft, rustling sound of +London, that is like some vast beast turning over in its sleep. +</p> + +<p> +The children rubbed their eyes, the Psammead ran quickly to its sandy bath, and +the others went down to tea. And until the cups were actually filled tea seemed +less real than the beautiful voice and the greeny light. +</p> + +<p> +After tea Anthea persuaded the others to allow her to hang the charm round her +neck with a piece of string. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be so awful if it got lost,” she said: “it might +get lost anywhere, you know, and it would be rather beastly for us to have to +stay in the Past for ever and ever, wouldn’t it?” +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +EIGHT THOUSAND YEARS AGO</h2> + +<p> +Next morning Anthea got old Nurse to allow her to take up the “poor +learned gentleman’s” breakfast. He did not recognize her at first, +but when he did he was vaguely pleased to see her. +</p> + +<p> +“You see I’m wearing the charm round my neck,” she said; +“I’m taking care of it—like you told us to.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” said he; “did you have a good game last +night?” +</p> + +<p> +“You will eat your breakfast before it’s cold, won’t +you?” said Anthea. “Yes, we had a splendid time. The charm made it +all dark, and then greeny light, and then it spoke. Oh! I wish you could have +heard it—it was such a darling voice—and it told us the other half +of it was lost in the Past, so of course we shall have to look for it +there!” +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman rubbed his hair with both hands and looked anxiously at +Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it’s natural—youthful imagination and so +forth,” he said. “Yet someone must have... Who told you that some +part of the charm was missing?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t tell you,” she said. “I know it seems most +awfully rude, especially after being so kind about telling us the name of +power, and all that, but really, I’m not allowed to tell anybody anything +about the—the—the person who told me. You won’t forget your +breakfast, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman smiled feebly and then frowned—not a cross-frown, +but a puzzle-frown. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” he said, “I shall always be pleased if +you’ll look in—any time you’re passing you know—at +least...” +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” she said; “goodbye. I’ll always tell you +anything I <i>may</i> tell.” +</p> + +<p> +He had not had many adventures with children in them, and he wondered whether +all children were like these. He spent quite five minutes in wondering before +he settled down to the fifty-second chapter of his great book on <i>The Secret +Rites of the Priests of Amen Rā</i>. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It is no use to pretend that the children did not feel a good deal of agitation +at the thought of going through the charm into the Past. That idea, that +perhaps they might stay in the Past and never get back again, was anything but +pleasing. Yet no one would have dared to suggest that the charm should not be +used; and though each was in its heart very frightened indeed, they would all +have joined in jeering at the cowardice of any one of them who should have +uttered the timid but natural suggestion, “Don’t +let’s!” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed necessary to make arrangements for being out all day, for there was +no reason to suppose that the sound of the dinner-bell would be able to reach +back into the Past, and it seemed unwise to excite old Nurse’s curiosity +when nothing they could say—not even the truth—could in any way +satisfy it. They were all very proud to think how well they had understood what +the charm and the Psammead had said about Time and Space and things like that, +and they were perfectly certain that it would be quite impossible to make old +Nurse understand a single word of it. So they merely asked her to let them take +their dinner out into Regent’s Park—and this, with the implied cold +mutton and tomatoes, was readily granted. +</p> + +<p> +“You can get yourselves some buns or sponge-cakes, or whatever you +fancy-like,” said old Nurse, giving Cyril a shilling. “Don’t +go getting jam-tarts, now—so messy at the best of times, and without +forks and plates ruination to your clothes, besides your not being able to wash +your hands and faces afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +So Cyril took the shilling, and they all started off. They went round by the +Tottenham Court Road to buy a piece of waterproof sheeting to put over the +Psammead in case it should be raining in the Past when they got there. For it +is almost certain death to a Psammead to get wet. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was shining very brightly, and even London looked pretty. Women were +selling roses from big baskets-full, and Anthea bought four roses, one each, +for herself and the others. They were red roses and smelt of summer—the +kind of roses you always want so desperately at about Christmas-time when you +can only get mistletoe, which is pale right through to its very scent, and +holly which pricks your nose if you try to smell it. So now everyone had a rose +in its buttonhole, and soon everyone was sitting on the grass in Regent’s +Park under trees whose leaves would have been clean, clear green in the +country, but here were dusty and yellowish, and brown at the edges. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got to go on with it,” said Anthea, “and as the +eldest has to go first, you’ll have to be last, Jane. You quite +understand about holding on to the charm as you go through, don’t you, +Pussy?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I hadn’t got to be last,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall carry the Psammead if you like,” said Anthea. +“That is,” she added, remembering the beast’s queer temper, +“if it’ll let you.” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead, however, was unexpectedly amiable. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> don’t mind,” it said, “who carries me, so +long as it doesn’t drop me. I can’t bear being dropped.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane with trembling hands took the Psammead and its fish-basket under one arm. +The charm’s long string was hung round her neck. Then they all stood up. +Jane held out the charm at arm’s length, and Cyril solemnly pronounced +the word of power. +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke it the charm grew tall and broad, and he saw that Jane was just +holding on to the edge of a great red arch of very curious shape. The opening +of the arch was small, but Cyril saw that he could go through it. All round and +beyond the arch were the faded trees and trampled grass of Regent’s Park, +where the little ragged children were playing Ring-o’-Roses. But through +the opening of it shone a blaze of blue and yellow and red. Cyril drew a long +breath and stiffened his legs so that the others should not see that his knees +were trembling and almost knocking together. “Here goes!” he said, +and, stepping up through the arch, disappeared. Then followed Anthea. Robert, +coming next, held fast, at Anthea’s suggestion, to the sleeve of Jane, +who was thus dragged safely through the arch. And as soon as they were on the +other side of the arch there was no more arch at all and no more Regent’s +Park either, only the charm in Jane’s hand, and it was its proper size +again. They were now in a light so bright that they winked and blinked and +rubbed their eyes. During this dazzling interval Anthea felt for the charm and +pushed it inside Jane’s frock, so that it might be quite safe. When their +eyes got used to the new wonderful light the children looked around them. The +sky was very, very blue, and it sparkled and glittered and dazzled like the sea +at home when the sun shines on it. +</p> + +<p> +They were standing on a little clearing in a thick, low forest; there were +trees and shrubs and a close, thorny, tangly undergrowth. In front of them +stretched a bank of strange black mud, then came the browny-yellowy shining +ribbon of a river. Then more dry, caked mud and more greeny-browny jungle. The +only things that told that human people had been there were the clearing, a +path that led to it, and an odd arrangement of cut reeds in the river. +</p> + +<p> +They looked at each other. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said Robert, “this <i>is</i> a change of air!” +</p> + +<p> +It was. The air was hotter than they could have imagined, even in London in +August. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I knew where we were,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s a river, now—I wonder whether it’s the Amazon +or the Tiber, or what.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the Nile,” said the Psammead, looking out of the +fish-bag. +</p> + +<p> +“Then this is Egypt,” said Robert, who had once taken a geography +prize. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see any crocodiles,” Cyril objected. His prize had +been for natural history. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead reached out a hairy arm from its basket and pointed to a heap of +mud at the edge of the water. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you call that?” it said; and as it spoke the heap of mud +slid into the river just as a slab of damp mixed mortar will slip from a +bricklayer’s trowel. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said everybody. +</p> + +<p> +There was a crashing among the reeds on the other side of the water. +</p> + +<p> +“And there’s a river-horse!” said the Psammead, as a great +beast like an enormous slaty-blue slug showed itself against the black bank on +the far side of the stream. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a hippopotamus,” said Cyril; “it seems much more +real somehow than the one at the Zoo, doesn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad it’s being real on the other side of the +river,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +And now there was a crackling of reeds and twigs behind them. This was +horrible. Of course it might be another hippopotamus, or a crocodile, or a +lion—or, in fact, almost anything. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep your hand on the charm, Jane,” said Robert hastily. “We +ought to have a means of escape handy. I’m dead certain this is the sort +of place where simply anything <i>might</i> happen to us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe a hippopotamus is going to happen to us,” said +Jane—“a very, very big one.” +</p> + +<p> +They had all turned to face the danger. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be silly little duffers,” said the Psammead in its +friendly, informal way; “it’s not a river-horse. It’s a +human.” +</p> + +<p> +It was. It was a girl—of about Anthea’s age. Her hair was short and +fair, and though her skin was tanned by the sun, you could see that it would +have been fair too if it had had a chance. She had every chance of being +tanned, for she had no clothes to speak of, and the four English children, +carefully dressed in frocks, hats, shoes, stockings, coats, collars, and all +the rest of it, envied her more than any words of theirs or of mine could +possibly say. There was no doubt that here was the right costume for that +climate. +</p> + +<p> +She carried a pot on her head, of red and black earthenware. She did not see +the children, who shrank back against the edge of the jungle, and she went +forward to the brink of the river to fill her pitcher. As she went she made a +strange sort of droning, humming, melancholy noise all on two notes. Anthea +could not help thinking that perhaps the girl thought this noise was singing. +</p> + +<p> +The girl filled the pitcher and set it down by the river bank. Then she waded +into the water and stooped over the circle of cut reeds. She pulled half a +dozen fine fish out of the water within the reeds, killing each as she took it +out, and threading it on a long osier that she carried. Then she knotted the +osier, hung it on her arm, picked up the pitcher, and turned to come back. And +as she turned she saw the four children. The white dresses of Jane and Anthea +stood out like snow against the dark forest background. She screamed and the +pitcher fell, and the water was spilled out over the hard mud surface and over +the fish, which had fallen too. Then the water slowly trickled away into the +deep cracks. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be frightened,” Anthea cried, “we won’t +hurt you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +Now, once for all, I am not going to be bothered to tell you how it was that +the girl could understand Anthea and Anthea could understand the girl. +<i>You</i>, at any rate, would not understand <i>me</i>, if I tried to explain +it, any more than you can understand about time and space being only forms of +thought. You may think what you like. Perhaps the children had found out the +universal language which everyone can understand, and which wise men so far +have not found. You will have noticed long ago that they were singularly lucky +children, and they may have had this piece of luck as well as others. Or it may +have been that... but why pursue the question further? The fact remains that in +all their adventures the muddle-headed inventions which we call foreign +languages never bothered them in the least. They could always understand and be +understood. If you can explain this, please do. I daresay I could understand +your explanation, though you could never understand mine. +</p> + +<p> +So when the girl said, “Who are you?” everyone understood at once, +and Anthea replied— +</p> + +<p> +“We are children—just like you. Don’t be frightened. +Won’t you show us where you live?” +</p> + +<p> +Jane put her face right into the Psammead’s basket, and burrowed her +mouth into its fur to whisper— +</p> + +<p> +“Is it safe? Won’t they eat us? Are they cannibals?” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead shrugged its fur. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t make your voice buzz like that, it tickles my ears,” +it said rather crossly. “You can always get back to Regent’s Park +in time if you keep fast hold of the charm,” it said. +</p> + +<p> +The strange girl was trembling with fright. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea had a bangle on her arm. It was a sevenpenny-halfpenny trumpery thing +that pretended to be silver; it had a glass heart of turquoise blue hanging +from it, and it was the gift of the maid-of-all-work at the Fitzroy Street +house. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” said Anthea, “this is for you. That is to show we +will not hurt you. And if you take it I shall know that you won’t hurt +us.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl held out her hand. Anthea slid the bangle over it, and the +girl’s face lighted up with the joy of possession. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” she said, looking lovingly at the bangle; “it is +peace between your house and mine.” +</p> + +<p> +She picked up her fish and pitcher and led the way up the narrow path by which +she had come and the others followed. +</p> + +<p> +“This is something like!” said Cyril, trying to be brave. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” said Robert, also assuming a boldness he was far from +feeling, “this really and truly <i>is</i> an adventure! Its being in the +Past makes it quite different from the Phœnix and Carpet happenings.” +</p> + +<p> +The belt of thick-growing acacia trees and shrubs—mostly prickly and +unpleasant-looking—seemed about half a mile across. The path was narrow +and the wood dark. At last, ahead, daylight shone through the boughs and +leaves. +</p> + +<p> +The whole party suddenly came out of the wood’s shadow into the glare of +the sunlight that shone on a great stretch of yellow sand, dotted with heaps of +grey rocks where spiky cactus plants showed gaudy crimson and pink flowers +among their shabby, sand-peppered leaves. Away to the right was something that +looked like a grey-brown hedge, and from beyond it blue smoke went up to the +bluer sky. And over all the sun shone till you could hardly bear your clothes. +</p> + +<p> +“That is where I live,” said the girl pointing. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t go,” whispered Jane into the basket, “unless +you say it’s all right.” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead ought to have been touched by this proof of confidence. Perhaps, +however, it looked upon it as a proof of doubt, for it merely snarled— +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t go now I’ll never help you again.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Oh</i>,” whispered Anthea, “dear Jane, don’t! Think +of Father and Mother and all of us getting our heart’s desire. And we can +go back any minute. Come on!” +</p> + +<p> +“Besides,” said Cyril, in a low voice, “the Psammead must +know there’s no danger or it wouldn’t go. It’s not so over +and above brave itself. Come on!” +</p> + +<p> +This Jane at last consented to do. +</p> + +<p> +As they got nearer to the browny fence they saw that it was a great hedge about +eight feet high, made of piled-up thorn bushes. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that for?” asked Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“To keep out foes and wild beasts,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think it ought to, too,” said he. “Why, some of the +thorns are as long as my foot.” +</p> + +<p> +There was an opening in the hedge, and they followed the girl through it. A +little way further on was another hedge, not so high, also of dry thorn bushes, +very prickly and spiteful-looking, and within this was a sort of village of +huts. +</p> + +<p> +There were no gardens and no roads. Just huts built of wood and twigs and clay, +and roofed with great palm-leaves, dumped down anywhere. The doors of these +houses were very low, like the doors of dog-kennels. The ground between them +was not paths or streets, but just yellow sand trampled very hard and smooth. +</p> + +<p> +In the middle of the village there was a hedge that enclosed what seemed to be +a piece of ground about as big as their own garden in Camden Town. +</p> + +<p> +No sooner were the children well within the inner thorn hedge than dozens of +men and women and children came crowding round from behind and inside the huts. +</p> + +<p> +The girl stood protectingly in front of the four children, and said— +</p> + +<p> +“They are wonder-children from beyond the desert. They bring marvellous +gifts, and I have said that it is peace between us and them.” +</p> + +<p> +She held out her arm with the Lowther Arcade bangle on it. +</p> + +<p> +The children from London, where nothing now surprises anyone, had never before +seen so many people look so astonished. +</p> + +<p> +They crowded round the children, touching their clothes, their shoes, the +buttons on the boys’ jackets, and the coral of the girls’ +necklaces. +</p> + +<p> +“Do say something,” whispered Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“We come,” said Cyril, with some dim remembrance of a dreadful day +when he had had to wait in an outer office while his father interviewed a +solicitor, and there had been nothing to read but the <i>Daily +Telegraph</i>—“we come from the world where the sun never sets. And +peace with honour is what we want. We are the great Anglo-Saxon or conquering +race. Not that we want to conquer <i>you</i>,” he added hastily. +“We only want to look at your houses and your—well, at all +you’ve got here, and then we shall return to our own place, and tell of +all that we have seen so that your name may be famed.” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril’s speech didn’t keep the crowd from pressing round and +looking as eagerly as ever at the clothing of the children. Anthea had an idea +that these people had never seen woven stuff before, and she saw how wonderful +and strange it must seem to people who had never had any clothes but the skins +of beasts. The sewing, too, of modern clothes seemed to astonish them very +much. They must have been able to sew themselves, by the way, for men who +seemed to be the chiefs wore knickerbockers of goat-skin or deer-skin, fastened +round the waist with twisted strips of hide. And the women wore long skimpy +skirts of animals’ skins. The people were not very tall, their hair was +fair, and men and women both had it short. Their eyes were blue, and that +seemed odd in Egypt. Most of them were tattooed like sailors, only more +roughly. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this? What is this?” they kept asking touching the +children’s clothes curiously. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea hastily took off Jane’s frilly lace collar and handed it to the +woman who seemed most friendly. +</p> + +<p> +“Take this,” she said, “and look at it. And leave us alone. +We want to talk among ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke in the tone of authority which she had always found successful when +she had not time to coax her baby brother to do as he was told. The tone was +just as successful now. The children were left together and the crowd +retreated. It paused a dozen yards away to look at the lace collar and to go on +talking as hard as it could. +</p> + +<p> +The children will never know what those people said, though they knew well +enough that they, the four strangers, were the subject of the talk. They tried +to comfort themselves by remembering the girl’s promise of friendliness, +but of course the thought of the charm was more comfortable than anything else. +They sat down on the sand in the shadow of the hedged-round place in the middle +of the village, and now for the first time they were able to look about them +and to see something more than a crowd of eager, curious faces. +</p> + +<p> +They here noticed that the women wore necklaces made of beads of different +coloured stone, and from these hung pendants of odd, strange shapes, and some +of them had bracelets of ivory and flint. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said Robert, “what a lot we could teach them if we +stayed here!” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect they could teach us something too,” said Cyril. +“Did you notice that flint bracelet the woman had that Anthea gave the +collar to? That must have taken some making. Look here, they’ll get +suspicious if we talk among ourselves, and I do want to know about how they do +things. Let’s get the girl to show us round, and we can be thinking about +how to get the Amulet at the same time. Only mind, we must keep +together.” +</p> + +<p> +Anthea beckoned to the girl, who was standing a little way off looking +wistfully at them, and she came gladly. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell us how you make the bracelets, the stone ones,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“With other stones,” said the girl; “the men make them; we +have men of special skill in such work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you any iron tools?” +</p> + +<p> +“Iron,” said the girl, “I don’t know what you +mean.” It was the first word she had not understood. +</p> + +<p> +“Are all your tools of flint?” asked Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said the girl, opening her eyes wide. +</p> + +<p> +I wish I had time to tell you of that talk. The English children wanted to hear +all about this new place, but they also wanted to tell of their own country. It +was like when you come back from your holidays and you want to hear and to tell +everything at the same time. As the talk went on there were more and more words +that the girl could not understand, and the children soon gave up the attempt +to explain to her what their own country was like, when they began to see how +very few of the things they had always thought they could not do without were +really not at all necessary to life. +</p> + +<p> +The girl showed them how the huts were made—indeed, as one was being made +that very day she took them to look at it. The way of building was very +different from ours. The men stuck long pieces of wood into a piece of ground +the size of the hut they wanted to make. These were about eight inches apart; +then they put in another row about eight inches away from the first, and then a +third row still further out. Then all the space between was filled up with +small branches and twigs, and then daubed over with black mud worked with the +feet till it was soft and sticky like putty. +</p> + +<p> +The girl told them how the men went hunting with flint spears and arrows, and +how they made boats with reeds and clay. Then she explained the reed thing in +the river that she had taken the fish out of. It was a fish-trap—just a +ring of reeds set up in the water with only one little opening in it, and in +this opening, just below the water, were stuck reeds slanting the way of the +river’s flow, so that the fish, when they had swum sillily in, sillily +couldn’t get out again. She showed them the clay pots and jars and +platters, some of them ornamented with black and red patterns, and the most +wonderful things made of flint and different sorts of stone, beads, and +ornaments, and tools and weapons of all sorts and kinds. +</p> + +<p> +“It is really wonderful,” said Cyril patronizingly, “when you +consider that it’s all eight thousand years ago—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand you,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>isn’t</i> eight thousand years ago,” whispered Jane. +“It’s <i>now</i>—and that’s just what I don’t +like about it. I say, <i>do</i> let’s get home again before anything more +happens. You can see for yourselves the charm isn’t here.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s in that place in the middle?” asked Anthea, struck by +a sudden thought, and pointing to the fence. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the secret sacred place,” said the girl in a whisper. +“No one knows what is there. There are many walls, and inside the +insidest one <i>It</i> is, but no one knows what <i>It</i> is except the +headsmen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe <i>you</i> know,” said Cyril, looking at her very hard. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give you this if you’ll tell me,” said Anthea +taking off a bead-ring which had already been much admired. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the girl, catching eagerly at the ring. “My +father is one of the heads, and I know a water charm to make him talk in his +sleep. And he has spoken. I will tell you. But if they know I have told you +they will kill me. In the insidest inside there is a stone box, and in it there +is the Amulet. None knows whence it came. It came from very far away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen it?” asked Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +The girl nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it anything like this?” asked Jane, rashly producing the charm. +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s face turned a sickly greenish-white. +</p> + +<p> +“Hide it, hide it,” she whispered. “You must put it back. If +they see it they will kill us all. You for taking it, and me for knowing that +there was such a thing. Oh, woe—woe! why did you ever come here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be frightened,” said Cyril. “They shan’t +know. Jane, don’t you be such a little jack-ape again—that’s +all. You see what will happen if you do. Now, tell me—” He turned +to the girl, but before he had time to speak the question there was a loud +shout, and a man bounded in through the opening in the thorn-hedge. +</p> + +<p> +“Many foes are upon us!” he cried. “Make ready the +defences!” +</p> + +<p> +His breath only served for that, and he lay panting on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>do</i> let’s go home!” said Jane. “Look +here—I don’t care—I <i>will!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She held up the charm. Fortunately all the strange, fair people were too busy +to notice <i>her</i>. She held up the charm. And nothing happened. +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t said the word of power,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +Jane hastily said it—and still nothing happened. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold it up towards the East, you silly!” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Which <i>is</i> the East?” said Jane, dancing about in her agony +of terror. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody knew. So they opened the fish-bag to ask the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +And the bag had only a waterproof sheet in it. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead was gone. +</p> + +<p> +“Hide the sacred thing! Hide it! Hide it!” whispered the girl. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril shrugged his shoulders, and tried to look as brave as he knew he ought to +feel. +</p> + +<p> +“Hide it up, Pussy,” he said. “We are in for it now. +We’ve just got to stay and see it out.” +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /> +THE FIGHT IN THE VILLAGE</h2> + +<p> +Here was a horrible position! Four English children, whose proper date was A.D. +1905, and whose proper address was London, set down in Egypt in the year 6000 +B.C. with no means whatever of getting back into their own time and place. They +could not find the East, and the sun was of no use at the moment, because some +officious person had once explained to Cyril that the sun did not really set in +the West at all—nor rise in the East either, for the matter of that. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead had crept out of the bass-bag when they were not looking and had +basely deserted them. +</p> + +<p> +An enemy was approaching. There would be a fight. People get killed in fights, +and the idea of taking part in a fight was one that did not appeal to the +children. +</p> + +<p> +The man who had brought the news of the enemy still lay panting on the sand. +His tongue was hanging out, long and red, like a dog’s. The people of the +village were hurriedly filling the gaps in the fence with thorn-bushes from the +heap that seemed to have been piled there ready for just such a need. They +lifted the cluster-thorns with long poles—much as men at home, nowadays, +lift hay with a fork. +</p> + +<p> +Jane bit her lip and tried to decide not to cry. +</p> + +<p> +Robert felt in his pocket for a toy pistol and loaded it with a pink paper cap. +It was his only weapon. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril tightened his belt two holes. +</p> + +<p> +And Anthea absently took the drooping red roses from the buttonholes of the +others, bit the ends of the stalks, and set them in a pot of water that stood +in the shadow by a hut door. She was always rather silly about flowers. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” she said. “I think perhaps the Psammead is +really arranging something for us. I don’t believe it would go away and +leave us all alone in the Past. I’m certain it wouldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane succeeded in deciding not to cry—at any rate yet. +</p> + +<p> +“But what can we do?” Robert asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” Cyril answered promptly, “except keep our eyes and +ears open. Look! That runner chap’s getting his wind. Let’s go and +hear what he’s got to say.” +</p> + +<p> +The runner had risen to his knees and was sitting back on his heels. Now he +stood up and spoke. He began by some respectful remarks addressed to the heads +of the village. His speech got more interesting when he said— +</p> + +<p> +“I went out in my raft to snare ibises, and I had gone up the stream an +hour’s journey. Then I set my snares and waited. And I heard the sound of +many wings, and looking up, saw many herons circling in the air. And I saw that +they were afraid; so I took thought. A beast may scare one heron, coming upon +it suddenly, but no beast will scare a whole flock of herons. And still they +flew and circled, and would not light. So then I knew that what scared the +herons must be men, and men who knew not our ways of going softly so as to take +the birds and beasts unawares. By this I knew they were not of our race or of +our place. So, leaving my raft, I crept along the river bank, and at last came +upon the strangers. They are many as the sands of the desert, and their +spear-heads shine red like the sun. They are a terrible people, and their march +is towards us. Having seen this, I ran, and did not stay till I was before +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“These are <i>your</i> folk,” said the headman, turning suddenly +and angrily on Cyril, “you came as spies for them.” +</p> + +<p> +“We did <i>not</i>,” said Cyril indignantly. “We +wouldn’t be spies for anything. I’m certain these people +aren’t a bit like us. Are they now?” he asked the runner. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” was the answer. “These men’s faces were darkened, +and their hair black as night. Yet these strange children, maybe, are their +gods, who have come before to make ready the way for them.” +</p> + +<p> +A murmur ran through the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“No, <i>no</i>,” said Cyril again. “We are on your side. We +will help you to guard your sacred things.” +</p> + +<p> +The headman seemed impressed by the fact that Cyril knew that there <i>were</i> +sacred things to be guarded. He stood a moment gazing at the children. Then he +said— +</p> + +<p> +“It is well. And now let all make offering, that we may be strong in +battle.” +</p> + +<p> +The crowd dispersed, and nine men, wearing antelope-skins, grouped themselves +in front of the opening in the hedge in the middle of the village. And +presently, one by one, the men brought all sorts of things—hippopotamus +flesh, ostrich-feathers, the fruit of the date palms, red chalk, green chalk, +fish from the river, and ibex from the mountains; and the headman received +these gifts. There was another hedge inside the first, about a yard from it, so +that there was a lane inside between the hedges. And every now and then one of +the headmen would disappear along this lane with full hands and come back with +hands empty. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re making offerings to their Amulet,” said Anthea. +“We’d better give something too.” +</p> + +<p> +The pockets of the party, hastily explored, yielded a piece of pink tape, a bit +of sealing-wax, and part of the Waterbury watch that Robert had not been able +to help taking to pieces at Christmas and had never had time to rearrange. Most +boys have a watch in this condition. +</p> + +<p> +They presented their offerings, and Anthea added the red roses. +</p> + +<p> +The headman who took the things looked at them with awe, especially at the red +roses and the Waterbury-watch fragment. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a day of very wondrous happenings,” he said. “I have +no more room in me to be astonished. Our maiden said there was peace between +you and us. But for this coming of a foe we should have made sure.” +</p> + +<p> +The children shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“Now speak. Are you upon our side?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Yes</i>. Don’t I keep telling you we are?” Robert said. +“Look here. I will give you a sign. You see this.” He held out the +toy pistol. “I shall speak to it, and if it answers me you will know that +I and the others are come to guard your sacred thing—that we’ve +just made the offerings to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will that god whose image you hold in your hand speak to you alone, or +shall I also hear it?” asked the man cautiously. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be surprised when you <i>do</i> hear it,” said +Robert. “Now, then.” He looked at the pistol and said— +</p> + +<p> +“If we are to guard the sacred treasure within”—he pointed to +the hedged-in space—“speak with thy loud voice, and we shall +obey.” +</p> + +<p> +He pulled the trigger, and the cap went off. The noise was loud, for it was a +two-shilling pistol, and the caps were excellent. +</p> + +<p> +Every man, woman, and child in the village fell on its face on the sand. +</p> + +<p> +The headman who had accepted the test rose first. +</p> + +<p> +“The voice has spoken,” he said. “Lead them into the +ante-room of the sacred thing.” +</p> + +<p> +So now the four children were led in through the opening of the hedge and round +the lane till they came to an opening in the inner hedge, and they went through +an opening in that, and so passed into another lane. +</p> + +<p> +The thing was built something like this, and all the hedges were of brushwood +and thorns: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/fig03.jpg" width="450" height="398" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“It’s like the maze at Hampton Court,” whispered Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +The lanes were all open to the sky, but the little hut in the middle of the +maze was round-roofed, and a curtain of skins hung over the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Here you may wait,” said their guide, “but do not dare to +pass the curtain.” He himself passed it and disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“But look here,” whispered Cyril, “some of us ought to be +outside in case the Psammead turns up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let’s get separated from each other, whatever we +do,” said Anthea. “It’s quite bad enough to be separated from +the Psammead. We can’t do anything while that man is in there. +Let’s all go out into the village again. We can come back later now we +know the way in. That man’ll have to fight like the rest, most likely, if +it comes to fighting. If we find the Psammead we’ll go straight home. It +must be getting late, and I don’t much like this mazy place.” +</p> + +<p> +They went out and told the headman that they would protect the treasure when +the fighting began. And now they looked about them and were able to see exactly +how a first-class worker in flint flakes and notches an arrow-head or the edge +of an axe—an advantage which no other person now alive has ever enjoyed. +The boys found the weapons most interesting. The arrow-heads were not on arrows +such as you shoot from a bow, but on javelins, for throwing from the hand. The +chief weapon was a stone fastened to a rather short stick something like the +things gentlemen used to carry about and call life-preservers in the days of +the garrotters. Then there were long things like spears or lances, with flint +knives—horribly sharp—and flint battle-axes. +</p> + +<p> +Everyone in the village was so busy that the place was like an ant-heap when +you have walked into it by accident. The women were busy and even the children. +</p> + +<p> +Quite suddenly all the air seemed to glow and grow red—it was like the +sudden opening of a furnace door, such as you may see at Woolwich Arsenal if +you ever have the luck to be taken there—and then almost as suddenly it +was as though the furnace doors had been shut. For the sun had set, and it was +night. +</p> + +<p> +The sun had that abrupt way of setting in Egypt eight thousand years ago, and I +believe it has never been able to break itself of the habit, and sets in +exactly the same manner to the present day. The girl brought the skins of wild +deer and led the children to a heap of dry sedge. +</p> + +<p> +“My father says they will not attack yet. Sleep!” she said, and it +really seemed a good idea. You may think that in the midst of all these dangers +the children would not have been able to sleep—but somehow, though they +were rather frightened now and then, the feeling was growing in them—deep +down and almost hidden away, but still growing—that the Psammead was to +be trusted, and that they were really and truly safe. This did not prevent +their being quite as much frightened as they could bear to be without being +perfectly miserable. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose we’d better go to sleep,” said Robert. “I +don’t know what on earth poor old Nurse will do with us out all night; +set the police on our tracks, I expect. I only wish they could find us! A dozen +policemen would be rather welcome just now. But it’s no use getting into +a stew over it,” he added soothingly. “Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +And they all fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +They were awakened by long, loud, terrible sounds that seemed to come from +everywhere at once—horrible threatening shouts and shrieks and howls that +sounded, as Cyril said later, like the voices of men thirsting for their +enemies’ blood. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the voice of the strange men,” said the girl, coming to them +trembling through the dark. “They have attacked the walls, and the thorns +have driven them back. My father says they will not try again till daylight. +But they are shouting to frighten us. As though we were savages! Dwellers in +the swamps!” she cried indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +All night the terrible noise went on, but when the sun rose, as abruptly as he +had set, the sound suddenly ceased. +</p> + +<p> +The children had hardly time to be glad of this before a shower of javelins +came hurtling over the great thorn-hedge, and everyone sheltered behind the +huts. But next moment another shower of weapons came from the opposite side, +and the crowd rushed to other shelter. Cyril pulled out a javelin that had +stuck in the roof of the hut beside him. Its head was of brightly burnished +copper. +</p> + +<p> +Then the sound of shouting arose again and the crackle of dried thorns. The +enemy was breaking down the hedge. All the villagers swarmed to the point +whence the crackling and the shouting came; they hurled stones over the hedges, +and short arrows with flint heads. The children had never before seen men with +the fighting light in their eyes. It was very strange and terrible, and gave +you a queer thick feeling in your throat; it was quite different from the +pictures of fights in the illustrated papers at home. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed that the shower of stones had driven back the besiegers. The besieged +drew breath, but at that moment the shouting and the crackling arose on the +opposite side of the village and the crowd hastened to defend that point, and +so the fight swayed to and fro across the village, for the besieged had not the +sense to divide their forces as their enemies had done. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril noticed that every now and then certain of the fighting-men would enter +the maze, and come out with brighter faces, a braver aspect, and a more upright +carriage. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe they go and touch the Amulet,” he said. “You know +the Psammead said it could make people brave.” +</p> + +<p> +They crept through the maze, and watching they saw that Cyril was right. A +headman was standing in front of the skin curtain, and as the warriors came +before him he murmured a word they could not hear, and touched their foreheads +with something that they could not see. And this something he held in his +hands. And through his fingers they saw the gleam of a red stone that they +knew. +</p> + +<p> +The fight raged across the thorn-hedge outside. Suddenly there was a loud and +bitter cry. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re in! They’re in! The hedge is down!” +</p> + +<p> +The headman disappeared behind the deer-skin curtain. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s gone to hide it,” said Anthea. “Oh, Psammead +dear, how could you leave us!” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly there was a shriek from inside the hut, and the headman staggered out +white with fear and fled out through the maze. The children were as white as +he. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! What is it? What is it?” moaned Anthea. “Oh, Psammead, +how could you! How could you!” +</p> + +<p> +And the sound of the fight sank breathlessly, and swelled fiercely all around. +It was like the rising and falling of the waves of the sea. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea shuddered and said again, “Oh, Psammead, Psammead!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said a brisk voice, and the curtain of skins was lifted at +one corner by a furry hand, and out peeped the bat’s ears and +snail’s eyes of the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea caught it in her arms and a sigh of desperate relief was breathed by +each of the four. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! which <i>is</i> the East!” Anthea said, and she spoke +hurriedly, for the noise of wild fighting drew nearer and nearer. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t choke me,” said the Psammead, “come +inside.” +</p> + +<p> +The inside of the hut was pitch dark. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got a match,” said Cyril, and struck it. The floor of +the hut was of soft, loose sand. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been asleep here,” said the Psammead; “most +comfortable it’s been, the best sand I’ve had for a month. +It’s all right. Everything’s all right. I knew your only chance +would be while the fight was going on. That man won’t come back. I bit +him, and he thinks I’m an Evil Spirit. Now you’ve only got to take +the thing and go.” +</p> + +<p> +The hut was hung with skins. Heaped in the middle were the offerings that had +been given the night before, Anthea’s roses fading on the top of the +heap. At one side of the hut stood a large square stone block, and on it an +oblong box of earthenware with strange figures of men and beasts on it. +</p> + +<p> +“Is the thing in there?” asked Cyril, as the Psammead pointed a +skinny finger at it. +</p> + +<p> +“You must judge of that,” said the Psammead. “The man was +just going to bury the box in the sand when I jumped out at him and bit +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Light another match, Robert,” said Anthea. “Now, then quick! +which is the East?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, where the sun rises, of course!” +</p> + +<p> +“But someone told us—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! they’ll tell you anything!” said the Psammead +impatiently, getting into its bass-bag and wrapping itself in its waterproof +sheet. +</p> + +<p> +“But we can’t see the sun in here, and it isn’t rising +anyhow,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“How you do waste time!” the Psammead said. “Why, the +East’s where the shrine is, of course. <i>There!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +It pointed to the great stone. +</p> + +<p> +And still the shouting and the clash of stone on metal sounded nearer and +nearer. The children could hear that the headmen had surrounded the hut to +protect their treasure as long as might be from the enemy. But none dare to +come in after the Psammead’s sudden fierce biting of the headman. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Jane,” said Cyril, very quickly. “I’ll take the +Amulet, you stand ready to hold up the charm, and be sure you don’t let +it go as you come through.” +</p> + +<p> +He made a step forward, but at that instant a great crackling overhead ended in +a blaze of sunlight. The roof had been broken in at one side, and great slabs +of it were being lifted off by two spears. As the children trembled and winked +in the new light, large dark hands tore down the wall, and a dark face, with a +blobby fat nose, looked over the gap. Even at that awful moment Anthea had time +to think that it was very like the face of Mr Jacob Absalom, who had sold them +the charm in the shop near Charing Cross. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is their Amulet,” cried a harsh, strange voice; “it is +this that makes them strong to fight and brave to die. And what else have we +here—gods or demons?” +</p> + +<p> +He glared fiercely at the children, and the whites of his eyes were very white +indeed. He had a wet, red copper knife in his teeth. There was not a moment to +lose. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, <i>Jane</i>, QUICK!” cried everyone passionately. +</p> + +<p> +Jane with trembling hands held up the charm towards the East, and Cyril spoke +the word of power. The Amulet grew to a great arch. Out beyond it was the +glaring Egyptian sky, the broken wall, the cruel, dark, big-nosed face with the +red, wet knife in its gleaming teeth. Within the arch was the dull, faint, +greeny-brown of London grass and trees. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold tight, Jane!” Cyril cried, and he dashed through the arch, +dragging Anthea and the Psammead after him. Robert followed, clutching Jane. +And in the ears of each, as they passed through the arch of the charm, the +sound and fury of battle died out suddenly and utterly, and they heard only the +low, dull, discontented hum of vast London, and the peeking and patting of the +sparrows on the gravel and the voices of the ragged baby children playing +Ring-o’-Roses on the yellow trampled grass. And the charm was a little +charm again in Jane’s hand, and there was the basket with their dinner +and the bathbuns lying just where they had left it. +</p> + +<p> +“My hat!” said Cyril, drawing a long breath; “that was +something like an adventure.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was rather like one, certainly,” said the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +They all lay still, breathing in the safe, quiet air of Regent’s Park. +</p> + +<p> +“We’d better go home at once,” said Anthea presently. +“Old Nurse will be most frightfully anxious. The sun looks about the same +as it did when we started yesterday. We’ve been away twenty-four +hours.” +</p> + +<p> +“The buns are quite soft still,” said Cyril, feeling one; “I +suppose the dew kept them fresh.” +</p> + +<p> +They were not hungry, curiously enough. +</p> + +<p> +They picked up the dinner-basket and the Psammead-basket, and went straight +home. +</p> + +<p> +Old Nurse met them with amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if ever I did!” she said. “What’s gone wrong? +You’ve soon tired of your picnic.” +</p> + +<p> +The children took this to be bitter irony, which means saying the exact +opposite of what you mean in order to make yourself disagreeable; as when you +happen to have a dirty face, and someone says, “How nice and clean you +look!” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re very sorry,” began Anthea, but old Nurse said— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, bless me, child, I don’t care! Please yourselves and +you’ll please me. Come in and get your dinners comf’table. +I’ve got a potato on a-boiling.” +</p> + +<p> +When she had gone to attend to the potatoes the children looked at each other. +Could it be that old Nurse had so changed that she no longer cared that they +should have been away from home for twenty-four hours—all night in +fact—without any explanation whatever? +</p> + +<p> +But the Psammead put its head out of its basket and said— +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter? Don’t you understand? You come back +through the charm-arch at the same time as you go through it. This isn’t +tomorrow!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it still yesterday?” asked Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it’s today. The same as it’s always been. It +wouldn’t do to go mixing up the present and the Past, and cutting bits +out of one to fit into the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then all that adventure took no time at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can call it that if you like,” said the Psammead. “It +took none of the modern time, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +That evening Anthea carried up a steak for the learned gentleman’s +dinner. She persuaded Beatrice, the maid-of-all-work, who had given her the +bangle with the blue stone, to let her do it. And she stayed and talked to him, +by special invitation, while he ate the dinner. +</p> + +<p> +She told him the whole adventure, beginning with— +</p> + +<p> +“This afternoon we found ourselves on the bank of the River Nile,” +and ending up with, “And then we remembered how to get back, and there we +were in Regent’s Park, and it hadn’t taken any time at all.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not tell anything about the charm or the Psammead, because that was +forbidden, but the story was quite wonderful enough even as it was to entrance +the learned gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a most unusual little girl,” he said. “Who tells you +all these things?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one,” said Anthea, “they just happen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Make-believe,” he said slowly, as one who recalls and pronounces a +long-forgotten word. +</p> + +<p> +He sat long after she had left him. At last he roused himself with a start. +</p> + +<p> +“I really must take a holiday,” he said; “my nerves must be +all out of order. I actually have a perfectly distinct impression that the +little girl from the rooms below came in and gave me a coherent and graphic +picture of life as I conceive it to have been in pre-dynastic Egypt. Strange +what tricks the mind will play! I shall have to be more careful.” +</p> + +<p> +He finished his bread conscientiously, and actually went for a mile walk before +he went back to his work. +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /> +THE WAY TO BABYLON</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“How many miles to Babylon?<br /> + Three score and ten!<br /> +Can I get there by candle light?<br /> + Yes, and back again!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane was singing to her doll, rocking it to and fro in the house which she had +made for herself and it. The roof of the house was the dining-table, and the +walls were tablecloths and antimacassars hanging all round, and kept in their +places by books laid on their top ends at the table edge. +</p> + +<p> +The others were tasting the fearful joys of domestic tobogganing. You know how +it is done—with the largest and best tea-tray and the surface of the +stair carpet. It is best to do it on the days when the stair rods are being +cleaned, and the carpet is only held by the nails at the top. Of course, it is +one of the five or six thoroughly tip-top games that grown-up people are so +unjust to—and old Nurse, though a brick in many respects, was quite +enough of a standard grown-up to put her foot down on the tobogganing long +before any of the performers had had half enough of it. The tea-tray was taken +away, and the baffled party entered the sitting-room, in exactly the mood not +to be pleased if they could help it. +</p> + +<p> +So Cyril said, “What a beastly mess!” +</p> + +<p> +And Robert added, “Do shut up, Jane!” +</p> + +<p> +Even Anthea, who was almost always kind, advised Jane to try another song. +“I’m sick to death of that,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +It was a wet day, so none of the plans for seeing all the sights of London that +can be seen for nothing could be carried out. Everyone had been thinking all +the morning about the wonderful adventures of the day before, when Jane had +held up the charm and it had turned into an arch, through which they had walked +straight out of the present time and the Regent’s Park into the land of +Egypt eight thousand years ago. The memory of yesterday’s happenings was +still extremely fresh and frightening, so that everyone hoped that no one would +suggest another excursion into the past, for it seemed to all that +yesterday’s adventures were quite enough to last for at least a week. Yet +each felt a little anxious that the others should not think it was afraid, and +presently Cyril, who really was not a coward, began to see that it would not be +at all nice if he should have to think himself one. So he said— +</p> + +<p> +“I say—about that charm—Jane—come out. We ought to talk +about it, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if that’s all,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +Jane obediently wriggled to the front of her house and sat there. She felt for +the charm, to make sure that it was still round her neck. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>isn’t</i> all,” said Cyril, saying much more than he +meant because he thought Robert’s tone had been rude—as indeed it +had. “We ought to go and look for that Amulet. What’s the good of +having a first-class charm and keeping it idle, just eating its head off in the +stable.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I’m</i> game for anything, of course,” said Robert; but +he added, with a fine air of chivalry, “only I don’t think the +girls are keen today somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes; I am,” said Anthea hurriedly. “If you think +I’m afraid, I’m not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am though,” said Jane heavily; “I didn’t like it, +and I won’t go there again—not for anything I won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shouldn’t go <i>there</i> again, silly,” said Cyril; +“it would be some other place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I daresay; a place with lions and tigers in it as likely as not.” +</p> + +<p> +Seeing Jane so frightened, made the others feel quite brave. They said they +were certain they ought to go. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so ungrateful to the Psammead not to,” Anthea added, a +little primly. +</p> + +<p> +Jane stood up. She was desperate. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t!” she cried; “I won’t, I won’t, I +won’t! If you make me I’ll scream and I’ll scream, and +I’ll tell old Nurse, and I’ll get her to burn the charm in the +kitchen fire. So now, then!” +</p> + +<p> +You can imagine how furious everyone was with Jane for feeling what each of +them had felt all the morning. In each breast the same thought arose, “No +one can say it’s <i>our</i> fault.” And they at once began to show +Jane how angry they all felt that all the fault was hers. This made them feel +quite brave. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Tell-tale tit, its tongue shall be split,<br /> +And all the dogs in our town shall have a little bit,” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +sang Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s always the way if you have girls in anything.” Cyril +spoke in a cold displeasure that was worse than Robert’s cruel quotation, +and even Anthea said, “Well, <i>I’m</i> not afraid if I <i>am</i> a +girl,” which of course, was the most cutting thing of all. +</p> + +<p> +Jane picked up her doll and faced the others with what is sometimes called the +courage of despair. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care,” she said; “I <i>won’t</i>, so +there! It’s just silly going to places when you don’t want to, and +when you don’t know what they’re going to be like! You can laugh at +me as much as you like. You’re beasts—and I hate you all!” +</p> + +<p> +With these awful words she went out and banged the door. +</p> + +<p> +Then the others would not look at each other, and they did not feel so brave as +they had done. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril took up a book, but it was not interesting to read. Robert kicked a +chair-leg absently. His feet were always eloquent in moments of emotion. Anthea +stood pleating the end of the tablecloth into folds—she seemed earnestly +anxious to get all the pleats the same size. The sound of Jane’s sobs had +died away. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Anthea said, “Oh! let it be ‘pax’—poor little +Pussy—you know she’s the youngest.” +</p> + +<p> +“She called us beasts,” said Robert, kicking the chair suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Cyril, who was subject to passing fits of justice, +“we began, you know. At least you did.” Cyril’s justice was +always uncompromising. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to say I’m sorry if you mean that,” said +Robert, and the chair-leg cracked to the kick he gave as he said it. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, do let’s,” said Anthea, “we’re three to one, +and Mother does so hate it if we row. Come on. I’ll say I’m sorry +first, though I didn’t say anything, hardly.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, let’s get it over,” said Cyril, opening the +door.“Hi—you—Pussy!” +</p> + +<p> +Far away up the stairs a voice could be heard singing brokenly, but still +defiantly— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“How many miles (sniff) to Babylon?<br /> + Three score and ten! (sniff)<br /> +Can I get there by candle light?<br /> + Yes (sniff), and back again!” +</p> + +<p> +It was trying, for this was plainly meant to annoy. But Anthea would not give +herself time to think this. She led the way up the stairs, taking three at a +time, and bounded to the level of Jane, who sat on the top step of all, +thumping her doll to the tune of the song she was trying to sing. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Pussy, let it be pax! We’re sorry if you are—” +</p> + +<p> +It was enough. The kiss of peace was given by all. Jane being the youngest was +entitled to this ceremonial. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea added a special apology of her own. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry if I was a pig, Pussy dear,” she +said—“especially because in my really and truly inside mind +I’ve been feeling a little as if I’d rather not go into the Past +again either. But then, do think. If we don’t go we shan’t get the +Amulet, and oh, Pussy, think if we could only get Father and Mother and The +Lamb safe back! We <i>must</i> go, but we’ll wait a day or two if you +like and then perhaps you’ll feel braver.” +</p> + +<p> +“Raw meat makes you brave, however cowardly you are,” said Robert, +to show that there was now no ill-feeling, “and +cranberries—that’s what Tartars eat, and they’re so brave +it’s simply awful. I suppose cranberries are only for Christmas time, but +I’ll ask old Nurse to let you have your chop very raw if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I could be brave without that,” said Jane hastily; she +hated underdone meat. “I’ll try.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the door of the learned gentleman’s room opened, and he +looked out. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” he said, in that gentle, polite weary voice of his, +“but was I mistaken in thinking that I caught a familiar word just now? +Were you not singing some old ballad of Babylon?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Robert, “at least Jane was singing ‘How many +miles,’ but I shouldn’t have thought you could have heard the words +for—” +</p> + +<p> +He would have said, “for the sniffing,” but Anthea pinched him just +in time. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not hear <i>all</i> the words,” said the learned gentleman. +“I wonder would you recite them to me?” +</p> + +<p> +So they all said together— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“How many miles to Babylon?<br /> + Three score and ten!<br /> +Can I get there by candle light?<br /> + Yes, and back again!” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish one could,” the learned gentleman said with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you?” asked Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Babylon has fallen,” he answered with a sigh. “You know it +was once a great and beautiful city, and the centre of learning and Art, and +now it is only ruins, and so covered up with earth that people are not even +agreed as to where it once stood.” +</p> + +<p> +He was leaning on the banisters, and his eyes had a far-away look in them, as +though he could see through the staircase window the splendour and glory of +ancient Babylon. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” Cyril remarked abruptly. “You know that charm we +showed you, and you told us how to say the name that’s on it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, do you think that charm was ever in Babylon?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s quite possible,” the learned gentleman replied. +“Such charms have been found in very early Egyptian tombs, yet their +origin has not been accurately determined as Egyptian. They may have been +brought from Asia. Or, supposing the charm to have been fashioned in Egypt, it +might very well have been carried to Babylon by some friendly embassy, or +brought back by the Babylonish army from some Egyptian campaign as part of the +spoils of war. The inscription may be much later than the charm. Oh yes! it is +a pleasant fancy, that that splendid specimen of yours was once used amid +Babylonish surroundings.” +</p> + +<p> +The others looked at each other, but it was Jane who spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Were the Babylon people savages, were they always fighting and throwing +things about?” For she had read the thoughts of the others by the +unerring light of her own fears. +</p> + +<p> +“The Babylonians were certainly more gentle than the Assyrians,” +said the learned gentleman. “And they were not savages by any means. A +very high level of culture,” he looked doubtfully at his audience and +went on, “I mean that they made beautiful statues and jewellery, and +built splendid palaces. And they were very learned—they had glorious +libraries and high towers for the purpose of astrological and astronomical +observation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Er?” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean for—star-gazing and fortune-telling,” said the +learned gentleman, “and there were temples and beautiful hanging +gardens—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go to Babylon if you like,” said Jane abruptly, and the +others hastened to say “Done!” before she should have time to +change her mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said the learned gentleman, smiling rather sadly, “one +can go so far in dreams, when one is young.” He sighed again, and then +adding with a laboured briskness, “I hope you’ll have +a—a—jolly game,” he went into his room and shut the door. +</p> + +<p> +“He said ‘jolly’ as if it was a foreign language,” said +Cyril. “Come on, let’s get the Psammead and go now. I think Babylon +seems a most frightfully jolly place to go to.” +</p> + +<p> +So they woke the Psammead and put it in its bass-bag with the waterproof sheet, +in case of inclement weather in Babylon. It was very cross, but it said it +would as soon go to Babylon as anywhere else. “The sand is good +thereabouts,” it added. +</p> + +<p> +Then Jane held up the charm, and Cyril said— +</p> + +<p> +“We want to go to Babylon to look for the part of you that was lost. Will +you please let us go there through you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Please put us down just outside,” said Jane hastily; “and +then if we don’t like it we needn’t go inside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be all day,” said the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +So Anthea hastily uttered the word of power, without which the charm could do +nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Ur—Hekau—Setcheh!” she said softly, and as she spoke +the charm grew into an arch so tall that the top of it was close against the +bedroom ceiling. Outside the arch was the bedroom painted chest-of-drawers and +the Kidderminster carpet, and the washhand-stand with the riveted +willow-pattern jug, and the faded curtains, and the dull light of indoors on a +wet day. Through the arch showed the gleam of soft green leaves and white +blossoms. They stepped forward quite happily. Even Jane felt that this did not +look like lions, and her hand hardly trembled at all as she held the charm for +the others to go through, and last, slipped through herself, and hung the +charm, now grown small again, round her neck. +</p> + +<p> +The children found themselves under a white-blossomed, green-leafed fruit-tree, +in what seemed to be an orchard of such trees, all white-flowered and +green-foliaged. Among the long green grass under their feet grew crocuses and +lilies, and strange blue flowers. In the branches overhead thrushes and +blackbirds were singing, and the coo of a pigeon came softly to them in the +green quietness of the orchard. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how perfectly lovely!” cried Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s like home exactly—I mean England—only +everything’s bluer, and whiter, and greener, and the flowers are +bigger.” +</p> + +<p> +The boys owned that it certainly was fairly decent, and even Jane admitted that +it was all very pretty. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m certain there’s nothing to be frightened of here,” +said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Jane. “I suppose the fruit-trees +go on just the same even when people are killing each other. I didn’t +half like what the learned gentleman said about the hanging gardens. I suppose +they have gardens on purpose to hang people in. I do hope this isn’t +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it isn’t,” said Cyril. “The hanging gardens +are just gardens hung up—<i>I</i> think on chains between houses, +don’t you know, like trays. Come on; let’s get somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +They began to walk through the cool grass. As far as they could see was nothing +but trees, and trees and more trees. At the end of their orchard was another +one, only separated from theirs by a little stream of clear water. They jumped +this, and went on. Cyril, who was fond of gardening—which meant that he +liked to watch the gardener at work—was able to command the respect of +the others by telling them the names of a good many trees. There were nut-trees +and almond-trees, and apricots, and fig-trees with their big five-fingered +leaves. And every now and then the children had to cross another brook. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s like between the squares in <i>Through the +Looking-glass</i>,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +At last they came to an orchard which was quite different from the other +orchards. It had a low building in one corner. +</p> + +<p> +“These are vines,” said Cyril superiorly, “and I know this is +a vineyard. I shouldn’t wonder if there was a wine-press inside that +place over there.” +</p> + +<p> +At last they got out of the orchards and on to a sort of road, very rough, and +not at all like the roads you are used to. It had cypress trees and acacia +trees along it, and a sort of hedge of tamarisks, like those you see on the +road between Nice and Cannes, or near Littlehampton, if you’ve only been +as far as that. +</p> + +<p> +And now in front of them they could see a great mass of buildings. There were +scattered houses of wood and stone here and there among green orchards, and +beyond these a great wall that shone red in the early morning sun. The wall was +enormously high—more than half the height of St Paul’s—and in +the wall were set enormous gates that shone like gold as the rising sun beat on +them. Each gate had a solid square tower on each side of it that stood out from +the wall and rose above it. Beyond the wall were more towers and houses, +gleaming with gold and bright colours. Away to the left ran the steel-blue +swirl of a great river. And the children could see, through a gap in the trees, +that the river flowed out from the town under a great arch in the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Those feathery things along by the water are palms,” said Cyril +instructively. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes; you know everything,” Robert replied. “What’s +all that grey-green stuff you see away over there, where it’s all flat +and sandy?” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Cyril loftily, “<i>I</i> don’t want +to tell you anything. I only thought you’d like to know a palm-tree when +you saw it again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” cried Anthea; “they’re opening the +gates.” +</p> + +<p> +And indeed the great gates swung back with a brazen clang, and instantly a +little crowd of a dozen or more people came out and along the road towards +them. +</p> + +<p> +The children, with one accord, crouched behind the tamarisk hedge. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like the sound of those gates,” said Jane. +“Fancy being inside when they shut. You’d never get out.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve got an arch of your own to go out by,” the Psammead +put its head out of the basket to remind her. “Don’t behave so like +a girl. If I were you I should just march right into the town and ask to see +the king.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something at once simple and grand about this idea, and it pleased +everyone. +</p> + +<p> +So when the work-people had passed (they <i>were</i> work-people, the children +felt sure, because they were dressed so plainly—just one long blue shirt +thing—of blue or yellow) the four children marched boldly up to the +brazen gate between the towers. The arch above the gate was quite a tunnel, the +walls were so thick. +</p> + +<p> +“Courage,” said Cyril. “Step out. It’s no use trying to +sneak past. Be bold!” +</p> + +<p> +Robert answered this appeal by unexpectedly bursting into “The British +Grenadiers”, and to its quick-step they approached the gates of Babylon. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Some talk of Alexander,<br /> + And some of Hercules,<br /> +Of Hector and Lysander,<br /> + And such great names as these.<br /> +But of all the gallant heroes...” +</p> + +<p> +This brought them to the threshold of the gate, and two men in bright armour +suddenly barred their way with crossed spears. +</p> + +<p> +“Who goes there?” they said. +</p> + +<p> +(I think I must have explained to you before how it was that the children were +always able to understand the language of any place they might happen to be in, +and to be themselves understood. If not, I have no time to explain it now.) +</p> + +<p> +“We come from very far,” said Cyril mechanically. “From the +Empire where the sun never sets, and we want to see your King.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s quite convenient,” amended Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“The King (may he live for ever!),” said the gatekeeper, “is +gone to fetch home his fourteenth wife. Where on earth have you come from not +to know that?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Queen then,” said Anthea hurriedly, and not taking any notice +of the question as to where they had come from. +</p> + +<p> +“The Queen,” said the gatekeeper, “(may she live for ever!) +gives audience today three hours after sunrising.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what are we to do till the end of the three hours?” asked +Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +The gatekeeper seemed neither to know nor to care. He appeared less interested +in them than they could have thought possible. But the man who had crossed +spears with him to bar the children’s way was more human. +</p> + +<p> +“Let them go in and look about them,” he said. “I’ll +wager my best sword they’ve never seen anything to come near our +little—village.” +</p> + +<p> +He said it in the tone people use for when they call the Atlantic Ocean the +“herring pond”. +</p> + +<p> +The gatekeeper hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re only children, after all,” said the other, who had +children of his own. “Let me off for a few minutes, Captain, and +I’ll take them to my place and see if my good woman can’t fit them +up in something a little less outlandish than their present rig. Then they can +have a look round without being mobbed. May I go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, if you like,” said the Captain, “but don’t be +all day.” +</p> + +<p> +The man led them through the dark arch into the town. And it was very different +from London. For one thing, everything in London seems to be patched up out of +odds and ends, but these houses seemed to have been built by people who liked +the same sort of things. Not that they were all alike, for though all were +squarish, they were of different sizes, and decorated in all sorts of different +ways, some with paintings in bright colours, some with black and silver +designs. There were terraces, and gardens, and balconies, and open spaces with +trees. Their guide took them to a little house in a back street, where a +kind-faced woman sat spinning at the door of a very dark room. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” he said, “just lend these children a mantle each, so +that they can go about and see the place till the Queen’s audience +begins. You leave that wool for a bit, and show them round if you like. I must +be off now.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman did as she was told, and the four children, wrapped in fringed +mantles, went with her all about the town, and oh! how I wish I had time to +tell you all that they saw. It was all so wonderfully different from anything +you have ever seen. For one thing, all the houses were dazzlingly bright, and +many of them covered with pictures. Some had great creatures carved in stone at +each side of the door. Then the people—there were no black frock-coats +and tall hats; no dingy coats and skirts of good, useful, ugly stuffs warranted +to wear. Everyone’s clothes were bright and beautiful with blue and +scarlet and green and gold. +</p> + +<p> +The market was brighter than you would think anything could be. There were +stalls for everything you could possibly want—and for a great many things +that if you wanted here and now, want would be your master. There were +pineapples and peaches in heaps—and stalls of crockery and glass things, +beautiful shapes and glorious colours, there were stalls for necklaces, and +clasps, and bracelets, and brooches, for woven stuffs, and furs, and +embroidered linen. The children had never seen half so many beautiful things +together, even at Liberty’s. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed no time at all before the woman said— +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nearly time now. We ought to be getting on towards the +palace. It’s as well to be early.” +</p> + +<p> +So they went to the palace, and when they got there it was more splendid than +anything they had seen yet. +</p> + +<p> +For it was glowing with colours, and with gold and silver and black and +white—like some magnificent embroidery. Flight after flight of broad +marble steps led up to it, and at the edges of the stairs stood great images, +twenty times as big as a man—images of men with wings like chain armour, +and hawks’ heads, and winged men with the heads of dogs. And there were +the statues of great kings. +</p> + +<p> +Between the flights of steps were terraces where fountains played, and the +Queen’s Guard in white and scarlet, and armour that shone like gold, +stood by twos lining the way up the stairs; and a great body of them was massed +by the vast door of the palace itself, where it stood glittering like an +impossibly radiant peacock in the noon-day sun. +</p> + +<p> +All sorts of people were passing up the steps to seek audience of the Queen. +Ladies in richly-embroidered dresses with fringy flounces, poor folks in plain +and simple clothes, dandies with beards oiled and curled. +</p> + +<p> +And Cyril, Robert, Anthea and Jane, went with the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +At the gate of the palace the Psammead put one eye cautiously out of the basket +and whispered— +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t be bothered with queens. I’ll go home with this +lady. I’m sure she’ll get me some sand if you ask her to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! don’t leave us,” said Jane. The woman was giving some +last instructions in Court etiquette to Anthea, and did not hear Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a little muff,” said the Psammead quite fiercely. +“It’s not a bit of good your having a charm. You never use it. If +you want me you’ve only got to say the name of power and ask the charm to +bring me to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather go with you,” said Jane. And it was the most +surprising thing she had ever said in her life. +</p> + +<p> +Everyone opened its mouth without thinking of manners, and Anthea, who was +peeping into the Psammead’s basket, saw that its mouth opened wider than +anybody’s. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t gawp like that,” Jane went on. “I’m +not going to be bothered with queens any more than IT is. And I know, wherever +it is, it’ll take jolly good care that it’s safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s right there,” said everyone, for they had observed +that the Psammead had a way of knowing which side its bread was buttered. +</p> + +<p> +She turned to the woman and said, “You’ll take me home with you, +won’t you? And let me play with your little girls till the others have +done with the Queen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely I will, little heart!” said the woman. +</p> + +<p> +And then Anthea hurriedly stroked the Psammead and embraced Jane, who took the +woman’s hand, and trotted contentedly away with the Psammead’s bag +under the other arm. +</p> + +<p> +The others stood looking after her till she, the woman, and the basket were +lost in the many-coloured crowd. Then Anthea turned once more to the +palace’s magnificent doorway and said— +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s ask the porter to take care of our Babylonian +overcoats.” +</p> + +<p> +So they took off the garments that the woman had lent them and stood amid the +jostling petitioners of the Queen in their own English frocks and coats and +hats and boots. +</p> + +<p> +“We want to see the Queen,” said Cyril; “we come from the far +Empire where the sun never sets!” +</p> + +<p> +A murmur of surprise and a thrill of excitement ran through the crowd. The +door-porter spoke to a black man, he spoke to someone else. There was a +whispering, waiting pause. Then a big man, with a cleanly-shaven face, beckoned +them from the top of a flight of red marble steps. +</p> + +<p> +They went up; the boots of Robert clattering more than usual because he was so +nervous. A door swung open, a curtain was drawn back. A double line of bowing +forms in gorgeous raiment formed a lane that led to the steps of the throne, +and as the children advanced hurriedly there came from the throne a voice very +sweet and kind. +</p> + +<p> +“Three children from the land where the sun never sets! Let them draw +hither without fear.” +</p> + +<p> +In another minute they were kneeling at the throne’s foot, saying, +“O Queen, live for ever!” exactly as the woman had taught them. And +a splendid dream-lady, all gold and silver and jewels and snowy drift of veils, +was raising Anthea, and saying— +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be frightened, I really am <i>so</i> glad you came! The land +where the sun never sets! I am delighted to see you! I was getting quite too +dreadfully bored for anything!” +</p> + +<p> +And behind Anthea the kneeling Cyril whispered in the ears of the respectful +Robert— +</p> + +<p> +“Bobs, don’t say anything to Panther. It’s no use upsetting +her, but we didn’t ask for Jane’s address, and the Psammead’s +with her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” whispered Robert, “the charm can bring them to us at +any moment. <i>It</i> said so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” whispered Cyril, in miserable derision, +“<i>we’re</i> all right, of course. So we are! Oh, yes! If +we’d only <i>got</i> the charm.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Robert saw, and he murmured, “Crikey!” at the foot of the +throne of Babylon; while Cyril hoarsely whispered the plain English fact— +</p> + +<p> +“Jane’s got the charm round her neck, you silly cuckoo.” +</p> + +<p> +“Crikey!” Robert repeated in heart-broken undertones. +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +“THE DEEPEST DUNGEON BELOW THE CASTLE MOAT”</h2> + +<p> +The Queen threw three of the red and gold embroidered cushions off the throne +on to the marble steps that led up to it. +</p> + +<p> +“Just make yourselves comfortable there,” she said. +“I’m simply dying to talk to you, and to hear all about your +wonderful country and how you got here, and everything, but I have to do +justice every morning. Such a bore, isn’t it? Do you do justice in your +own country?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Cyril; “at least of course we try to, but not in +this public sort of way, only in private.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes,” said the Queen, “I should much prefer a private +audience myself—much easier to manage. But public opinion has to be +considered. Doing justice is very hard work, even when you’re brought up +to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t do justice, but we have to do scales, Jane and me,” +said Anthea, “twenty minutes a day. It’s simply horrid.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are scales?” asked the Queen, “and what is Jane?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane is my little sister. One of the guards-at-the-gate’s wife is +taking care of her. And scales are music.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard of the instrument,” said the Queen. “Do you +sing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes. We can sing in parts,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“That <i>is</i> magic,” said the Queen. “How many parts are +you each cut into before you do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“We aren’t cut at all,” said Robert hastily. “We +couldn’t sing if we were. We’ll show you afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you shall, and now sit quiet like dear children and hear me do +justice. The way I do it has always been admired. I oughtn’t to say that, +ought I? Sounds so conceited. But I don’t mind with you, dears. Somehow I +feel as though I’d known you quite a long time already.” +</p> + +<p> +The Queen settled herself on her throne and made a signal to her attendants. +The children, whispering together among the cushions on the steps of the +throne, decided that she was very beautiful and very kind, but perhaps just the +least bit flighty. +</p> + +<p> +The first person who came to ask for justice was a woman whose brother had +taken the money the father had left for her. The brother said it was the uncle +who had the money. There was a good deal of talk and the children were growing +rather bored, when the Queen suddenly clapped her hands, and said— +</p> + +<p> +“Put both the men in prison till one of them owns up that the other is +innocent.” +</p> + +<p> +“But suppose they both did it?” Cyril could not help interrupting. +</p> + +<p> +“Then prison’s the best place for them,” said the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“But suppose neither did it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s impossible,” said the Queen; “a thing’s +not done unless someone does it. And you mustn’t interrupt.” +</p> + +<p> +Then came a woman, in tears, with a torn veil and real ashes on her +head—at least Anthea thought so, but it may have been only road-dust. She +complained that her husband was in prison. +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” said the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“They <i>said</i> it was for speaking evil of your Majesty,” said +the woman, “but it wasn’t. Someone had a spite against him. That +was what it was.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know he hadn’t spoken evil of me?” said the +Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“No one could,” said the woman simply, “when they’d +once seen your beautiful face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let the man out,” said the Queen, smiling. “Next +case.” +</p> + +<p> +The next case was that of a boy who had stolen a fox. “Like the Spartan +boy,” whispered Robert. But the Queen ruled that nobody could have any +possible reason for owning a fox, and still less for stealing one. And she did +not believe that there were any foxes in Babylon; she, at any rate, had never +seen one. So the boy was released. +</p> + +<p> +The people came to the Queen about all sorts of family quarrels and neighbourly +misunderstandings—from a fight between brothers over the division of an +inheritance, to the dishonest and unfriendly conduct of a woman who had +borrowed a cooking-pot at the last New Year’s festival, and not returned +it yet. +</p> + +<p> +And the Queen decided everything, very, very decidedly indeed. At last she +clapped her hands quite suddenly and with extreme loudness, and said— +</p> + +<p> +“The audience is over for today.” +</p> + +<p> +Everyone said, “May the Queen live for ever!” and went out. +</p> + +<p> +And the children were left alone in the justice-hall with the Queen of Babylon +and her ladies. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” said the Queen, with a long sigh of relief. +“<i>That’s</i> over! I couldn’t have done another stitch of +justice if you’d offered me the crown of Egypt! Now come into the garden, +and we’ll have a nice, long, cosy talk.” +</p> + +<p> +She led them through long, narrow corridors whose walls they somehow felt, were +very, very thick, into a sort of garden courtyard. There were thick shrubs +closely planted, and roses were trained over trellises, and made a pleasant +shade—needed, indeed, for already the sun was as hot as it is in England +in August at the seaside. +</p> + +<p> +Slaves spread cushions on a low, marble terrace, and a big man with a smooth +face served cool drink in cups of gold studded with beryls. He drank a little +from the Queen’s cup before handing it to her. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s rather a nasty trick,” whispered Robert, who had been +carefully taught never to drink out of one of the nice, shiny, metal cups that +are chained to the London drinking fountains without first rinsing it out +thoroughly. +</p> + +<p> +The Queen overheard him. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said she. “Ritti-Marduk is a very clean man. +And one has to have <i>someone</i> as taster, you know, because of +poison.” +</p> + +<p> +The word made the children feel rather creepy; but Ritti-Marduk had tasted all +the cups, so they felt pretty safe. The drink was delicious—very cold, +and tasting like lemonade and partly like penny ices. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave us,” said the Queen. And all the Court ladies, in their +beautiful, many-folded, many-coloured, fringed dresses, filed out slowly, and +the children were left alone with the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” she said, “tell me all about yourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +They looked at each other. +</p> + +<p> +“You, Bobs,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“No—Anthea,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“No—you—Cyril,” said Anthea. “Don’t you +remember how pleased the Queen of India was when you told her all about +us?” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril muttered that it was all very well, and so it was. For when he had told +the tale of the Phœnix and the Carpet to the Ranee, it had been only the +truth—and all the truth that he had to tell. But now it was not easy to +tell a convincing story without mentioning the Amulet—which, of course, +it wouldn’t have done to mention—and without owning that they were +really living in London, about 2,500 years later than the time they were +talking in. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril took refuge in the tale of the Psammead and its wonderful power of making +wishes come true. The children had never been able to tell anyone before, and +Cyril was surprised to find that the spell which kept them silent in London did +not work here. “Something to do with our being in the Past, I +suppose,” he said to himself. +</p> + +<p> +“This is <i>most</i> interesting,” said the Queen. “We must +have this Psammead for the banquet tonight. Its performance will be one of the +most popular turns in the whole programme. Where is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Anthea explained that they did not know; also why it was that they did not +know. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>that’s</i> quite simple,” said the Queen, and +everyone breathed a deep sigh of relief as she said it. “Ritti-Marduk +shall run down to the gates and find out which guard your sister went home +with.” +</p> + +<p> +“Might he”—Anthea’s voice was +tremulous—“might he—would it interfere with his meal-times, +or anything like that, if he went <i>now?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course he shall go now. He may think himself lucky if he gets his +meals at any time,” said the Queen heartily, and clapped her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“May I send a letter?” asked Cyril, pulling out a red-backed penny +account-book, and feeling in his pockets for a stump of pencil that he +<i>knew</i> was in one of them. +</p> + +<p> +“By all means. I’ll call my scribe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can scribe right enough, thanks,” said Cyril, finding the +pencil and licking its point. He even had to bite the wood a little, for it was +very blunt. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you clever, clever boy!” said the Queen. “<i>do</i> let +me watch you do it!” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril wrote on a leaf of the book—it was of rough, woolly paper, with +hairs that stuck out and would have got in his pen if he had been using one, +and ruled for accounts. +</p> + +<p> +“Hide IT most carefully before you come here,” he wrote, “and +don’t mention it—and destroy this letter. Everything is going A1. +The Queen is a fair treat. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” +</p> + +<p> +“What curious characters, and what a strange flat surface!” said +the Queen. “What have you inscribed?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve “scribed,” replied Cyril cautiously, “that +you are fair, and a—and like a—like a festival; and that she need +not be afraid, and that she is to come at once.” +</p> + +<p> +Ritti-Marduk, who had come in and had stood waiting while Cyril wrote, his +Babylonish eyes nearly starting out of his Babylonish head, now took the +letter, with some reluctance. +</p> + +<p> +“O Queen, live for ever! Is it a charm?” he timidly asked. “A +strong charm, most great lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Yes</i>,” said Robert, unexpectedly, “it <i>is</i> a +charm, but it won’t hurt anyone until you’ve given it to Jane. And +then she’ll destroy it, so that it <i>can’t</i> hurt anyone. +It’s most awful strong!—as strong as—Peppermint!” he +ended abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not the god,” said Ritti-Marduk, bending timorously. +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll tear it up directly she gets it,” said Robert, +“That’ll end the charm. You needn’t be afraid if you go +now.” +</p> + +<p> +Ritti-Marduk went, seeming only partly satisfied; and then the Queen began to +admire the penny account-book and the bit of pencil in so marked and +significant a way that Cyril felt he could not do less than press them upon her +as a gift. She ruffled the leaves delightedly. +</p> + +<p> +“What a wonderful substance!” she said. “And with this style +you make charms? Make a charm for me! Do you know,” her voice sank to a +whisper, “the names of the great ones of your own far country?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather!” said Cyril, and hastily wrote the names of Alfred the +Great, Shakespeare, Nelson, Gordon, Lord Beaconsfield, Mr Rudyard Kipling, and +Mr Sherlock Holmes, while the Queen watched him with “unbaited +breath”, as Anthea said afterwards. +</p> + +<p> +She took the book and hid it reverently among the bright folds of her gown. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall teach me later to say the great names,” she said. +“And the names of their Ministers—perhaps the great Nisroch is one +of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so,” said Cyril. “Mr Campbell +Bannerman’s Prime Minister and Mr Burns a Minister, and so is the +Archbishop of Canterbury, I think, but I’m not sure—and Dr Parker +was one, I know, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“No more,” said the Queen, putting her hands to her ears. “My +head’s going round with all those great names. You shall teach them to me +later—because of course you’ll make us a nice long visit now you +have come, won’t you? Now tell me—but no, I am quite tired out with +your being so clever. Besides, I’m sure you’d like <i>me</i> to +tell <i>you</i> something, wouldn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Anthea. “I want to know how it is that the King +has gone—” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, but you should say ‘the King +may-he-live-for-ever’,” said the Queen gently. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” Anthea hastened to say—“the King +may-he-live-for-ever has gone to fetch home his fourteenth wife? I don’t +think even Bluebeard had as many as that. And, besides, he hasn’t killed +<i>you</i> at any rate.” +</p> + +<p> +The Queen looked bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +“She means,” explained Robert, “that English kings only have +one wife—at least, Henry the Eighth had seven or eight, but not all at +once.” +</p> + +<p> +“In our country,” said the Queen scornfully, “a king would +not reign a day who had only one wife. No one would respect him, and quite +right too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then are all the other thirteen alive?” asked Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course they are—poor mean-spirited things! I don’t +associate with them, of course, I am the Queen: they’re only the +wives.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Anthea, gasping. +</p> + +<p> +“But oh, my dears,” the Queen went on, “such a to-do as +there’s been about this last wife! You never did! It really was +<i>too</i> funny. We wanted an Egyptian princess. The King may-he-live-for-ever +has got a wife from most of the important nations, and he had set his heart on +an Egyptian one to complete his collection. Well, of course, to begin with, we +sent a handsome present of gold. The Egyptian king sent back some +horses—quite a few; he’s fearfully stingy!—and he said he +liked the gold very much, but what they were really short of was lapis lazuli, +so of course we sent him some. But by that time he’d begun to use the +gold to cover the beams of the roof of the Temple of the Sun-God, and he +hadn’t nearly enough to finish the job, so we sent some more. And so it +went on, oh, for years. You see each journey takes at least six months. And at +last we asked the hand of his daughter in marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and then?” said Anthea, who wanted to get to the princess +part of the story. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” said the Queen, “when he’d got everything +out of us that he could, and only given the meanest presents in return, he sent +to say he would esteem the honour of an alliance very highly, only +unfortunately he hadn’t any daughter, but he hoped one would be born +soon, and if so, she should certainly be reserved for the King of +Babylon!” +</p> + +<p> +“What a trick!” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, wasn’t it? So then we said his sister would do, and then +there were more gifts and more journeys; and now at last the tiresome, +black-haired thing is coming, and the King may-he-live-for-ever has gone seven +days’ journey to meet her at Carchemish. And he’s gone in his best +chariot, the one inlaid with lapis lazuli and gold, with the gold-plated wheels +and onyx-studded hubs—much too great an honour in my opinion. +She’ll be here tonight; there’ll be a grand banquet to celebrate +her arrival. <i>She</i> won’t be present, of course. She’ll be +having her baths and her anointings, and all that sort of thing. We always +clean our foreign brides very carefully. It takes two or three weeks. Now +it’s dinnertime, and you shall eat with me, for I can see that you are of +high rank.” +</p> + +<p> +She led them into a dark, cool hall, with many cushions on the floor. On these +they sat and low tables were brought—beautiful tables of smooth, blue +stone mounted in gold. On these, golden trays were placed; but there were no +knives, or forks, or spoons. The children expected the Queen to call for them; +but no. She just ate with her fingers, and as the first dish was a great tray +of boiled corn, and meat and raisins all mixed up together, and melted fat +poured all over the tray, it was found difficult to follow her example with +anything like what we are used to think of as good table manners. There were +stewed quinces afterwards, and dates in syrup, and thick yellowy cream. It was +the kind of dinner you hardly ever get in Fitzroy Street. +</p> + +<p> +After dinner everybody went to sleep, even the children. +</p> + +<p> +The Queen awoke with a start. +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious!” she cried, “what a time we’ve slept! I +must rush off and dress for the banquet. I shan’t have much more than +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t Ritti-Marduk got back with our sister and the Psammead +yet?” Anthea asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>quite</i> forgot to ask. I’m sorry,” said the Queen. +“And of course they wouldn’t announce her unless I told them to, +except during justice hours. I expect she’s waiting outside. I’ll +see.” +</p> + +<p> +Ritti-Marduk came in a moment later. +</p> + +<p> +“I regret,” he said, “that I have been unable to find your +sister. The beast she bears with her in a basket has bitten the child of the +guard, and your sister and the beast set out to come to you. The police say +they have a clue. No doubt we shall have news of her in a few weeks.” He +bowed and withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +The horror of this threefold loss—Jane, the Psammead, and the +Amulet—gave the children something to talk about while the Queen was +dressing. I shall not report their conversation; it was very gloomy. Everyone +repeated himself several times, and the discussion ended in each of them +blaming the other two for having let Jane go. You know the sort of talk it was, +don’t you? At last Cyril said— +</p> + +<p> +“After all, she’s with the Psammead, so <i>she’s</i> all +right. The Psammead is jolly careful of itself too. And it isn’t as if we +were in any danger. Let’s try to buck up and enjoy the banquet.” +</p> + +<p> +They did enjoy the banquet. They had a beautiful bath, which was delicious, +were heavily oiled all over, including their hair, and that was most +unpleasant. Then, they dressed again and were presented to the King, who was +most affable. The banquet was long; there were all sorts of nice things to eat, +and everybody seemed to eat and drink a good deal. Everyone lay on cushions and +couches, ladies on one side and gentlemen on the other; and after the eating +was done each lady went and sat by some gentleman, who seemed to be her +sweetheart or her husband, for they were very affectionate to each other. The +Court dresses had gold threads woven in them, very bright and beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +The middle of the room was left clear, and different people came and did +amusing things. There were conjurers and jugglers and snake-charmers, which +last Anthea did not like at all. +</p> + +<p> +When it got dark torches were lighted. Cedar splinters dipped in oil blazed in +copper dishes set high on poles. +</p> + +<p> +Then there was a dancer, who hardly danced at all, only just struck attitudes. +She had hardly any clothes, and was not at all pretty. The children were rather +bored by her, but everyone else was delighted, including the King. +</p> + +<p> +“By the beard of Nimrod!” he cried, “ask what you like girl, +and you shall have it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I want nothing,” said the dancer; “the honour of having +pleased the King may-he-live-for-ever is reward enough for me.” +</p> + +<p> +And the King was so pleased with this modest and sensible reply that he gave +her the gold collar off his own neck. +</p> + +<p> +“I say!” said Cyril, awed by the magnificence of the gift. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” whispered the Queen, “it’s not +his best collar by any means. We always keep a stock of cheap jewellery for +these occasions. And now—you promised to sing us something. Would you +like my minstrels to accompany you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you,” said Anthea quickly. The minstrels had been +playing off and on all the time, and their music reminded Anthea of the band +she and the others had once had on the fifth of November—with penny +horns, a tin whistle, a tea-tray, the tongs, a policeman’s rattle, and a +toy drum. They had enjoyed this band very much at the time. But it was quite +different when someone else was making the same kind of music. Anthea +understood now that Father had not been really heartless and unreasonable when +he had told them to stop that infuriating din. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall we sing?” Cyril was asking. +</p> + +<p> +“Sweet and low?” suggested Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“Too soft—I vote for ‘Who will o’er the downs’. +Now then—one, two, three. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Oh, who will o’er the downs so free,<br /> + Oh, who will with me ride,<br /> +Oh, who will up and follow me,<br /> + To win a blooming bride?<br /> +<br /> +Her father he has locked the door,<br /> + Her mother keeps the key;<br /> +But neither bolt nor bar shall keep<br /> + My own true love from me.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane, the alto, was missing, and Robert, unlike the mother of the lady in the +song, never could “keep the key”, but the song, even so, was +sufficiently unlike anything any of them had ever heard to rouse the Babylonian +Court to the wildest enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +“More, more,” cried the King; “by my beard, this savage music +is a new thing. Sing again!” +</p> + +<p> +So they sang: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“I saw her bower at twilight gray,<br /> + ’Twas guarded safe and sure.<br /> +I saw her bower at break of day,<br /> + ’Twas guarded then no more.<br /> +<br /> +The varlets they were all asleep,<br /> + And there was none to see<br /> +The greeting fair that passed there<br /> + Between my love and me.” <br /> +</p> + +<p> +Shouts of applause greeted the ending of the verse, and the King would not be +satisfied till they had sung all their part-songs (they only knew three) twice +over, and ended up with “Men of Harlech” in unison. Then the King +stood up in his royal robes with his high, narrow crown on his head and +shouted— +</p> + +<p> +“By the beak of Nisroch, ask what you will, strangers from the land where +the sun never sets!” +</p> + +<p> +“We ought to say it’s enough honour, like the dancer did,” +whispered Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“No, let’s ask for <i>It</i>,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, I’m sure the other’s manners,” said Anthea. +But Robert, who was excited by the music, and the flaring torches, and the +applause and the opportunity, spoke up before the others could stop him. +</p> + +<p> +“Give us the half of the Amulet that has on it the name U<small>R</small> +H<small>EKAU</small> S<small>ETCHEH</small>,” he said, adding as an +afterthought, “O King, live-for-ever.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke the great name those in the pillared hall fell on their faces, and +lay still. All but the Queen who crouched amid her cushions with her head in +her hands, and the King, who stood upright, perfectly still, like the statue of +a king in stone. It was only for a moment though. Then his great voice +thundered out— +</p> + +<p> +“Guard, seize them!” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly, from nowhere as it seemed, sprang eight soldiers in bright armour +inlaid with gold, and tunics of red and white. Very splendid they were, and +very alarming. +</p> + +<p> +“Impious and sacrilegious wretches!” shouted the King. “To +the dungeons with them! We will find a way, tomorrow, to make them speak. For +without doubt they can tell us where to find the lost half of <i>It</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +A wall of scarlet and white and steel and gold closed up round the children and +hurried them away among the many pillars of the great hall. As they went they +heard the voices of the courtiers loud in horror. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve done it this time,” said Cyril with extreme +bitterness. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it will come right. It <i>must</i>. It always does,” said +Anthea desperately. +</p> + +<p> +They could not see where they were going, because the guard surrounded them so +closely, but the ground under their feet, smooth marble at first, grew rougher +like stone, then it was loose earth and sand, and they felt the night air. Then +there was more stone, and steps down. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my belief we really <i>are</i> going to the deepest dungeon +below the castle moat this time,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +And they were. At least it was not below a moat, but below the river Euphrates, +which was just as bad if not worse. In a most unpleasant place it was. Dark, +very, very damp, and with an odd, musty smell rather like the shells of +oysters. There was a torch—that is to say, a copper basket on a high +stick with oiled wood burning in it. By its light the children saw that the +walls were green, and that trickles of water ran down them and dripped from the +roof. There were things on the floor that looked like newts, and in the dark +corners creepy, shiny things moved sluggishly, uneasily, horribly. +</p> + +<p> +Robert’s heart sank right into those really reliable boots of his. Anthea +and Cyril each had a private struggle with that inside disagreeableness which +is part of all of us, and which is sometimes called the Old Adam—and both +were victors. Neither of them said to Robert (and both tried hard not even to +think it), “This is <i>your</i> doing.” Anthea had the additional +temptation to add, “I told you so.” And she resisted it +successfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Sacrilege, and impious cheek,” said the captain of the guard to +the gaoler. “To be kept during the King’s pleasure. I expect he +means to get some pleasure out of them tomorrow! He’ll tickle them +up!” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little kids,” said the gaoler. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” said the captain. “I’ve got kids of my own +too. But it doesn’t do to let domestic sentiment interfere with +one’s public duties. Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +The soldiers tramped heavily off in their white and red and steel and gold. The +gaoler, with a bunch of big keys in his hand, stood looking pityingly at the +children. He shook his head twice and went out. +</p> + +<p> +“Courage!” said Anthea. “I know it will be all right. +It’s only a dream <i>really</i>, you know. It <i>must</i> be! I +don’t believe about time being only a something or other of thought. It +<i>is</i> a dream, and we’re bound to wake up all right and safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humph,” said Cyril bitterly. And Robert suddenly said— +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all my doing. If it really is all up do please not keep a +down on me about it, and tell Father—Oh, I forgot.” +</p> + +<p> +What he had forgotten was that his father was 3,000 miles and 5,000 or more +years away from him. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Bobs, old man,” said Cyril; and Anthea got hold of +Robert’s hand and squeezed it. +</p> + +<p> +Then the gaoler came back with a platter of hard, flat cakes made of coarse +grain, very different from the cream-and-juicy-date feasts of the palace; also +a pitcher of water. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, thank you so very much. You <i>are</i> kind,” said Anthea +feverishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Go to sleep,” said the gaoler, pointing to a heap of straw in a +corner; “tomorrow comes soon enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear Mr Gaoler,” said Anthea, “whatever will they do to +us tomorrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll try to make you tell things,” said the gaoler +grimly, “and my advice is if you’ve nothing to tell, make up +something. Then perhaps they’ll sell you to the Northern nations. Regular +savages <i>they</i> are. Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night,” said three trembling voices, which their owners +strove in vain to render firm. Then he went out, and the three were left alone +in the damp, dim vault. +</p> + +<p> +“I know the light won’t last long,” said Cyril, looking at +the flickering brazier. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it any good, do you think, calling on the name when we haven’t +got the charm?” suggested Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t think so. But we might try.” +</p> + +<p> +So they tried. But the blank silence of the damp dungeon remained unchanged. +</p> + +<p> +“What was the name the Queen said?” asked Cyril suddenly. +“Nisbeth—Nesbit—something? You know, the slave of the great +names?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a sec,” said Robert, “though I don’t know why you +want it. Nusroch—Nisrock—Nisroch—that’s it.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Anthea pulled herself together. All her muscles tightened, and the muscles +of her mind and soul, if you can call them that, tightened too. +</p> + +<p> +“U<small>R</small> H<small>EKAU</small> S<small>ETCHEH</small>,” +she cried in a fervent voice. “Oh, Nisroch, servant of the Great Ones, +come and help us!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a waiting silence. Then a cold, blue light awoke in the corner where +the straw was—and in the light they saw coming towards them a strange and +terrible figure. I won’t try to describe it, because the drawing shows +it, exactly as it was, and exactly as the old Babylonians carved it on their +stones, so that you can see it in our own British Museum at this day. I will +just say that it had eagle’s wings and an eagle’s head and the body +of a man. +</p> + +<p> +It came towards them, strong and unspeakably horrible. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, go away,” cried Anthea; but Cyril cried, “No; +stay!” +</p> + +<p> +The creature hesitated, then bowed low before them on the damp floor of the +dungeon. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak,” it said, in a harsh, grating voice like large rusty keys +being turned in locks. “The servant of the Great Ones is <i>your</i> +servant. What is your need that you call on the name of Nisroch?” +</p> + +<p> +“We want to go home,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” cried Anthea; “we want to be where Jane is.” +</p> + +<p> +Nisroch raised his great arm and pointed at the wall of the dungeon. And, as he +pointed, the wall disappeared, and instead of the damp, green, rocky surface, +there shone and glowed a room with rich hangings of red silk embroidered with +golden water-lilies, with cushioned couches and great mirrors of polished +steel; and in it was the Queen, and before her, on a red pillow, sat the +Psammead, its fur hunched up in an irritated, discontented way. On a +blue-covered couch lay Jane fast asleep. +</p> + +<p> +“Walk forward without fear,” said Nisroch. “Is there aught +else that the Servant of the great Name can do for those who speak that +name?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—oh, <i>no</i>,” said Cyril. “It’s all right +now. Thanks ever so.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a dear,” cried Anthea, not in the least knowing what she +was saying. “Oh, thank you thank you. But <i>do</i> go <i>now!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She caught the hand of the creature, and it was cold and hard in hers, like a +hand of stone. +</p> + +<p> +“Go forward,” said Nisroch. And they went. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my good gracious,” said the Queen as they stood before her. +“How did you get here? I <i>knew</i> you were magic. I meant to let you +out the first thing in the morning, if I could slip away—but thanks be to +Dagon, you’ve managed it for yourselves. You must get away. I’ll +wake my chief lady and she shall call Ritti-Marduk, and he’ll let you out +the back way, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t rouse anybody for goodness’ sake,” said Anthea, +“except Jane, and I’ll rouse her.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook Jane with energy, and Jane slowly awoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Ritti-Marduk brought them in hours ago, really,” said the Queen, +“but I wanted to have the Psammead all to myself for a bit. You’ll +excuse the little natural deception?—it’s part of the Babylonish +character, don’t you know? But I don’t want anything to happen to +you. Do let me rouse someone.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, no,” said Anthea with desperate earnestness. She thought +she knew enough of what the Babylonians were like when they were roused. +“We can go by our own magic. And you will tell the King it wasn’t +the gaoler’s fault. It was Nisroch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nisroch!” echoed the Queen. “You are indeed +magicians.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane sat up, blinking stupidly. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold <i>It</i> up, and say the word,” cried Cyril, catching up the +Psammead, which mechanically bit him, but only very slightly. +</p> + +<p> +“Which is the East?” asked Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Behind me,” said the Queen. “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ur Hekau Setcheh,” said Jane sleepily, and held up the charm. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And there they all were in the dining-room at 300, Fitzroy Street. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane,” cried Cyril with great presence of mind, “go and get +the plate of sand down for the Psammead.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane went. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” he said quickly, as the sound of her boots grew less +loud on the stairs, “don’t let’s tell her about the dungeon +and all that. It’ll only frighten her so that she’ll never want to +go anywhere else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Righto!” said Cyril; but Anthea felt that she could not have said +a word to save her life. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you want to come back in such a hurry?” asked Jane, +returning with the plate of sand. “It was awfully jolly in Babylon, I +think! I liked it no end.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” said Cyril carelessly. “It was jolly enough, of +course, but I thought we’d been there long enough. Mother always says you +oughtn’t to wear out your welcome!” +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +THE QUEEN IN LONDON</h2> + +<p> +“Now tell us what happened to you,” said Cyril to Jane, when he and +the others had told her all about the Queen’s talk and the banquet, and +the variety entertainment, carefully stopping short before the beginning of the +dungeon part of the story. +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t much good going,” said Jane, “if you +didn’t even try to get the Amulet.” +</p> + +<p> +“We found out it was no go,” said Cyril; “it’s not to +be got in Babylon. It was lost before that. We’ll go to some other jolly +friendly place, where everyone is kind and pleasant, and look for it there. Now +tell us about your part.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Jane, “the Queen’s man with the smooth +face—what was his name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ritti-Marduk,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Jane, “Ritti-Marduk, he came for me just after +the Psammead had bitten the guard-of-the-gate’s wife’s little boy, +and he took me to the Palace. And we had supper with the new little Queen from +Egypt. She is a dear—not much older than you. She told me heaps about +Egypt. And we played ball after supper. And then the Babylon Queen sent for me. +I like her too. And she talked to the Psammead and I went to sleep. And then +you woke me up. That’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead, roused from its sound sleep, told the same story. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” it added, “what possessed you to tell that Queen that +I could give wishes? I sometimes think you were born without even the most +rudimentary imitation of brains.” +</p> + +<p> +The children did not know the meaning of rudimentary, but it sounded a rude, +insulting word. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see that we did any harm,” said Cyril sulkily. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said the Psammead with withering irony, “not at +all! Of course not! Quite the contrary! Exactly so! Only she happened to wish +that she might soon find herself in your country. And soon may mean any +moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s your fault,” said Robert, “because you might +just as well have made ‘soon’ mean some moment next year or next +century.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where you, as so often happens, make the mistake,” +rejoined the Sand-fairy. “<i>I</i> couldn’t mean anything but what +<i>she</i> meant by ‘soon’. It wasn’t my wish. And what she +meant was the next time the King happens to go out lion hunting. So +she’ll have a whole day, and perhaps two, to do as she wishes with. She +doesn’t know about time only being a mode of thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Cyril, with a sigh of resignation, “we must do +what we can to give her a good time. She was jolly decent to us. I say, suppose +we were to go to St James’s Park after dinner and feed those ducks that +we never did feed. After all that Babylon and all those years ago, I feel as if +I should like to see something <i>real</i>, and <i>now</i>. You’ll come, +Psammead?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s my priceless woven basket of sacred rushes?” asked +the Psammead morosely. “I can’t go out with nothing on. And I +won’t, what’s more.” +</p> + +<p> +And then everybody remembered with pain that the bass bag had, in the hurry of +departure from Babylon, not been remembered. +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s not so extra precious,” said Robert hastily. +“You can get them given to you for nothing if you buy fish in Farringdon +Market.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said the Psammead very crossly indeed, “so you presume +on my sublime indifference to the things of this disgusting modern world, to +fob me off with a travelling equipage that costs you nothing. Very well, I +shall go to sand. Please don’t wake me.” +</p> + +<p> +And it went then and there to sand, which, as you know, meant to bed. The boys +went to St James’s Park to feed the ducks, but they went alone. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea and Jane sat sewing all the afternoon. They cut off half a yard from +each of their best green Liberty sashes. A towel cut in two formed a lining; +and they sat and sewed and sewed and sewed. What they were making was a bag for +the Psammead. Each worked at a half of the bag. Jane’s half had +four-leaved shamrocks embroidered on it. They were the only things she could do +(because she had been taught how at school, and, fortunately, some of the silk +she had been taught with was left over). And even so, Anthea had to draw the +pattern for her. Anthea’s side of the bag had letters on it—worked +hastily but affectionately in chain stitch. They were something like this: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/fig04.jpg" width="400" height="337" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +She would have put “travelling carriage”, but she made the letters +too big, so there was no room. The bag was made <i>into</i> a bag with old +Nurse’s sewing machine, and the strings of it were Anthea’s and +Jane’s best red hair ribbons. +</p> + +<p> +At tea-time, when the boys had come home with a most unfavourable report of the +St James’s Park ducks, Anthea ventured to awaken the Psammead, and to +show it its new travelling bag. +</p> + +<p> +“Humph,” it said, sniffing a little contemptuously, yet at the same +time affectionately, “it’s not so dusty.” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead seemed to pick up very easily the kind of things that people said +nowadays. For a creature that had in its time associated with Megatheriums and +Pterodactyls, its quickness was really wonderful. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s more worthy of me,” it said, “than the kind of +bag that’s given away with a pound of plaice. When do you propose to take +me out in it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like a rest from taking you or us anywhere,” said Cyril. +But Jane said— +</p> + +<p> +“I want to go to Egypt. I did like that Egyptian Princess that came to +marry the King in Babylon. She told me about the larks they have in Egypt. And +the cats. Do let’s go there. And I told her what the bird things on the +Amulet were like. And she said it was Egyptian writing.” +</p> + +<p> +The others exchanged looks of silent rejoicing at the thought of their +cleverness in having concealed from Jane the terrors they had suffered in the +dungeon below the Euphrates. +</p> + +<p> +“Egypt’s so nice too,” Jane went on, “because of Doctor +Brewer’s Scripture History. I would like to go there when Joseph was +dreaming those curious dreams, or when Moses was doing wonderful things with +snakes and sticks.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care about snakes,” said Anthea shuddering. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we needn’t be in at that part, but Babylon was lovely! We +had cream and sweet, sticky stuff. And I expect Egypt’s the same.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a good deal of discussion, but it all ended in everybody’s +agreeing to Jane’s idea. And next morning directly after breakfast (which +was kippers and very nice) the Psammead was invited to get into his travelling +carriage. +</p> + +<p> +The moment after it had done so, with stiff, furry reluctance, like that of a +cat when you want to nurse it, and its ideas are not the same as yours, old +Nurse came in. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, chickies,” she said, “are you feeling very +dull?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, Nurse dear,” said Anthea; “we’re having a +lovely time. We’re just going off to see some old ancient relics.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said old Nurse, “the Royal Academy, I suppose? +Don’t go wasting your money too reckless, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +She cleared away the kipper bones and the tea-things, and when she had swept up +the crumbs and removed the cloth, the Amulet was held up and the order +given—just as Duchesses (and other people) give it to their coachmen. +</p> + +<p> +“To Egypt, please!” said Anthea, when Cyril had uttered the +wonderful Name of Power. +</p> + +<p> +“When Moses was there,” added Jane. +</p> + +<p> +And there, in the dingy Fitzroy Street dining-room, the Amulet grew big, and it +was an arch, and through it they saw a blue, blue sky and a running river. +</p> + +<p> +“No, stop!” said Cyril, and pulled down Jane’s hand with the +Amulet in it. +</p> + +<p> +“What silly cuckoos we all are,” he said. “Of course we +can’t go. We daren’t leave home for a single minute now, for fear +that minute should be <i>the</i> minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“What minute be <i>what</i> minute?” asked Jane impatiently, trying +to get her hand away from Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“The minute when the Queen of Babylon comes,” said Cyril. And then +everyone saw it. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +For some days life flowed in a very slow, dusty, uneventful stream. The +children could never go out all at once, because they never knew when the King +of Babylon would go out lion hunting and leave his Queen free to pay them that +surprise visit to which she was, without doubt, eagerly looking forward. +</p> + +<p> +So they took it in turns, two and two, to go out and to stay in. +</p> + +<p> +The stay-at-homes would have been much duller than they were but for the new +interest taken in them by the learned gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +He called Anthea in one day to show her a beautiful necklace of purple and gold +beads. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw one like that,” she said, “in—” +</p> + +<p> +“In the British Museum, perhaps?” +</p> + +<p> +“I like to call the place where I saw it Babylon,” said Anthea +cautiously. +</p> + +<p> +“A pretty fancy,” said the learned gentleman, “and quite +correct too, because, as a matter of fact, these beads did come from +Babylon.” +</p> + +<p> +The other three were all out that day. The boys had been going to the Zoo, and +Jane had said so plaintively, “I’m sure I am fonder of rhinoceroses +than either of you are,” that Anthea had told her to run along then. And +she had run, catching the boys before that part of the road where Fitzroy +Street suddenly becomes Fitzroy Square. +</p> + +<p> +“I think Babylon is most frightfully interesting,” said Anthea. +“I do have such interesting dreams about it—at least, not dreams +exactly, but quite as wonderful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do sit down and tell me,” said he. So she sat down and told. And +he asked her a lot of questions, and she answered them as well as she could. +</p> + +<p> +“Wonderful—wonderful!” he said at last. “One’s +heard of thought-transference, but I never thought <i>I</i> had any power of +that sort. Yet it must be that, and very bad for <i>you</i>, I should think. +Doesn’t your head ache very much?” +</p> + +<p> +He suddenly put a cold, thin hand on her forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“No thank you, not at all,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“I assure you it is not done intentionally,” he went on. “Of +course I know a good deal about Babylon, and I unconsciously communicate it to +you; you’ve heard of thought-reading, but some of the things you say, I +don’t understand; they never enter my head, and yet they’re so +astoundingly probable.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” said Anthea reassuringly. “<i>I</i> +understand. And don’t worry. It’s all quite simple really.” +</p> + +<p> +It was not quite so simple when Anthea, having heard the others come in, went +down, and before she had had time to ask how they had liked the Zoo, heard a +noise outside, compared to which the wild beasts’ noises were gentle as +singing birds. +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious!” cried Anthea, “what’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +The loud hum of many voices came through the open window. Words could be +distinguished. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ere’s a guy!” +</p> + +<p> +“This ain’t November. That ain’t no guy. It’s a ballet +lady, that’s what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not it—it’s a bloomin’ looney, I tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then came a clear voice that they knew. +</p> + +<p> +“Retire, slaves!” it said. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s she a saying of?” cried a dozen voices. +</p> + +<p> +“Some blamed foreign lingo,” one voice replied. +</p> + +<p> +The children rushed to the door. A crowd was on the road and pavement. +</p> + +<p> +In the middle of the crowd, plainly to be seen from the top of the steps, were +the beautiful face and bright veil of the Babylonian Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“Jimminy!” cried Robert, and ran down the steps, “here she +is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Here!” he cried, “look out—let the lady pass. +She’s a friend of ours, coming to see us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nice friend for a respectable house,” snorted a fat woman with +marrows on a handcart. +</p> + +<p> +All the same the crowd made way a little. The Queen met Robert on the pavement, +and Cyril joined them, the Psammead bag still on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” he whispered; “here’s the Psammead; you can get +wishes.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> wish you’d come in a different dress, if you <i>had</i> +to come,” said Robert; “but it’s no use my wishing +anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the Queen. “I wish I was dressed—no, I +don’t—I wish <i>they</i> were dressed properly, then they +wouldn’t be so silly.” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead blew itself out till the bag was a very tight fit for it; and +suddenly every man, woman, and child in that crowd felt that it had not enough +clothes on. For, of course, the Queen’s idea of proper dress was the +dress that had been proper for the working-classes 3,000 years ago in +Babylon—and there was not much of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Lawky me!” said the marrow-selling woman, “whatever could +a-took me to come out this figure?” and she wheeled her cart away very +quickly indeed. +</p> + +<p> +“Someone’s made a pretty guy of you—talk of guys,” said +a man who sold bootlaces. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, don’t you talk,” said the man next to him. “Look +at your own silly legs; and where’s your boots?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never come out like this, I’ll take my sacred,” said the +bootlace-seller. “I wasn’t quite myself last night, I’ll own, +but not to dress up like a circus.” +</p> + +<p> +The crowd was all talking at once, and getting rather angry. But no one seemed +to think of blaming the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea bounded down the steps and pulled her up; the others followed, and the +door was shut. +</p> + +<p> +“Blowed if I can make it out!” they heard. “I’m off +home, I am.” +</p> + +<p> +And the crowd, coming slowly to the same mind, dispersed, followed by another +crowd of persons who were not dressed in what the Queen thought was the proper +way. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall have the police here directly,” said Anthea in the tones +of despair. “Oh, why did you come dressed like that?” +</p> + +<p> +The Queen leaned against the arm of the horse-hair sofa. +</p> + +<p> +“How else can a queen dress I should like to know?” she questioned. +</p> + +<p> +“Our Queen wears things like other people,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t. And I must say,” she remarked in an injured +tone, “that you don’t seem very glad to see me now I <i>have</i> +come. But perhaps it’s the surprise that makes you behave like this. Yet +you ought to be used to surprises. The way you vanished! I shall never forget +it. The best magic I’ve ever seen. How did you do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, never mind about that now,” said Robert. “You see +you’ve gone and upset all those people, and I expect they’ll fetch +the police. And we don’t want to see you collared and put in +prison.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t put queens in prison,” she said loftily. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, can’t you?” said Cyril. “We cut off a king’s +head here once.” +</p> + +<p> +“In this miserable room? How frightfully interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, not in this room; in history.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, in <i>that</i>,” said the Queen disparagingly. “I +thought you’d done it with your own hands.” +</p> + +<p> +The girls shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“What a hideous city yours is,” the Queen went on pleasantly, +“and what horrid, ignorant people. Do you know they actually can’t +understand a single word I say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you understand them?” asked Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not; they speak some vulgar, Northern dialect. I can +understand <i>you</i> quite well.” +</p> + +<p> +I really am not going to explain <i>again</i> how it was that the children +could understand other languages than their own so thoroughly, and talk them, +too, so that it felt and sounded (to them) just as though they were talking +English. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Cyril bluntly, “now you’ve seen just how +horrid it is, don’t you think you might as well go home again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I’ve seen simply nothing yet,” said the Queen, +arranging her starry veil. “I wished to be at your door, and I was. Now I +must go and see your King and Queen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody’s allowed to,” said Anthea in haste; “but look +here, we’ll take you and show you anything you’d like to +see—anything you <i>can</i> see,” she added kindly, because she +remembered how nice the Queen had been to them in Babylon, even if she had been +a little deceitful in the matter of Jane and Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s the Museum,” said Cyril hopefully; “there are +lots of things from your country there. If only we could disguise you a +little.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said Anthea suddenly. “Mother’s old theatre +cloak, and there are a lot of her old hats in the big box.” +</p> + +<p> +The blue silk, lace-trimmed cloak did indeed hide some of the Queen’s +startling splendours, but the hat fitted very badly. It had pink roses in it; +and there was something about the coat or the hat or the Queen, that made her +look somehow not very respectable. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, never mind,” said Anthea, when Cyril whispered this. +“The thing is to get her out before Nurse has finished her forty winks. I +should think she’s about got to the thirty-ninth wink by now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come on then,” said Robert. “You know how dangerous it is. +Let’s make haste into the Museum. If any of those people you made guys of +do fetch the police, they won’t think of looking for you there.” +</p> + +<p> +The blue silk coat and the pink-rosed hat attracted almost as much attention as +the royal costume had done; and the children were uncommonly glad to get out of +the noisy streets into the grey quiet of the Museum. +</p> + +<p> +“Parcels and umbrellas to be left here,” said a man at the counter. +</p> + +<p> +The party had no umbrellas, and the only parcel was the bag containing the +Psammead, which the Queen had insisted should be brought. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I’m</i> not going to be left,” said the Psammead softly, +“so don’t you think it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll wait outside with you,” said Anthea hastily, and went +to sit on the seat near the drinking fountain. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t sit so near that nasty fountain,” said the creature +crossly; “I might get splashed.” +</p> + +<p> +Anthea obediently moved to another seat and waited. Indeed she waited, and +waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. The Psammead dropped into an uneasy +slumber. Anthea had long ceased to watch the swing-door that always let out the +wrong person, and she was herself almost asleep, and still the others did not +come back. +</p> + +<p> +It was quite a start when Anthea suddenly realized that they <i>had</i> come +back, and that they were not alone. Behind them was quite a crowd of men in +uniform, and several gentlemen were there. Everyone seemed very angry. +</p> + +<p> +“Now go,” said the nicest of the angry gentlemen. “Take the +poor, demented thing home and tell your parents she ought to be properly looked +after.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you can’t get her to go we must send for the police,” +said the nastiest gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“But we don’t wish to use harsh measures,” added the nice +one, who was really very nice indeed, and seemed to be over all the others. +</p> + +<p> +“May I speak to my sister a moment first?” asked Robert. +</p> + +<p> +The nicest gentleman nodded, and the officials stood round the Queen, the +others forming a sort of guard while Robert crossed over to Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“Everything you can think of,” he replied to Anthea’s glance +of inquiry. “Kicked up the most frightful shine in there. Said those +necklaces and earrings and things in the glass cases were all hers—would +have them out of the cases. Tried to break the glass—she did break one +bit! Everybody in the place has been at her. No good. I only got her out by +telling her that was the place where they cut queens’ heads off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Bobs, what a whacker!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d have told a whackinger one to get her out. Besides, it +wasn’t. I meant <i>mummy</i> queens. How do you know they don’t cut +off mummies’ heads to see how the embalming is done? What I want to say +is, can’t you get her to go with you quietly?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try,” said Anthea, and went up to the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“Do come home,” she said; “the learned gentleman in our house +has a much nicer necklace than anything they’ve got here. Come and see +it.” +</p> + +<p> +The Queen nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” said the nastiest gentleman, “she does understand +English.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was talking Babylonian, I think,” said Anthea bashfully. +</p> + +<p> +“My good child,” said the nice gentleman, “what you’re +talking is not Babylonian, but nonsense. You just go home <i>at once</i>, and +tell your parents exactly what has happened.” +</p> + +<p> +Anthea took the Queen’s hand and gently pulled her away. The other +children followed, and the black crowd of angry gentlemen stood on the steps +watching them. It was when the little party of disgraced children, with the +Queen who had disgraced them, had reached the middle of the courtyard that her +eyes fell on the bag where the Psammead was. She stopped short. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish,” she said, very loud and clear, “that all those +Babylonian things would come out to me here—slowly, so that those dogs +and slaves can see the working of the great Queen’s magic.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you <i>are</i> a tiresome woman,” said the Psammead in its +bag, but it puffed itself out. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment there was a crash. The glass swing doors and all their framework +were smashed suddenly and completely. The crowd of angry gentlemen sprang aside +when they saw what had done this. But the nastiest of them was not quick +enough, and he was roughly pushed out of the way by an enormous stone bull that +was floating steadily through the door. It came and stood beside the Queen in +the middle of the courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +It was followed by more stone images, by great slabs of carved stone, bricks, +helmets, tools, weapons, fetters, wine-jars, bowls, bottles, vases, jugs, +saucers, seals, and the round long things, something like rolling pins with +marks on them like the print of little bird-feet, necklaces, collars, rings, +armlets, earrings—heaps and heaps and heaps of things, far more than +anyone had time to count, or even to see distinctly. +</p> + +<p> +All the angry gentlemen had abruptly sat down on the Museum steps except the +nice one. He stood with his hands in his pockets just as though he was quite +used to seeing great stone bulls and all sorts of small Babylonish objects +float out into the Museum yard. But he sent a man to close the big iron gates. +</p> + +<p> +A journalist, who was just leaving the museum, spoke to Robert as he passed. +</p> + +<p> +“Theosophy, I suppose?” he said. “Is she Mrs Besant?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Yes</i>,” said Robert recklessly. +</p> + +<p> +The journalist passed through the gates just before they were shut. He rushed +off to Fleet Street, and his paper got out a new edition within half an hour. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +MRS BESANT AND THEOSOPHY<br /> +<br /> +<small>IMPERTINENT MIRACLE AT THE<br /> +BRITISH MUSEUM</small>. +</p> + +<p> +People saw it in fat, black letters on the boards carried by the sellers of +newspapers. Some few people who had nothing better to do went down to the +Museum on the tops of omnibuses. But by the time they got there there was +nothing to be seen. For the Babylonian Queen had suddenly seen the closed +gates, had felt the threat of them, and had said— +</p> + +<p> +“I wish we were in your house.” +</p> + +<p> +And, of course, instantly they were. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead was furious. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” it said, “they’ll come after you, and +they’ll find <i>me</i>. There’ll be a National Cage built for me at +Westminster, and I shall have to work at politics. Why wouldn’t you leave +the things in their places?” +</p> + +<p> +“What a temper you have, haven’t you?” said the Queen +serenely. “I wish all the things were back in their places. Will +<i>that</i> do for you?” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead swelled and shrank and spoke very angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t refuse to give your wishes,” it said, “but I +can Bite. And I will if this goes on. Now then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, don’t,” whispered Anthea close to its bristling ear; +“it’s dreadful for us too. Don’t <i>you</i> desert us. +Perhaps she’ll wish herself at home again soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not she,” said the Psammead a little less crossly. +</p> + +<p> +“Take me to see your City,” said the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +The children looked at each other. +</p> + +<p> +“If we had some money we could take her about in a cab. People +wouldn’t notice her so much then. But we haven’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sell this,” said the Queen, taking a ring from her finger. +</p> + +<p> +“They’d only think we’d stolen it,” said Cyril +bitterly, “and put us in prison.” +</p> + +<p> +“All roads lead to prison with you, it seems,” said the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“The learned gentleman!” said Anthea, and ran up to him with the +ring in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” she said, “will you buy this for a pound?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he said in tones of joy and amazement, and took the ring into +his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my very own,” said Anthea; “it was given to me to +sell.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll lend you a pound,” said the learned gentleman, +“with pleasure; and I’ll take care of the ring for you. Who did you +say gave it to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“We call her,” said Anthea carefully, “the Queen of +Babylon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a game?” he asked hopefully. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll be a pretty game if I don’t get the money to pay for +cabs for her,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“I sometimes think,” he said slowly, “that I am becoming +insane, or that—” +</p> + +<p> +“Or that I am; but I’m not, and you’re not, and she’s +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does she <i>say</i> that she’s the Queen of Babylon?” he +uneasily asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Anthea recklessly. +</p> + +<p> +“This thought-transference is more far-reaching than I imagined,” +he said. “I suppose I have unconsciously influenced <i>her</i>, too. I +never thought my Babylonish studies would bear fruit like this. Horrible! There +are more things in heaven and earth—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Anthea, “heaps more. And the pound is the thing +<i>I</i> want more than anything on earth.” +</p> + +<p> +He ran his fingers through his thin hair. +</p> + +<p> +“This thought-transference!” he said. “It’s undoubtedly +a Babylonian ring—or it seems so to me. But perhaps I have hypnotized +myself. I will see a doctor the moment I have corrected the last proofs of my +book.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do!” said Anthea, “and thank you so very much.” +</p> + +<p> +She took the sovereign and ran down to the others. +</p> + +<p> +And now from the window of a four-wheeled cab the Queen of Babylon beheld the +wonders of London. Buckingham Palace she thought uninteresting; Westminster +Abbey and the Houses of Parliament little better. But she liked the Tower, and +the River, and the ships filled her with wonder and delight. +</p> + +<p> +“But how badly you keep your slaves. How wretched and poor and neglected +they seem,” she said, as the cab rattled along the Mile End Road. +</p> + +<p> +“They aren’t slaves; they’re working-people,” said +Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course they’re working. That’s what slaves are. +Don’t you tell me. Do you suppose I don’t know a slave’s face +when I see it? Why don’t their masters see that they’re better fed +and better clothed? Tell me in three words.” +</p> + +<p> +No one answered. The wage-system of modern England is a little difficult to +explain in three words even if you understand it—which the children +didn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have a revolt of your slaves if you’re not +careful,” said the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said Cyril; “you see they have votes—that +makes them safe not to revolt. It makes all the difference. Father told me +so.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is this vote?” asked the Queen. “Is it a charm? What do +they do with it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said the harassed Cyril; “it’s +just a vote, that’s all! They don’t do anything particular with +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said the Queen; “a sort of plaything. Well, I wish +that all these slaves may have in their hands this moment their fill of their +favourite meat and drink.” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly all the people in the Mile End Road, and in all the other streets +where poor people live, found their hands full of things to eat and drink. From +the cab window could be seen persons carrying every kind of food, and bottles +and cans as well. Roast meat, fowls, red lobsters, great yellowy crabs, fried +fish, boiled pork, beef-steak puddings, baked onions, mutton pies; most of the +young people had oranges and sweets and cake. It made an enormous change in the +look of the Mile End Road—brightened it up, so to speak, and brightened +up, more than you can possibly imagine, the faces of the people. +</p> + +<p> +“Makes a difference, doesn’t it?” said the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the best wish you’ve had yet,” said Jane with +cordial approval. +</p> + +<p> +Just by the Bank the cabman stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t agoin’ to drive you no further,” he said. +“Out you gets.” +</p> + +<p> +They got out rather unwillingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I wants my tea,” he said; and they saw that on the box of the cab +was a mound of cabbage, with pork chops and apple sauce, a duck, and a spotted +currant pudding. Also a large can. +</p> + +<p> +“You pay me my fare,” he said threateningly, and looked down at the +mound, muttering again about his tea. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll take another cab,” said Cyril with dignity. +“Give me change for a sovereign, if you please.” +</p> + +<p> +But the cabman, as it turned out, was not at all a nice character. He took the +sovereign, whipped up his horse, and disappeared in the stream of cabs and +omnibuses and wagons, without giving them any change at all. +</p> + +<p> +Already a little crowd was collecting round the party. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on,” said Robert, leading the wrong way. +</p> + +<p> +The crowd round them thickened. They were in a narrow street where many +gentlemen in black coats and without hats were standing about on the pavement +talking very loudly. +</p> + +<p> +“How ugly their clothes are,” said the Queen of Babylon. +“They’d be rather fine men, some of them, if they were dressed +decently, especially the ones with the beautiful long, curved noses. I wish +they were dressed like the Babylonians of my court.” +</p> + +<p> +And of course, it was so. +</p> + +<p> +The moment the almost fainting Psammead had blown itself out every man in +Throgmorton Street appeared abruptly in Babylonian full dress. +</p> + +<p> +All were carefully powdered, their hair and beards were scented and curled, +their garments richly embroidered. They wore rings and armlets, flat gold +collars and swords, and impossible-looking head-dresses. +</p> + +<p> +A stupefied silence fell on them. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” a youth who had always been fair-haired broke that +silence, “it’s only fancy of course—something wrong with my +eyes—but you chaps do look so rum.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rum,” said his friend. “Look at <i>you</i>. You in a sash! +My hat! And your hair’s gone black and you’ve got a beard. +It’s my belief we’ve been poisoned. You do look a jackape.” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Levinstein don’t look so bad. But how was it +<i>done</i>—that’s what I want to know. How <i>was</i> it done? Is +it conjuring, or what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think it is chust a ver’ bad tream,” said old Levinstein +to his clerk; “all along Bishopsgate I haf seen the gommon people have +their hants full of food—<i>goot</i> food. Oh yes, without doubt a very +bad tream!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’m dreaming too, sir,” said the clerk, looking down at +his legs with an expression of loathing. “I see my feet in beastly +sandals as plain as plain.” +</p> + +<p> +“All that goot food wasted,” said old Mr Levinstein. A bad +tream—a bad tream.” +</p> + +<p> +The Members of the Stock Exchange are said to be at all times a noisy lot. But +the noise they made now to express their disgust at the costumes of ancient +Babylon was far louder than their ordinary row. One had to shout before one +could hear oneself speak. +</p> + +<p> +“I only wish,” said the clerk who thought it was conjuring—he +was quite close to the children and they trembled, because they knew that +whatever he wished would come true. “I only wish we knew who’d done +it.” +</p> + +<p> +And, of course, instantly they did know, and they pressed round the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“Scandalous! Shameful! Ought to be put down by law. Give her in charge. +Fetch the police,” two or three voices shouted at once. +</p> + +<p> +The Queen recoiled. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” she asked. “They sound like caged +lions—lions by the thousand. What is it that they say?” +</p> + +<p> +“They say ‘Police!’,” said Cyril briefly. “I knew +they would sooner or later. And I don’t blame them, mind you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish my guards were here!” cried the Queen. The exhausted +Psammead was panting and trembling, but the Queen’s guards in red and +green garments, and brass and iron gear, choked Throgmorton Street, and bared +weapons flashed round the Queen. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m mad,” said a Mr Rosenbaum; “dat’s what it +is—mad!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a judgement on you, Rosy,” said his partner. “I +always said you were too hard in that matter of Flowerdew. It’s a +judgement, and I’m in it too.” +</p> + +<p> +The members of the Stock Exchange had edged carefully away from the gleaming +blades, the mailed figures, the hard, cruel Eastern faces. But Throgmorton +Street is narrow, and the crowd was too thick for them to get away as quickly +as they wished. +</p> + +<p> +“Kill them,” cried the Queen. “Kill the dogs!” +</p> + +<p> +The guards obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> all a dream,” cried Mr Levinstein, cowering in a +doorway behind his clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t,” said the clerk. “It isn’t. Oh, my +good gracious! those foreign brutes are killing everybody. Henry Hirsh is down +now, and Prentice is cut in two—oh, Lord! and Huth, and there goes Lionel +Cohen with his head off, and Guy Nickalls has lost his head now. A dream? I +wish to goodness it was all a dream.” +</p> + +<p> +And, of course, instantly it was! The entire Stock Exchange rubbed its eyes and +went back to close, to over, and either side of seven-eights, and Trunks, and +Kaffirs, and Steel Common, and Contangoes, and Backwardations, Double Options, +and all the interesting subjects concerning which they talk in the Street +without ceasing. +</p> + +<p> +No one said a word about it to anyone else. I think I have explained before +that business men do not like it to be known that they have been dreaming in +business hours. Especially mad dreams including such dreadful things as hungry +people getting dinners, and the destruction of the Stock Exchange. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The children were in the dining-room at 300, Fitzroy Street, pale and +trembling. The Psammead crawled out of the embroidered bag, and lay flat on the +table, its leg stretched out, looking more like a dead hare than anything else. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Goodness that’s over,” said Anthea, drawing a deep +breath. +</p> + +<p> +“She won’t come back, will she?” asked Jane tremulously. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Cyril. “She’s thousands of years ago. But we +spent a whole precious pound on her. It’ll take all our pocket-money for +ages to pay that back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if it was <i>all</i> a dream,” said Robert. “The wish +said <i>all</i> a dream, you know, Panther; you cut up and ask if he lent you +anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” said Anthea politely, following the sound of +her knock into the presence of the learned gentleman, “I’m +<i>so</i> sorry to trouble you, but <i>did</i> you lend me a pound +today?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said he, looking kindly at her through his spectacles. +“But it’s extraordinary that you should ask me, for I dozed for a +few moments this afternoon, a thing I very rarely do, and I dreamed quite +distinctly that you brought me a ring that you said belonged to the Queen of +Babylon, and that I lent you a sovereign and that you left one of the +Queen’s rings here. The ring was a magnificent specimen.” He +sighed. “I wish it hadn’t been a dream,” he said smiling. He +was really learning to smile quite nicely. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea could not be too thankful that the Psammead was not there to grant his +wish. +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /> +ATLANTIS</h2> + +<p> +You will understand that the adventure of the Babylonian queen in London was +the only one that had occupied any time at all. But the children’s time +was very fully taken up by talking over all the wonderful things seen and done +in the Past, where, by the power of the Amulet, they seemed to spend hours and +hours, only to find when they got back to London that the whole thing had been +briefer than a lightning flash. +</p> + +<p> +They talked of the Past at their meals, in their walks, in the dining-room, in +the first-floor drawing-room, but most of all on the stairs. It was an old +house; it had once been a fashionable one, and was a fine one still. The +banister rails of the stairs were excellent for sliding down, and in the +corners of the landings were big alcoves that had once held graceful statues, +and now quite often held the graceful forms of Cyril, Robert, Anthea, and Jane. +</p> + +<p> +One day Cyril and Robert in tight white underclothing had spent a pleasant hour +in reproducing the attitudes of statues seen either in the British Museum, or +in Father’s big photograph book. But the show ended abruptly because +Robert wanted to be the Venus of Milo, and for this purpose pulled at the sheet +which served for drapery at the very moment when Cyril, looking really quite +like the Discobolos—with a gold and white saucer for the disc—was +standing on one foot, and under that one foot was the sheet. +</p> + +<p> +Of course the Discobolos and his disc and the would-be Venus came down +together, and everyone was a good deal hurt, especially the saucer, which would +never be the same again, however neatly one might join its uneven bits with +Seccotine or the white of an egg. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you’re satisfied,” said Cyril, holding his head where +a large lump was rising. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite, thanks,” said Robert bitterly. His thumb had caught in the +banisters and bent itself back almost to breaking point. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>am</i> so sorry, poor, dear Squirrel,” said Anthea; +“and you were looking so lovely. I’ll get a wet rag. Bobs, go and +hold your hand under the hot-water tap. It’s what ballet girls do with +their legs when they hurt them. I saw it in a book.” +</p> + +<p> +“What book?” said Robert disagreeably. But he went. +</p> + +<p> +When he came back Cyril’s head had been bandaged by his sisters, and he +had been brought to the state of mind where he was able reluctantly to admit +that he supposed Robert hadn’t done it on purpose. +</p> + +<p> +Robert replying with equal suavity, Anthea hastened to lead the talk away from +the accident. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you don’t feel like going anywhere through the +Amulet,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Egypt!” said Jane promptly. “I want to see the pussy +cats.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not me—too hot,” said Cyril. “It’s about as much +as I can stand here—let alone Egypt.” It was indeed, hot, even on +the second landing, which was the coolest place in the house. +“Let’s go to the North Pole.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose the Amulet was ever there—and we might get +our fingers frost-bitten so that we could never hold it up to get home again. +No thanks,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said Jane, “let’s get the Psammead and ask its +advice. It will like us asking, even if we don’t take it.” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead was brought up in its green silk embroidered bag, but before it +could be asked anything the door of the learned gentleman’s room opened +and the voice of the visitor who had been lunching with him was heard on the +stairs. He seemed to be speaking with the door handle in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You see a doctor, old boy,” he said; “all that about +thought-transference is just simply twaddle. You’ve been over-working. +Take a holiday. Go to Dieppe.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather go to Babylon,” said the learned gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you’d go to Atlantis some time, while we’re about it, +so as to give me some tips for my <i>Nineteenth Century</i> article when you +come home.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I could,” said the voice of the learned gentleman. + +</p> + +<p> +“Goodbye. Take care of yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +The door was banged, and the visitor came smiling down the stairs—a +stout, prosperous, big man. The children had to get up to let him pass. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, Kiddies,” he said, glancing at the bandages on the head of +Cyril and the hand of Robert, “been in the wars?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” said Cyril. “I say, what was that +Atlantic place you wanted him to go to? We couldn’t help hearing you +talk.” +</p> + +<p> +“You talk so <i>very</i> loud, you see,” said Jane soothingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Atlantis,” said the visitor, “the lost Atlantis, garden of +the Hesperides. Great continent—disappeared in the sea. You can read +about it in Plato.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Cyril doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Were there any Amulets there?” asked Anthea, made anxious by a +sudden thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Hundreds, I should think. So <i>he’s</i> been talking to +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, often. He’s very kind to us. We like him awfully.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what he wants is a holiday; you persuade him to take one. What he +wants is a change of scene. You see, his head is crusted so thickly inside with +knowledge about Egypt and Assyria and things that you can’t hammer +anything into it unless you keep hard at it all day long for days and days. And +I haven’t time. But you live in the house. You can hammer almost +incessantly. Just try your hands, will you? Right. So long!” +</p> + +<p> +He went down the stairs three at a time, and Jane remarked that he was a nice +man, and she thought he had little girls of his own. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to have them to play with,” she added pensively. +</p> + +<p> +The three elder ones exchanged glances. Cyril nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“All right. <i>Let’s</i> go to Atlantis,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s go to Atlantis and take the learned gentleman with +us,” said Anthea; “he’ll think it’s a dream, +afterwards, but it’ll certainly be a change of scene.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not take him to nice Egypt?” asked Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Too hot,” said Cyril shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“Or Babylon, where he wants to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had enough of Babylon,” said Robert, “at least +for the present. And so have the others. I don’t know why,” he +added, forestalling the question on Jane’s lips, “but somehow we +have. Squirrel, let’s take off these beastly bandages and get into +flannels. We can’t go in our unders.” +</p> + +<p> +“He <i>wished</i> to go to Atlantis, so he’s got to go some time; +and he might as well go with us,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +This was how it was that the learned gentleman, permitting himself a few +moments of relaxation in his chair, after the fatigue of listening to opinions +(about Atlantis and many other things) with which he did not at all agree, +opened his eyes to find his four young friends standing in front of him in a +row. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you come,” said Anthea, “to Atlantis with us?” +</p> + +<p> +“To know that you are dreaming shows that the dream is nearly at an +end,” he told himself; “or perhaps it’s only a game, like +‘How many miles to Babylon?’” +</p> + +<p> +So he said aloud: “Thank you very much, but I have only a quarter of an +hour to spare.” +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t take any time,” said Cyril; “time is only a +mode of thought, you know, and you’ve got to go some time, so why not +with us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said the learned gentleman, now quite certain that he +was dreaming. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea held out her soft, pink hand. He took it. She pulled him gently to his +feet. Jane held up the Amulet. +</p> + +<p> +“To just outside Atlantis,” said Cyril, and Jane said the Name of +Power. +</p> + +<p> +“You owl!” said Robert, “it’s an island. Outside an +island’s all water.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t go. I <i>won’t</i>,” said the Psammead, +kicking and struggling in its bag. +</p> + +<p> +But already the Amulet had grown to a great arch. Cyril pushed the learned +gentleman, as undoubtedly the first-born, through the arch—not into +water, but on to a wooden floor, out of doors. The others followed. The Amulet +grew smaller again, and there they all were, standing on the deck of a ship +whose sailors were busy making her fast with chains to rings on a white +quay-side. The rings and the chains were of a metal that shone red-yellow like +gold. +</p> + +<p> +Everyone on the ship seemed too busy at first to notice the group of newcomers +from Fitzroy Street. Those who seemed to be officers were shouting orders to +the men. +</p> + +<p> +They stood and looked across the wide quay to the town that rose beyond it. +What they saw was the most beautiful sight any of them had ever seen—or +ever dreamed of. +</p> + +<p> +The blue sea sparkled in soft sunlight; little white-capped waves broke softly +against the marble breakwaters that guarded the shipping of a great city from +the wilderness of winter winds and seas. The quay was of marble, white and +sparkling with a veining bright as gold. The city was of marble, red and white. +The greater buildings that seemed to be temples and palaces were roofed with +what looked like gold and silver, but most of the roofs were of copper that +glowed golden-red on the houses on the hills among which the city stood, and +shaded into marvellous tints of green and blue and purple where they had been +touched by the salt sea spray and the fumes of the dyeing and smelting works of +the lower town. +</p> + +<p> +Broad and magnificent flights of marble stairs led up from the quay to a sort +of terrace that seemed to run along for miles, and beyond rose the town built +on a hill. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman drew a long breath. “Wonderful!” he said, +“wonderful!” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Mr—what’s your name,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“He means,” said Anthea, with gentle politeness, “that we +never can remember your name. I know it’s Mr De Something.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I was your age I was called Jimmy,” he said timidly. +“Would you mind? I should feel more at home in a dream like this if +I—Anything that made me seem more like one of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you—Jimmy,” said Anthea with an effort. It seemed such +a cheek to be saying Jimmy to a grown-up man. “Jimmy, <i>dear</i>,” +she added, with no effort at all. Jimmy smiled and looked pleased. +</p> + +<p> +But now the ship was made fast, and the Captain had time to notice other +things. He came towards them, and he was dressed in the best of all possible +dresses for the seafaring life. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing here?” he asked rather fiercely. “Do you +come to bless or to curse?” +</p> + +<p> +“To bless, of course,” said Cyril. “I’m sorry if it +annoys you, but we’re here by magic. We come from the land of the +sun-rising,” he went on explanatorily. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said the Captain; no one had expected that he would. +“I didn’t notice at first, but of course I hope you’re a good +omen. It’s needed. And this,” he pointed to the learned gentleman, +“your slave, I presume?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said Anthea; “he’s a very great man. A +sage, don’t they call it? And we want to see all your beautiful city, and +your temples and things, and then we shall go back, and he will tell his +friend, and his friend will write a book about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What,” asked the Captain, fingering a rope, “is a +book?” +</p> + +<p> +“A record—something written, or,” she added hastily, +remembering the Babylonian writing, “or engraved.” +</p> + +<p> +Some sudden impulse of confidence made Jane pluck the Amulet from the neck of +her frock. +</p> + +<p> +“Like this,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain looked at it curiously, but, the other three were relieved to +notice, without any of that overwhelming interest which the mere name of it had +roused in Egypt and Babylon. +</p> + +<p> +“The stone is of our country,” he said; “and that which is +engraved on it, it is like our writing, but I cannot read it. What is the name +of your sage?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ji-jimmy,” said Anthea hesitatingly. +</p> + +<p> +The Captain repeated, “Ji-jimmy. Will you land?” he added. +“And shall I lead you to the Kings?” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said Robert, “does your King hate +strangers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Our Kings are ten,” said the Captain, “and the Royal line, +unbroken from Poseidon, the father of us all, has the noble tradition to do +honour to strangers if they come in peace.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then lead on, please,” said Robert, “though I <i>should</i> +like to see all over your beautiful ship, and sail about in her.” +</p> + +<p> +“That shall be later,” said the Captain; “just now +we’re afraid of a storm—do you notice that odd rumbling?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s nothing, master,” said an old sailor who stood near; +“it’s the pilchards coming in, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too loud,” said the Captain. +</p> + +<p> +There was a rather anxious pause; then the Captain stepped on to the quay, and +the others followed him. +</p> + +<p> +“Do talk to him—Jimmy,” said Anthea as they went; “you +can find out all sorts of things for your friend’s book.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please excuse me,” he said earnestly. “If I talk I shall +wake up; and besides, I can’t understand what he says.” +</p> + +<p> +No one else could think of anything to say, so that it was in complete silence +that they followed the Captain up the marble steps and through the streets of +the town. There were streets and shops and houses and markets. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just like Babylon,” whispered Jane, “only +everything’s perfectly different.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a great comfort the ten Kings have been properly brought +up—to be kind to strangers,” Anthea whispered to Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, “no deepest dungeons here.” +</p> + +<p> +There were no horses or chariots in the street, but there were handcarts and +low trolleys running on thick log-wheels, and porters carrying packets on their +heads, and a good many of the people were riding on what looked like elephants, +only the great beasts were hairy, and they had not that mild expression we are +accustomed to meet on the faces of the elephants at the Zoo. +</p> + +<p> +“Mammoths!” murmured the learned gentleman, and stumbled over a +loose stone. +</p> + +<p> +The people in the streets kept crowding round them as they went along, but the +Captain always dispersed the crowd before it grew uncomfortably thick by +saying— +</p> + +<p> +“Children of the Sun God and their High Priest—come to bless the +City.” +</p> + +<p> +And then the people would draw back with a low murmur that sounded like a +suppressed cheer. +</p> + +<p> +Many of the buildings were covered with gold, but the gold on the bigger +buildings was of a different colour, and they had sorts of steeples of +burnished silver rising above them. +</p> + +<p> +“Are all these houses real gold?” asked Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“The temples are covered with gold, of course,” answered the +Captain, “but the houses are only oricalchum. It’s not quite so +expensive.” +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman, now very pale, stumbled along in a dazed way, repeating: +</p> + +<p> +“Oricalchum—oricalchum.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be frightened,” said Anthea; “we can get home in +a minute, just by holding up the charm. Would you rather go back now? We could +easily come some other day without you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, no,” he pleaded fervently; “let the dream go on. +Please, please do.” +</p> + +<p> +“The High Ji-jimmy is perhaps weary with his magic journey,” said +the Captain, noticing the blundering walk of the learned gentleman; “and +we are yet very far from the Great Temple, where today the Kings make +sacrifice.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped at the gate of a great enclosure. It seemed to be a sort of park, +for trees showed high above its brazen wall. +</p> + +<p> +The party waited, and almost at once the Captain came back with one of the +hairy elephants and begged them to mount. +</p> + +<p> +This they did. +</p> + +<p> +It was a glorious ride. The elephant at the Zoo—to ride on him is also +glorious, but he goes such a very little way, and then he goes back again, +which is always dull. But this great hairy beast went on and on and on along +streets and through squares and gardens. It was a glorious city; almost +everything was built of marble, red, or white, or black. Every now and then the +party crossed a bridge. +</p> + +<p> +It was not till they had climbed to the hill which is the centre of the town +that they saw that the whole city was divided into twenty circles, alternately +land and water, and over each of the water circles were the bridges by which +they had come. +</p> + +<p> +And now they were in a great square. A vast building filled up one side of it; +it was overlaid with gold, and had a dome of silver. The rest of the buildings +round the square were of oricalchum. And it looked more splendid than you can +possibly imagine, standing up bold and shining in the sunlight. +</p> + +<p> +“You would like a bath,” said the Captain, as the hairy elephant +went clumsily down on his knees. “It’s customary, you know, before +entering the Presence. We have baths for men, women, horses, and cattle. The +High Class Baths are here. Our Father Poseidon gave us a spring of hot water +and one of cold.” +</p> + +<p> +The children had never before bathed in baths of gold. +</p> + +<p> +“It feels very splendid,” said Cyril, splashing. +</p> + +<p> +“At least, of course, it’s not gold; it’s +or—what’s its name,” said Robert. “Hand over that +towel.” +</p> + +<p> +The bathing hall had several great pools sunk below the level of the floor; one +went down to them by steps. +</p> + +<p> +“Jimmy,” said Anthea timidly, when, very clean and boiled-looking, +they all met in the flowery courtyard of the Public, “don’t you +think all this seems much more like <i>now</i> than Babylon or Egypt—? +Oh, I forgot, you’ve never been there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know a little of those nations, however,” said he, “and I +quite agree with you. A most discerning remark—my dear,” he added +awkwardly; “this city certainly seems to indicate a far higher level of +civilization than the Egyptian or Babylonish, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Follow me,” said the Captain. “Now, boys, get out of the +way.” He pushed through a little crowd of boys who were playing with +dried chestnuts fastened to a string. +</p> + +<p> +“Ginger!” remarked Robert, “they’re playing conkers, +just like the kids in Kentish Town Road!” +</p> + +<p> +They could see now that three walls surrounded the island on which they were. +The outermost wall was of brass, the Captain told them; the next, which looked +like silver, was covered with tin; and the innermost one was of oricalchum. +</p> + +<p> +And right in the middle was a wall of gold, with golden towers and gates. +</p> + +<p> +“Behold the Temples of Poseidon,” said the Captain. “It is +not lawful for me to enter. I will await your return here.” +</p> + +<p> +He told them what they ought to say, and the five people from Fitzroy Street +took hands and went forward. The golden gates slowly opened. +</p> + +<p> +“We are the children of the Sun,” said Cyril, as he had been told, +“and our High Priest, at least that’s what the Captain calls him. +We have a different name for him at home.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is his name?” asked a white-robed man who stood in the +doorway with his arms extended. +</p> + +<p> +“Ji-jimmy,” replied Cyril, and he hesitated as Anthea had done. It +really did seem to be taking a great liberty with so learned a gentleman. +“And we have come to speak with your Kings in the Temple of +Poseidon—does that word sound right?” he whispered anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite,” said the learned gentleman. “It’s very odd I +can understand what you say to them, but not what they say to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Queen of Babylon found that too,” said Cyril; +“it’s part of the magic.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what a dream!” said the learned gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +The white-robed priest had been joined by others, and all were bowing low. +</p> + +<p> +“Enter,” he said, “enter, Children of the Sun, with your High +Ji-jimmy.” +</p> + +<p> +In an inner courtyard stood the Temple—all of silver, with gold pinnacles +and doors, and twenty enormous statues in bright gold of men and women. Also an +immense pillar of the other precious yellow metal. +</p> + +<p> +They went through the doors, and the priest led them up a stair into a gallery +from which they could look down on to the glorious place. +</p> + +<p> +“The ten Kings are even now choosing the bull. It is not lawful for me to +behold,” said the priest, and fell face downward on the floor outside the +gallery. The children looked down. +</p> + +<p> +The roof was of ivory adorned with the three precious metals, and the walls +were lined with the favourite oricalchum. +</p> + +<p> +At the far end of the Temple was a statue group, the like of which no one +living has ever seen. +</p> + +<p> +It was of gold, and the head of the chief figure reached to the roof. That +figure was Poseidon, the Father of the City. He stood in a great chariot drawn +by six enormous horses, and round about it were a hundred mermaids riding on +dolphins. +</p> + +<p> +Ten men, splendidly dressed and armed only with sticks and ropes, were trying +to capture one of some fifteen bulls who ran this way and that about the floor +of the Temple. The children held their breath, for the bulls looked dangerous, +and the great horned heads were swinging more and more wildly. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea did not like looking at the bulls. She looked about the gallery, and +noticed that another staircase led up from it to a still higher storey; also +that a door led out into the open air, where there seemed to be a balcony. +</p> + +<p> +So that when a shout went up and Robert whispered, “Got him,” and +she looked down and saw the herd of bulls being driven out of the Temple by +whips, and the ten Kings following, one of them spurring with his stick a black +bull that writhed and fought in the grip of a lasso, she answered the +boy’s agitated, “Now we shan’t see anything more,” +with— +</p> + +<p> +“Yes we can, there’s an outside balcony.” +</p> + +<p> +So they crowded out. +</p> + +<p> +But very soon the girls crept back. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like sacrifices,” Jane said. So she and Anthea went +and talked to the priest, who was no longer lying on his face, but sitting on +the top step mopping his forehead with his robe, for it was a hot day. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a special sacrifice,” he said; “usually +it’s only done on the justice days every five years and six years +alternately. And then they drink the cup of wine with some of the bull’s +blood in it, and swear to judge truly. And they wear the sacred blue robe, and +put out all the Temple fires. But this today is because the City’s so +upset by the odd noises from the sea, and the god inside the big mountain +speaking with his thunder-voice. But all that’s happened so often before. +If anything could make ME uneasy it wouldn’t be <i>that</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“What would it be?” asked Jane kindly. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be the Lemmings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are they—enemies?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re a sort of rat; and every year they come swimming over from +the country that no man knows, and stay here awhile, and then swim away. This +year they haven’t come. You know rats won’t stay on a ship +that’s going to be wrecked. If anything horrible were going to happen to +us, it’s my belief those Lemmings would know; and that may be why +they’ve fought shy of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you call this country?” asked the Psammead, suddenly +putting its head out of its bag. +</p> + +<p> +“Atlantis,” said the priest. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I advise you to get on to the highest ground you can find. I +remember hearing something about a flood here. Look here, you”—it +turned to Anthea; “let’s get home. The prospect’s too wet for +my whiskers.” +</p> + +<p> +The girls obediently went to find their brothers, who were leaning on the +balcony railings. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s the learned gentleman?” asked Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“There he is—below,” said the priest, who had come with them. +“Your High Ji-jimmy is with the Kings.” +</p> + +<p> +The ten Kings were no longer alone. The learned gentleman—no one had +noticed how he got there—stood with them on the steps of an altar, on +which lay the dead body of the black bull. All the rest of the courtyard was +thick with people, seemingly of all classes, and all were shouting, “The +sea—the sea!” +</p> + +<p> +“Be calm,” said the most kingly of the Kings, he who had lassoed +the bull. “Our town is strong against the thunders of the sea and of the +sky!” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to go home,” whined the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t go without <i>him</i>,” said Anthea firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Jimmy,” she called, “Jimmy!” and waved to him. He +heard her, and began to come towards her through the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +They could see from the balcony the sea-captain edging his way out from among +the people. And his face was dead white, like paper. +</p> + +<p> +“To the hills!” he cried in a loud and terrible voice. And above +his voice came another voice, louder, more terrible—the voice of the sea. +</p> + +<p> +The girls looked seaward. +</p> + +<p> +Across the smooth distance of the sea something huge and black rolled towards +the town. It was a wave, but a wave a hundred feet in height, a wave that +looked like a mountain—a wave rising higher and higher till suddenly it +seemed to break in two—one half of it rushed out to sea again; the +other— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Anthea, “the town—the poor people!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all thousands of years ago, really,” said Robert but +his voice trembled. They hid their eyes for a moment. They could not bear to +look down, for the wave had broken on the face of the town, sweeping over the +quays and docks, overwhelming the great storehouses and factories, tearing +gigantic stones from forts and bridges, and using them as battering rams +against the temples. Great ships were swept over the roofs of the houses and +dashed down halfway up the hill among ruined gardens and broken buildings. The +water ground brown fishing-boats to powder on the golden roofs of Palaces. +</p> + +<p> +Then the wave swept back towards the sea. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to go home,” cried the Psammead fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, yes!” said Jane, and the boys were ready—but the +learned gentleman had not come. +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly they heard him dash up to the inner gallery, crying— +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>must</i> see the end of the dream.” He rushed up the higher +flight. The others followed him. They found themselves in a sort of +turret—roofed, but open to the air at the sides. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman was leaning on the parapet, and as they rejoined him the +vast wave rushed back on the town. This time it rose higher—destroyed +more. +</p> + +<p> +“Come home,” cried the Psammead; “<i>that’s</i> the +<i>last</i>, I know it is! That’s the last—over there.” It +pointed with a claw that trembled. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come!” cried Jane, holding up the Amulet. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>will see</i> the end of the dream,” cried the learned +gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll never see anything else if you do,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>Jimmy!</i>” appealed Anthea. “I’ll <i>never</i> +bring you out again!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll never have the chance if you don’t go soon,” +said the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>will</i> see the end of the dream,” said the learned +gentleman obstinately. +</p> + +<p> +The hills around were black with people fleeing from the villages to the +mountains. And even as they fled thin smoke broke from the great white peak, +and then a faint flash of flame. Then the volcano began to throw up its +mysterious fiery inside parts. The earth trembled; ashes and sulphur showered +down; a rain of fine pumice-stone fell like snow on all the dry land. The +elephants from the forest rushed up towards the peaks; great lizards thirty +yards long broke from the mountain pools and rushed down towards the sea. The +snows melted and rushed down, first in avalanches, then in roaring torrents. +Great rocks cast up by the volcano fell splashing in the sea miles away. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, this is horrible!” cried Anthea. “Come home, come +home!” +</p> + +<p> +“The end of the dream,” gasped the learned gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold up the Amulet,” cried the Psammead suddenly. The place where +they stood was now crowded with men and women, and the children were strained +tight against the parapet. The turret rocked and swayed; the wave had reached +the golden wall. +</p> + +<p> +Jane held up the Amulet. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” cried the Psammead, “say the word!” +</p> + +<p> +And as Jane said it the Psammead leaped from its bag and bit the hand of the +learned gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +At the same moment the boys pushed him through the arch and all followed him. +</p> + +<p> +He turned to look back, and through the arch he saw nothing but a waste of +waters, with above it the peak of the terrible mountain with fire raging from +it. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +He staggered back to his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“What a ghastly dream!” he gasped. “Oh, you’re here, +my—er—dears. Can I do anything for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve hurt your hand,” said Anthea gently; “let me +bind it up.” +</p> + +<p> +The hand was indeed bleeding rather badly. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead had crept back to its bag. All the children were very white. +</p> + +<p> +“Never again,” said the Psammead later on, “will I go into +the Past with a grown-up person! I will say for you four, you do do as +you’re told.” +</p> + +<p> +“We didn’t even find the Amulet,” said Anthea later still. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you didn’t; it wasn’t there. Only the stone it was +made of was there. It fell on to a ship miles away that managed to escape and +got to Egypt. <i>I</i> could have told you that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you had,” said Anthea, and her voice was still rather +shaky. “Why didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You never asked me,” said the Psammead very sulkily. +“I’m not the sort of chap to go shoving my oar in where it’s +not wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr Ji-jimmy’s friend will have something worth having to put in +his article now,” said Cyril very much later indeed. +</p> + +<p> +“Not he,” said Robert sleepily. “The learned Ji-jimmy will +think it’s a dream, and it’s ten to one he never tells the other +chap a word about it at all.” +</p> + +<p> +Robert was quite right on both points. The learned gentleman did. And he never +did. +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /> +THE LITTLE BLACK GIRL AND JULIUS CAESAR</h2> + +<p> +A great city swept away by the sea, a beautiful country devastated by an active +volcano—these are not the sort of things you see every day of the week. +And when you do see them, no matter how many other wonders you may have seen in +your time, such sights are rather apt to take your breath away. Atlantis had +certainly this effect on the breaths of Cyril, Robert, Anthea, and Jane. +</p> + +<p> +They remained in a breathless state for some days. The learned gentleman seemed +as breathless as anyone; he spent a good deal of what little breath he had in +telling Anthea about a wonderful dream he had. “You would hardly +believe,” he said, “that anyone <i>could</i> have such a detailed +vision.” +</p> + +<p> +But Anthea could believe it, she said, quite easily. +</p> + +<p> +He had ceased to talk about thought-transference. He had now seen too many +wonders to believe that. +</p> + +<p> +In consequence of their breathless condition none of the children suggested any +new excursions through the Amulet. Robert voiced the mood of the others when he +said that they were “fed up” with Amulet for a bit. They +undoubtedly were. +</p> + +<p> +As for the Psammead, it went to sand and stayed there, worn out by the terror +of the flood and the violent exercise it had had to take in obedience to the +inconsiderate wishes of the learned gentleman and the Babylonian queen. +</p> + +<p> +The children let it sleep. The danger of taking it about among strange people +who might at any moment utter undesirable wishes was becoming more and more +plain. +</p> + +<p> +And there are pleasant things to be done in London without any aid from Amulets +or Psammeads. You can, for instance visit the Tower of London, the Houses of +Parliament, the National Gallery, the Zoological Gardens, the various Parks, +the Museums at South Kensington, Madame Tussaud’s Exhibition of Waxworks, +or the Botanical Gardens at Kew. You can go to Kew by river steamer—and +this is the way that the children would have gone if they had gone at all. Only +they never did, because it was when they were discussing the arrangements for +the journey, and what they should take with them to eat and how much of it, and +what the whole thing would cost, that the adventure of the Little Black Girl +began to happen. +</p> + +<p> +The children were sitting on a seat in St James’s Park. They had been +watching the pelican repulsing with careful dignity the advances of the +seagulls who are always so anxious to play games with it. The pelican thinks, +very properly, that it hasn’t the figure for games, so it spends most of +its time pretending that that is not the reason why it won’t play. +</p> + +<p> +The breathlessness caused by Atlantis was wearing off a little. Cyril, who +always wanted to understand all about everything, was turning things over in +his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not; I’m only thinking,” he answered when Robert +asked him what he was so grumpy about. “I’ll tell you when +I’ve thought it all out.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s about the Amulet I don’t want to hear it,” +said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody asked you to,” retorted Cyril mildly, “and I +haven’t finished my inside thinking about it yet. Let’s go to Kew +in the meantime.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather go in a steamer,” said Robert; and the girls +laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” said Cyril, “<i>be</i> funny. I +would.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he was, rather,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t think, Squirrel, if it hurts you so,” said Robert +kindly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, shut up,” said Cyril, “or else talk about Kew.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see the palms there,” said Anthea hastily, “to see +if they’re anything like the ones on the island where we united the Cook +and the Burglar by the Reverend Half-Curate.” +</p> + +<p> +All disagreeableness was swept away in a pleasant tide of recollections, and +“Do you remember...?” they said. “Have you +forgotten...?” +</p> + +<p> +“My hat!” remarked Cyril pensively, as the flood of reminiscence +ebbed a little; “we have had some times.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have that,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let’s have any more,” said Jane anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I was thinking about,” Cyril replied; and just +then they heard the Little Black Girl sniff. She was quite close to them. +</p> + +<p> +She was not really a little black girl. She was shabby and not very clean, and +she had been crying so much that you could hardly see, through the narrow chink +between her swollen lids, how very blue her eyes were. It was her dress that +was black, and it was too big and too long for her, and she wore a speckled +black-ribboned sailor hat that would have fitted a much bigger head than her +little flaxen one. And she stood looking at the children and sniffing. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear!” said Anthea, jumping up. “Whatever is the +matter?” +</p> + +<p> +She put her hand on the little girl’s arm. It was rudely shaken off. +</p> + +<p> +“You leave me be,” said the little girl. “I ain’t doing +nothing to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is it?” Anthea asked. “Has someone been hurting +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that to you?” said the little girl fiercely. +“<i>You’re</i> all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come away,” said Robert, pulling at Anthea’s sleeve. +“She’s a nasty, rude little kid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said Anthea. “She’s only dreadfully unhappy. +What is it?” she asked again. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>you’re</i> all right,” the child repeated; +“<i>you</i> ain’t agoin’ to the Union.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t we take you home?” said Anthea; and Jane added, +“Where does your mother live?” +</p> + +<p> +“She don’t live nowheres—she’s dead—so +now!” said the little girl fiercely, in tones of miserable triumph. Then +she opened her swollen eyes widely, stamped her foot in fury, and ran away. She +ran no further than to the next bench, flung herself down there and began to +cry without even trying not to. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea, quite at once, went to the little girl and put her arms as tight as she +could round the hunched-up black figure. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t cry so, dear, don’t, don’t!” she +whispered under the brim of the large sailor hat, now very crooked indeed. +“Tell Anthea all about it; Anthea’lll help you. There, there, dear, +don’t cry.” +</p> + +<p> +The others stood at a distance. One or two passers-by stared curiously. +</p> + +<p> +The child was now only crying part of the time; the rest of the time she seemed +to be talking to Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Anthea beckoned Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s horrible!” she said in a furious whisper, “her +father was a carpenter and he was a steady man, and never touched a drop except +on a Saturday, and he came up to London for work, and there wasn’t any, +and then he died; and her name is Imogen, and she’s nine come next +November. And now her mother’s dead, and she’s to stay tonight with +Mrs Shrobsall—that’s a landlady that’s been kind—and +tomorrow the Relieving Officer is coming for her, and she’s going into +the Union; that means the Workhouse. It’s too terrible. What can we +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s ask the learned gentleman,” said Jane brightly. +</p> + +<p> +And as no one else could think of anything better the whole party walked back +to Fitzroy Street as fast as it could, the little girl holding tight to +Anthea’s hand and now not crying any more, only sniffing gently. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman looked up from his writing with the smile that had grown +much easier to him than it used to be. They were quite at home in his room now; +it really seemed to welcome them. Even the mummy-case appeared to smile as if +in its distant superior ancient Egyptian way it were rather pleased to see them +than not. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea sat on the stairs with Imogen, who was nine come next November, while +the others went in and explained the difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman listened with grave attention. +</p> + +<p> +“It really does seem rather rough luck,” Cyril concluded, +“because I’ve often heard about rich people who wanted children +most awfully—though I know <i>I</i> never should—but they do. There +must be somebody who’d be glad to have her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gipsies are awfully fond of children,” Robert hopefully said. +“They’re always stealing them. Perhaps they’d have +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s quite a nice little girl really,” Jane added; +“she was only rude at first because we looked jolly and happy, and she +wasn’t. You understand that, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, absently fingering a little blue image from Egypt. +“I understand that very well. As you say, there must be some home where +she would be welcome.” He scowled thoughtfully at the little blue image. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea outside thought the explanation was taking a very long time. She was so +busy trying to cheer and comfort the little black girl that she never noticed +the Psammead who, roused from sleep by her voice, had shaken itself free of +sand, and was coming crookedly up the stairs. It was close to her before she +saw it. She picked it up and settled it in her lap. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked the black child. “Is it a cat or a +organ-monkey, or what?” +</p> + +<p> +And then Anthea heard the learned gentleman say— +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I wish we could find a home where they would be glad to have +her,” and instantly she felt the Psammead begin to blow itself out as it +sat on her lap. +</p> + +<p> +She jumped up lifting the Psammead in her skirt, and holding Imogen by the +hand, rushed into the learned gentleman’s room. +</p> + +<p> +“At least let’s keep together,” she cried. “All hold +hands—quick!” +</p> + +<p> +The circle was like that formed for the Mulberry Bush or Ring-o’-Roses. +And Anthea was only able to take part in it by holding in her teeth the hem of +her frock which, thus supported, formed a bag to hold the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a game?” asked the learned gentleman feebly. No one +answered. +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment of suspense; then came that curious upside-down, inside-out +sensation which one almost always feels when transported from one place to +another by magic. Also there was that dizzy dimness of sight which comes on +these occasions. +</p> + +<p> +The mist cleared, the upside-down, inside-out sensation subsided, and there +stood the six in a ring, as before, only their twelve feet, instead of standing +on the carpet of the learned gentleman’s room, stood on green grass. +Above them, instead of the dusky ceiling of the Fitzroy Street floor, was a +pale blue sky. And where the walls had been and the painted mummy-case, were +tall dark green trees, oaks and ashes, and in between the trees and under them +tangled bushes and creeping ivy. There were beech-trees too, but there was +nothing under them but their own dead red drifted leaves, and here and there a +delicate green fern-frond. +</p> + +<p> +And there they stood in a circle still holding hands, as though they were +playing Ring-o’-Roses or the Mulberry Bush. Just six people hand in hand +in a wood. That sounds simple, but then you must remember that they did not +know <i>where</i> the wood was, and what’s more, they didn’t know +<i>when</i> then wood was. There was a curious sort of feeling that made the +learned gentleman say— +</p> + +<p> +“Another dream, dear me!” and made the children almost certain that +they were in a time a very long while ago. As for little Imogen, she said, +“Oh, my!” and kept her mouth very much open indeed. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are we?” Cyril asked the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“In Britain,” said the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“But when?” asked Anthea anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“About the year fifty-five before the year you reckon time from,” +said the Psammead crossly. “Is there anything else you want to +know?” it added, sticking its head out of the bag formed by +Anthea’s blue linen frock, and turning its snail’s eyes to right +and left. “I’ve been here before—it’s very little +changed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but why here?” asked Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“Your inconsiderate friend,” the Psammead replied, “wished to +find some home where they would be glad to have that unattractive and immature +female human being whom you have picked up—gracious knows how. In +Megatherium days properly brought-up children didn’t talk to shabby +strangers in parks. Your thoughtless friend wanted a place where someone would +be glad to have this undesirable stranger. And now here you are!” +</p> + +<p> +“I see we are,” said Anthea patiently, looking round on the tall +gloom of the forest. “But why <i>here?</i> Why <i>now?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t suppose anyone would want a child like that in +<i>your</i> times—in <i>your</i> towns?” said the Psammead in +irritated tones. “You’ve got your country into such a mess that +there’s no room for half your children—and no one to want +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not our doing, you know,” said Anthea gently. +</p> + +<p> +“And bringing me here without any waterproof or anything,” said the +Psammead still more crossly, “when everyone knows how damp and foggy +Ancient Britain was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, take my coat,” said Robert, taking it off. Anthea spread the +coat on the ground and, putting the Psammead on it, folded it round so that +only the eyes and furry ears showed. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” she said comfortingly. “Now if it does begin to look +like rain, I can cover you up in a minute. Now what are we to do?” +</p> + +<p> +The others who had stopped holding hands crowded round to hear the answer to +this question. Imogen whispered in an awed tone— +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t the organ monkey talk neither! I thought it was only +parrots!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do?” replied the Psammead. “I don’t care what you +do!” And it drew head and ears into the tweed covering of Robert’s +coat. +</p> + +<p> +The others looked at each other. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only a dream,” said the learned gentleman hopefully; +“something is sure to happen if we can prevent ourselves from waking +up.” +</p> + +<p> +And sure enough, something did. +</p> + +<p> +The brooding silence of the dark forest was broken by the laughter of children +and the sound of voices. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s go and see,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only a dream,” said the learned gentleman to Jane, who +hung back; “if you don’t go with the tide of a dream—if you +resist—you wake up, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a sort of break in the undergrowth that was like a silly +person’s idea of a path. They went along this in Indian file, the learned +gentleman leading. +</p> + +<p> +Quite soon they came to a large clearing in the forest. There were a number of +houses—huts perhaps you would have called them—with a sort of mud +and wood fence. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s like the old Egyptian town,” whispered Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +And it was, rather. +</p> + +<p> +Some children, with no clothes on at all, were playing what looked like +Ring-o’-Roses or Mulberry Bush. That is to say, they were dancing round +in a ring, holding hands. On a grassy bank several women, dressed in blue and +white robes and tunics of beast-skins sat watching the playing children. +</p> + +<p> +The children from Fitzroy Street stood on the fringe of the forest looking at +the games. One woman with long, fair braided hair sat a little apart from the +others, and there was a look in her eyes as she followed the play of the +children that made Anthea feel sad and sorry. +</p> + +<p> +“None of those little girls is her own little girl,” thought +Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +The little black-clad London child pulled at Anthea’s sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“Look,” she said, “that one there—she’s precious +like mother; mother’s “air was somethink lovely, when she “ad +time to comb it out. Mother wouldn’t never a-beat me if she’d lived +’ere—I don’t suppose there’s e’er a public nearer +than Epping, do you, Miss?” +</p> + +<p> +In her eagerness the child had stepped out of the shelter of the forest. The +sad-eyed woman saw her. She stood up, her thin face lighted up with a radiance +like sunrise, her long, lean arms stretched towards the London child. +</p> + +<p> +“Imogen!” she cried—at least the word was more like that than +any other word—“Imogen!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment of great silence; the naked children paused in their play, +the women on the bank stared anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it <i>is</i> mother—it <i>is!</i>” cried +Imogen-from-London, and rushed across the cleared space. She and her mother +clung together—so closely, so strongly that they stood an instant like a +statue carved in stone. +</p> + +<p> +Then the women crowded round. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> my Imogen!” cried the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh it is! And she wasn’t eaten by wolves. She’s come back to +me. Tell me, my darling, how did you escape? Where have you been? Who has fed +and clothed you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know nothink,” said Imogen. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor child!” whispered the women who crowded round, “the +terror of the wolves has turned her brain.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you know <i>me?</i>” said the fair-haired woman. +</p> + +<p> +And Imogen, clinging with black-clothed arms to the bare neck, answered— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, mother, I know <i>you</i> right ’nough.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it? What do they say?” the learned gentleman asked +anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“You wished to come where someone wanted the child,” said the +Psammead. “The child says this is her mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can see,” said the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“But is she really? Her child, I mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows?” said the Psammead; “but each one fills the empty +place in the other’s heart. It is enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said the learned gentleman, “this is a good dream. I +wish the child might stay in the dream.” +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead blew itself out and granted the wish. So Imogen’s future was +assured. She had found someone to want her. +</p> + +<p> +“If only all the children that no one wants,” began the learned +gentleman—but the woman interrupted. She came towards them. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome, all!” she cried. “I am the Queen, and my child +tells me that you have befriended her; and this I well believe, looking on your +faces. Your garb is strange, but faces I can read. The child is bewitched, I +see that well, but in this she speaks truth. Is it not so?” +</p> + +<p> +The children said it wasn’t worth mentioning. +</p> + +<p> +I wish you could have seen all the honours and kindnesses lavished on the +children and the learned gentleman by those ancient Britons. You would have +thought, to see them, that a child was something to make a fuss about, not a +bit of rubbish to be hustled about the streets and hidden away in the +Workhouse. It wasn’t as grand as the entertainment at Babylon, but +somehow it was more satisfying. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you children have some wonderful influence on me,” said +the learned gentleman. “I never dreamed such dreams before I knew +you.” +</p> + +<p> +It was when they were alone that night under the stars where the Britons had +spread a heap Of dried fern for them to sleep on, that Cyril spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “we’ve made it all right for Imogen, +and had a jolly good time. I vote we get home again before the fighting +begins.” +</p> + +<p> +“What fighting?” asked Jane sleepily. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Julius Caesar, you little goat,” replied her kind brother. +“Don’t you see that if this is the year fifty-five, Julius Caesar +may happen at any moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you liked Caesar,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“So I do—in the history. But that’s different from being +killed by his soldiers.” +</p> + +<p> +“If we saw Caesar we might persuade him not to,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> persuade <i>Caesar</i>,” Robert laughed. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman, before anyone could stop him, said, “I only wish +we could see Caesar some time.” +</p> + +<p> +And, of course, in just the little time the Psammead took to blow itself out +for wish-giving, the five, or six counting the Psammead, found themselves in +Caesar’s camp, just outside Caesar’s tent. And they saw Caesar. The +Psammead must have taken advantage of the loose wording of the learned +gentleman’s wish, for it was not the same time of day as that on which +the wish had been uttered among the dried ferns. It was sunset, and the great +man sat on a chair outside his tent gazing over the sea towards +Britain—everyone knew without being told that it was towards Britain. Two +golden eagles on the top of posts stood on each side of the tent, and on the +flaps of the tent which was very gorgeous to look at were the letters S.P.Q.R. +</p> + +<p> +The great man turned unchanged on the newcomers the august glance that he had +turned on the violet waters of the Channel. Though they had suddenly appeared +out of nothing, Caesar never showed by the faintest movement of an eyelid, by +the least tightening of that firm mouth, that they were not some long expected +embassy. He waved a calm hand towards the sentinels, who sprang weapons in hand +towards the newcomers. +</p> + +<p> +“Back!” he said in a voice that thrilled like music. “Since +when has Caesar feared children and students?” +</p> + +<p> +To the children he seemed to speak in the only language they knew; but the +learned gentleman heard—in rather a strange accent, but quite +intelligibly—the lips of Caesar speaking in the Latin tongue, and in that +tongue, a little stiffly, he answered— +</p> + +<p> +“It is a dream, O Caesar.” +</p> + +<p> +“A dream?” repeated Caesar. “What is a dream?” +</p> + +<p> +“This,” said the learned gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“Not it,” said Cyril, “it’s a sort of magic. We come +out of another time and another place.” +</p> + +<p> +“And we want to ask you not to trouble about conquering Britain,” +said Anthea; “it’s a poor little place, not worth bothering +about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you from Britain?” the General asked. “Your clothes are +uncouth, but well woven, and your hair is short as the hair of Roman citizens, +not long like the hair of barbarians, yet such I deem you to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re not,” said Jane with angry eagerness; +“we’re not barbarians at all. We come from the country where the +sun never sets, and we’ve read about you in books; and our +country’s full of fine things—St Paul’s, and the Tower of +London, and Madame Tussaud’s Exhibition, and—” +</p> + +<p> +Then the others stopped her. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Robert in a bitter undertone. +</p> + +<p> +Caesar looked at the children a moment in silence. Then he called a soldier and +spoke with him apart. Then he said aloud— +</p> + +<p> +“You three elder children may go where you will within the camp. Few +children are privileged to see the camp of Caesar. The student and the smaller +girl-child will remain here with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Nobody liked this; but when Caesar said a thing that thing was so, and there +was an end to it. So the three went. +</p> + +<p> +Left alone with Jane and the learned gentleman, the great Roman found it easy +enough to turn them inside out. But it was not easy, even for him, to make head +or tail of the insides of their minds when he had got at them. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman insisted that the whole thing was a dream, and refused to +talk much, on the ground that if he did he would wake up. +</p> + +<p> +Jane, closely questioned, was full of information about railways, electric +lights, balloons, men-of-war, cannons, and dynamite. +</p> + +<p> +“And do they fight with swords?” asked the General. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, swords and guns and cannons.” +</p> + +<p> +Caesar wanted to know what guns were. +</p> + +<p> +“You fire them,” said Jane, “and they go bang, and people +fall down dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what are guns like?” +</p> + +<p> +Jane found them hard to describe. +</p> + +<p> +“But Robert has a toy one in his pocket,” she said. So the others +were recalled. +</p> + +<p> +The boys explained the pistol to Caesar very fully, and he looked at it with +the greatest interest. It was a two-shilling pistol, the one that had done such +good service in the old Egyptian village. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall cause guns to be made,” said Caesar, “and you will +be detained till I know whether you have spoken the truth. I had just decided +that Britain was not worth the bother of invading. But what you tell me decides +me that it is very much worth while.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s all nonsense,” said Anthea. “Britain is just +a savage sort of island—all fogs and trees and big rivers. But the people +are kind. We know a little girl there named Imogen. And it’s no use your +making guns because you can’t fire them without gunpowder, and that +won’t be invented for hundreds of years, and we don’t know how to +make it, and we can’t tell you. Do go straight home, dear Caesar, and let +poor little Britain alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“But this other girl-child says—” said Caesar. +</p> + +<p> +“All Jane’s been telling you is what it’s going to be,” +Anthea interrupted, “hundreds and hundreds of years from now.” +</p> + +<p> +“The little one is a prophetess, eh?” said Caesar, with a whimsical +look. “Rather young for the business, isn’t she?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can call her a prophetess if you like,” said Cyril, “but +what Anthea says is true.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anthea?” said Caesar. “That’s a Greek name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely,” said Cyril, worriedly. “I say, I do wish +you’d give up this idea of conquering Britain. It’s not worth +while, really it isn’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary,” said Caesar, “what you’ve told me +has decided me to go, if it’s only to find out what Britain is really +like. Guards, detain these children.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quick,” said Robert, “before the guards begin detaining. We +had enough of that in Babylon.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane held up the Amulet away from the sunset, and said the word. The learned +gentleman was pushed through and the others more quickly than ever before +passed through the arch back into their own times and the quiet dusty +sitting-room of the learned gentleman. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It is a curious fact that when Caesar was encamped on the coast of +Gaul—somewhere near Boulogne it was, I believe—he was sitting +before his tent in the glow of the sunset, looking out over the violet waters +of the English Channel. Suddenly he started, rubbed his eyes, and called his +secretary. The young man came quickly from within the tent. +</p> + +<p> +“Marcus,” said Caesar. “I have dreamed a very wonderful +dream. Some of it I forget, but I remember enough to decide what was not before +determined. Tomorrow the ships that have been brought round from the Ligeris +shall be provisioned. We shall sail for this three-cornered island. First, we +will take but two legions. +</p> + +<p> +This, if what we have heard be true, should suffice. But if my dream be true, +then a hundred legions will not suffice. For the dream I dreamed was the most +wonderful that ever tormented the brain even of Caesar. And Caesar has dreamed +some strange things in his time.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“And if you hadn’t told Caesar all that about how things are now, +he’d never have invaded Britain,” said Robert to Jane as they sat +down to tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nonsense,” said Anthea, pouring out; “it was all settled +hundreds of years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Cyril. “Jam, please. This about +time being only a thingummy of thought is very confusing. If everything happens +at the same time—” +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>can’t!</i>” said Anthea stoutly, “the +present’s the present and the past’s the past.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not always,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“When we were in the Past the present was the future. Now then!” he +added triumphantly. +</p> + +<p> +And Anthea could not deny it. +</p> + +<p> +“I should have liked to see more of the camp,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we didn’t get much for our money—but Imogen is happy, +that’s one thing,” said Anthea. “We left her happy in the +Past. I’ve often seen about people being happy in the Past, in poetry +books. I see what it means now.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not a bad idea,” said the Psammead sleepily, putting +its head out of its bag and taking it in again suddenly, “being left in +the Past.” +</p> + +<p> +Everyone remembered this afterwards, when— +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /> +BEFORE PHARAOH</h2> + +<p> +It was the day after the adventure of Julius Caesar and the Little Black Girl +that Cyril, bursting into the bathroom to wash his hands for dinner (you have +no idea how dirty they were, for he had been playing shipwrecked mariners all +the morning on the leads at the back of the house, where the water-cistern is), +found Anthea leaning her elbows on the edge of the bath, and crying steadily +into it. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” he said, with brotherly concern, “what’s up +now? Dinner’ll be cold before you’ve got enough salt-water for a +bath.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go away,” said Anthea fiercely. “I hate you! I hate +everybody!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a stricken pause. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> didn’t know,” said Cyril tamely. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody ever does know anything,” sobbed Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know you were waxy. I thought you’d just hurt your +fingers with the tap again like you did last week,” Cyril carefully +explained. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—fingers!” sneered Anthea through her sniffs. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, drop it, Panther,” he said uncomfortably. “You +haven’t been having a row or anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said. “Wash your horrid hands, for goodness’ +sake, if that’s what you came for, or go.” +</p> + +<p> +Anthea was so seldom cross that when she was cross the others were always more +surprised than angry. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril edged along the side of the bath and stood beside her. He put his hand on +her arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Dry up, do,” he said, rather tenderly for him. And, finding that +though she did not at once take his advice she did not seem to resent it, he +put his arm awkwardly across her shoulders and rubbed his head against her ear. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” he said, in the tone of one administering a priceless cure +for all possible sorrows. “Now, what’s up?” +</p> + +<p> +“Promise you won’t laugh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t feel laughish myself,” said Cyril, dismally. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” said Anthea, leaning her ear against his head, +“it’s Mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with Mother?” asked Cyril, with apparent +want of sympathy. “She was all right in her letter this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; but I want her so.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not the only one,” said Cyril briefly, and the +brevity of his tone admitted a good deal. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” said Anthea, “I know. We all want her all the +time. But I want her now most dreadfully, awfully much. I never wanted anything +so much. That Imogen child—the way the ancient British Queen cuddled her +up! And Imogen wasn’t me, and the Queen was Mother. And then her letter +this morning! And about The Lamb liking the salt bathing! And she bathed him in +this very bath the night before she went away—oh, oh, oh!” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril thumped her on the back. +</p> + +<p> +“Cheer up,” he said. “You know my inside thinking that I was +doing? Well, that was partly about Mother. We’ll soon get her back. If +you’ll chuck it, like a sensible kid, and wash your face, I’ll tell +you about it. That’s right. You let me get to the tap. Can’t you +stop crying? Shall I put the door-key down your back?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s for noses,” said Anthea, “and I’m not a +kid any more than you are,” but she laughed a little, and her mouth began +to get back into its proper shape. You know what an odd shape your mouth gets +into when you cry in earnest. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said Cyril, working the soap round and round between +his hands in a thick slime of grey soapsuds. “I’ve been thinking. +We’ve only just <i>played</i> with the Amulet so far. We’ve got to +<i>work</i> it now—work it for all it’s worth. And it isn’t +only Mother either. There’s Father out there all among the fighting. I +don’t howl about it, but I <i>think</i>—Oh, bother the soap!” +The grey-lined soap had squirted out under the pressure of his fingers, and had +hit Anthea’s chin with as much force as though it had been shot from a +catapult. +</p> + +<p> +“There now,” she said regretfully, “now I shall have to wash +my face.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d have had to do that anyway,” said Cyril with +conviction. “Now, my idea’s this. You know missionaries?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Anthea, who did not know a single one. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they always take the savages beads and brandy, and stays, and +hats, and braces, and really useful things—things the savages +haven’t got, and never heard about. And the savages love them for their +kind generousness, and give them pearls, and shells, and ivory, and +cassowaries. And that’s the way—” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a sec,” said Anthea, splashing. “I can’t hear +what you’re saying. Shells and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Shells, and things like that. The great thing is to get people to love +you by being generous. And that’s what we’ve got to do. Next time +we go into the Past we’ll regularly fit out the expedition. You remember +how the Babylonian Queen froze on to that pocket-book? Well, we’ll take +things like that. And offer them in exchange for a sight of the Amulet.” +</p> + +<p> +“A sight of it is not much good.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, silly. But, don’t you see, when we’ve seen it we shall +know where it is, and we can go and take it in the night when everybody is +asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wouldn’t be stealing, would it?” said Anthea +thoughtfully, “because it will be such an awfully long time ago when we +do it. Oh, there’s that bell again.” +</p> + +<p> +As soon as dinner was eaten (it was tinned salmon and lettuce, and a jam tart), +and the cloth cleared away, the idea was explained to the others, and the +Psammead was aroused from sand, and asked what it thought would be good +merchandise with which to buy the affection of say, the Ancient Egyptians, and +whether it thought the Amulet was likely to be found in the Court of Pharaoh. +</p> + +<p> +But it shook its head, and shot out its snail’s eyes hopelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not allowed to play in this game,” it said. “Of +course I <i>could</i> find out in a minute where the thing was, only I +mayn’t. But I may go so far as to own that your idea of taking things +with you isn’t a bad one. And I shouldn’t show them all at once. +Take small things and conceal them craftily about your persons.” +</p> + +<p> +This advice seemed good. Soon the table was littered over with things which the +children thought likely to interest the Ancient Egyptians. Anthea brought +dolls, puzzle blocks, a wooden tea-service, a green leather case with +<i>Nécessaire</i> written on it in gold letters. Aunt Emma had once given it to +Anthea, and it had then contained scissors, penknife, bodkin, stiletto, +thimble, corkscrew, and glove-buttoner. The scissors, knife, and thimble, and +penknife were, of course, lost, but the other things were there and as good as +new. Cyril contributed lead soldiers, a cannon, a catapult, a tin-opener, a +tie-clip, and a tennis ball, and a padlock—no key. Robert collected a +candle (“I don’t suppose they ever saw a self-fitting paraffin +one,” he said), a penny Japanese pin-tray, a rubber stamp with his +father’s name and address on it, and a piece of putty. +</p> + +<p> +Jane added a key-ring, the brass handle of a poker, a pot that had held +cold-cream, a smoked pearl button off her winter coat, and a key—no lock. +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t take all this rubbish,” said Robert, with some +scorn. “We must just each choose one thing.” +</p> + +<p> +The afternoon passed very agreeably in the attempt to choose from the table the +four most suitable objects. But the four children could not agree what was +suitable, and at last Cyril said— +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, let’s each be blindfolded and reach out, and the first +thing you touch you stick to.” +</p> + +<p> +This was done. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril touched the padlock. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea got the <i>Nécessaire</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Robert clutched the candle. +</p> + +<p> +Jane picked up the tie-clip. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not much,” she said. “I don’t believe +Ancient Egyptians wore ties.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” said Anthea. “I believe it’s luckier not +to really choose. In the stories it’s always the thing the +wood-cutter’s son picks up in the forest, and almost throws away because +he thinks it’s no good, that turns out to be the magic thing in the end; +or else someone’s lost it, and he is rewarded with the hand of the +King’s daughter in marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want any hands in marriage, thank you.” said Cyril +firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor yet me,” said Robert. “It’s always the end of the +adventures when it comes to the marriage hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Are</i> we ready?” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> Egypt we’re going to, isn’t it?—nice +Egypt?” said Jane. “I won’t go anywhere I don’t know +about—like that dreadful big-wavy burning-mountain city,” she +insisted. +</p> + +<p> +Then the Psammead was coaxed into its bag. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said Cyril suddenly, “I’m rather sick of +kings. And people notice you so in palaces. Besides the Amulet’s sure to +be in a Temple. Let’s just go among the common people, and try to work +ourselves up by degrees. We might get taken on as Temple assistants.” +</p> + +<p> +“Like beadles,” said Anthea, “or vergers. They must have +splendid chances of stealing the Temple treasures.” +</p> + +<p> +“Righto!” was the general rejoinder. The charm was held up. It grew +big once again, and once again the warm golden Eastern light glowed softly +beyond it. +</p> + +<p> +As the children stepped through it loud and furious voices rang in their ears. +They went suddenly from the quiet of Fitzroy Street dining-room into a very +angry Eastern crowd, a crowd much too angry to notice them. They edged through +it to the wall of a house and stood there. The crowd was of men, women, and +children. They were of all sorts of complexions, and pictures of them might +have been coloured by any child with a shilling paint-box. The colours that +child would have used for complexions would have been yellow ochre, red ochre, +light red, sepia, and indian ink. But their faces were painted +already—black eyebrows and lashes, and some red lips. The women wore a +sort of pinafore with shoulder straps, and loose things wound round their heads +and shoulders. The men wore very little clothing—for they were the +working people—and the Egyptian boys and girls wore nothing at all, +unless you count the little ornaments hung on chains round their necks and +waists. The children saw all this before they could hear anything distinctly. +Everyone was shouting so. +</p> + +<p> +But a voice sounded above the other voices, and presently it was speaking in a +silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Comrades and fellow workers,” it said, and it was the voice of a +tall, coppery-coloured man who had climbed into a chariot that had been stopped +by the crowd. Its owner had bolted, muttering something about calling the +Guards, and now the man spoke from it. “Comrades and fellow workers, how +long are we to endure the tyranny of our masters, who live in idleness and +luxury on the fruit of our toil? They only give us a bare subsistence wage, and +they live on the fat of the land. We labour all our lives to keep them in +wanton luxury. Let us make an end of it!” +</p> + +<p> +A roar of applause answered him. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you going to do it?” cried a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“You look out,” cried another, “or you’ll get yourself +into trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve heard almost every single word of that,” whispered +Robert, “in Hyde Park last Sunday!” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us strike for more bread and onions and beer, and a longer mid-day +rest,” the speaker went on. “You are tired, you are hungry, you are +thirsty. You are poor, your wives and children are pining for food. The barns +of the rich are full to bursting with the corn we want, the corn our labour has +grown. To the granaries!” +</p> + +<p> +“To the granaries!” cried half the crowd; but another voice shouted +clear above the tumult, “To Pharaoh! To the King! Let’s present a +petition to the King! He will listen to the voice of the oppressed!” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment the crowd swayed one way and another—first towards the +granaries and then towards the palace. Then, with a rush like that of an +imprisoned torrent suddenly set free, it surged along the street towards the +palace, and the children were carried with it. Anthea found it difficult to +keep the Psammead from being squeezed very uncomfortably. +</p> + +<p> +The crowd swept through the streets of dull-looking houses with few windows, +very high up, across the market where people were not buying but exchanging +goods. In a momentary pause Robert saw a basket of onions exchanged for a hair +comb and five fish for a string of beads. The people in the market seemed +better off than those in the crowd; they had finer clothes, and more of them. +They were the kind of people who, nowadays, would have lived at Brixton or +Brockley. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble now?” a languid, large-eyed lady in a +crimped, half-transparent linen dress, with her black hair very much braided +and puffed out, asked of a date-seller. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the working-men—discontented as usual,” the man +answered. “Listen to them. Anyone would think it mattered whether they +had a little more or less to eat. Dregs of society!” said the +date-seller. +</p> + +<p> +“Scum!” said the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’ve heard <i>that</i> before, too,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment the voice of the crowd changed, from anger to doubt, from doubt +to fear. There were other voices shouting; they shouted defiance and menace, +and they came nearer very quickly. There was the rattle of wheels and the +pounding of hoofs. A voice shouted, “Guards!” +</p> + +<p> +“The Guards! The Guards!” shouted another voice, and the crowd of +workmen took up the cry. “The Guards! Pharaoh’s Guards!” And +swaying a little once more, the crowd hung for a moment as it were balanced. +Then as the trampling hoofs came nearer the workmen fled dispersed, up alleys +and into the courts of houses, and the Guards in their embossed leather +chariots swept down the street at the gallop, their wheels clattering over the +stones, and their dark-coloured, blue tunics blown open and back with the wind +of their going. +</p> + +<p> +“So <i>that</i> riot’s over,” said the crimped-linen-dressed +lady; “that’s a blessing! And did you notice the Captain of the +Guard? What a very handsome man he was, to be sure!” +</p> + +<p> +The four children had taken advantage of the moment’s pause before the +crowd turned to fly, to edge themselves and drag each other into an arched +doorway. +</p> + +<p> +Now they each drew a long breath and looked at the others. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re well out of <i>that</i>,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Anthea, “but I do wish the poor men hadn’t +been driven back before they could get to the King. He might have done +something for them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if he was the one in the Bible he wouldn’t,” said Jane. +“He had a hard heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that was the Moses one,” Anthea explained. “The Joseph +one was quite different. I should like to see Pharaoh’s house. I wonder +whether it’s like the Egyptian Court in the Crystal Palace.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought we decided to try to get taken on in a Temple,” said +Cyril in injured tones. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but we’ve got to know someone first. Couldn’t we make +friends with a Temple doorkeeper—we might give him the padlock or +something. I wonder which are temples and which are palaces,” Robert +added, glancing across the market-place to where an enormous gateway with huge +side buildings towered towards the sky. To right and left of it were other +buildings only a little less magnificent. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you wish to seek out the Temple of Amen Rā?” asked a soft +voice behind them, “or the Temple of Mut, or the Temple of Khonsu?” +</p> + +<p> +They turned to find beside them a young man. He was shaved clean from head to +foot, and on his feet were light papyrus sandals. He was clothed in a linen +tunic of white, embroidered heavily in colours. He was gay with anklets, +bracelets, and armlets of gold, richly inlaid. He wore a ring on his finger, +and he had a short jacket of gold embroidery something like the Zouave soldiers +wear, and on his neck was a gold collar with many amulets hanging from it. But +among the amulets the children could see none like theirs. +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t matter which Temple,” said Cyril frankly. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me your mission,” said the young man. “I am a divine +father of the Temple of Amen Rā and perhaps I can help you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Cyril, “we’ve come from the great Empire +on which the sun never sets.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought somehow that you’d come from some odd, out-of-the-way +spot,” said the priest with courtesy. +</p> + +<p> +“And we’ve seen a good many palaces. We thought we should like to +see a Temple, for a change,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead stirred uneasily in its embroidered bag. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you brought gifts to the Temple?” asked the priest +cautiously. +</p> + +<p> +“We <i>have</i> got some gifts,” said Cyril with equal caution. +“You see there’s magic mixed up in it. So we can’t tell you +everything. But we don’t want to give our gifts for nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Beware how you insult the god,” said the priest sternly. “I +also can do magic. I can make a waxen image of you, and I can say words which, +as the wax image melts before the fire, will make you dwindle away and at last +perish miserably.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh!” said Cyril stoutly, “that’s nothing. I can make +<i>fire</i> itself!” +</p> + +<p> +“I should jolly well like to see you do it,” said the priest +unbelievingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you shall,” said Cyril, “nothing easier. Just stand +close round me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you need no preparation—no fasting, no incantations?” The +priest’s tone was incredulous. +</p> + +<p> +“The incantation’s quite short,” said Cyril, taking the hint; +“and as for fasting, it’s not needed in <i>my</i> sort of magic. +Union Jack, Printing Press, Gunpowder, Rule Britannia! Come, Fire, at the end +of this little stick!” +</p> + +<p> +He had pulled a match from his pocket, and as he ended the incantation which +contained no words that it seemed likely the Egyptian had ever heard he stooped +in the little crowd of his relations and the priest and struck the match on his +boot. He stood up, shielding the flame with one hand. +</p> + +<p> +“See?” he said, with modest pride. “Here, take it into your +hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you,” said the priest, swiftly backing. “Can you +do that again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then come with me to the great double house of Pharaoh. He loves good +magic, and he will raise you to honour and glory. There’s no need of +secrets between initiates,” he went on confidentially. “The fact +is, I am out of favour at present owing to a little matter of failure of +prophecy. I told him a beautiful princess would be sent to him from Syria, and, +lo! a woman thirty years old arrived. But she <i>was</i> a beautiful woman not +so long ago. Time is only a mode of thought, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +The children thrilled to the familiar words. +</p> + +<p> +“So you know that too, do you?” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“It is part of the mystery of all magic, is it not?” said the +priest. “Now if I bring you to Pharaoh the little unpleasantness I spoke +of will be forgotten. And I will ask Pharaoh, the Great House, Son of the Sun, +and Lord of the South and North, to decree that you shall lodge in the Temple. +Then you can have a good look round, and teach me your magic. And I will teach +you mine.” +</p> + +<p> +This idea seemed good—at least it was better than any other which at that +moment occurred to anybody, so they followed the priest through the city. +</p> + +<p> +The streets were very narrow and dirty. The best houses, the priest explained, +were built within walls twenty to twenty-five feet high, and such windows as +showed in the walls were very high up. The tops of palm-trees showed above the +walls. The poor people’s houses were little square huts with a door and +two windows, and smoke coming out of a hole in the back. +</p> + +<p> +“The poor Egyptians haven’t improved so very much in their building +since the first time we came to Egypt,” whispered Cyril to Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +The huts were roofed with palm branches, and everywhere there were chickens, +and goats, and little naked children kicking about in the yellow dust. On one +roof was a goat, who had climbed up and was eating the dry palm-leaves with +snorts and head-tossings of delight. Over every house door was some sort of +figure or shape. +</p> + +<p> +“Amulets,” the priest explained, “to keep off the evil +eye.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think much of your ‘nice Egypt’,” Robert +whispered to Jane; “it’s simply not a patch on Babylon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you wait till you see the palace,” Jane whispered back. +</p> + +<p> +The palace was indeed much more magnificent than anything they had yet seen +that day, though it would have made but a poor show beside that of the +Babylonian King. They came to it through a great square pillared doorway of +sandstone that stood in a high brick wall. The shut doors were of massive +cedar, with bronze hinges, and were studded with bronze nails. At the side was +a little door and a wicket gate, and through this the priest led the children. +He seemed to know a word that made the sentries make way for him. +</p> + +<p> +Inside was a garden, planted with hundreds of different kinds of trees and +flowering shrubs, a lake full of fish, with blue lotus flowers at the margin, +and ducks swimming about cheerfully, and looking, as Jane said, quite modern. +</p> + +<p> +“The guard-chamber, the store-houses, the queen’s house,” +said the priest, pointing them out. +</p> + +<p> +They passed through open courtyards, paved with flat stones, and the priest +whispered to a guard at a great inner gate. +</p> + +<p> +“We are fortunate,” he said to the children, “Pharaoh is even +now in the Court of Honour. Now, don’t forget to be overcome with respect +and admiration. It won’t do any harm if you fall flat on your faces. And +whatever you do, don’t speak until you’re spoken to.” +</p> + +<p> +“There used to be that rule in our country,” said Robert, +“when my father was a little boy.” +</p> + +<p> +At the outer end of the great hall a crowd of people were arguing with and even +shoving the Guards, who seemed to make it a rule not to let anyone through +unless they were bribed to do it. The children heard several promises of the +utmost richness, and wondered whether they would ever be kept. +</p> + +<p> +All round the hall were pillars of painted wood. The roof was of cedar, +gorgeously inlaid. About half-way up the hall was a wide, shallow step that +went right across the hall; then a little farther on another; and then a steep +flight of narrower steps, leading right up to the throne on which Pharaoh sat. +He sat there very splendid, his red and white double crown on his head, and his +sceptre in his hand. The throne had a canopy of wood and wooden pillars painted +in bright colours. On a low, broad bench that ran all round the hall sat the +friends, relatives, and courtiers of the King, leaning on richly-covered +cushions. +</p> + +<p> +The priest led the children up the steps till they all stood before the throne; +and then, suddenly, he fell on his face with hands outstretched. The others did +the same, Anthea falling very carefully because of the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“Raise them,” said the voice of Pharaoh, “that they may speak +to me.” +</p> + +<p> +The officers of the King’s household raised them. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are these strangers?” Pharaoh asked, and added very crossly, +“And what do you mean, Rekh-marā, by daring to come into my presence +while your innocence is not established?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, great King,” said the young priest, “you are the very +image of Rā, and the likeness of his son Horus in every respect. You know the +thoughts of the hearts of the gods and of men, and you have divined that these +strangers are the children of the children of the vile and conquered Kings of +the Empire where the sun never sets. They know a magic not known to the +Egyptians. And they come with gifts in their hands as tribute to Pharaoh, in +whose heart is the wisdom of the gods, and on his lips their truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is all very well,” said Pharaoh, “but where are the +gifts?” +</p> + +<p> +The children, bowing as well as they could in their embarrassment at finding +themselves the centre of interest in a circle more grand, more golden and more +highly coloured than they could have imagined possible, pulled out the padlock, +the <i>Nécessaire</i>, and the tie-clip. “But it’s not tribute all +the same,” Cyril muttered. “England doesn’t pay +tribute!” +</p> + +<p> +Pharaoh examined all the things with great interest when the chief of the +household had taken them up to him. “Deliver them to the Keeper of the +Treasury,” he said to one near him. And to the children he said— +</p> + +<p> +“A small tribute, truly, but strange, and not without worth. And the +magic, O Rekh-marā?” +</p> + +<p> +“These unworthy sons of a conquered nation...” began Rekh-marā. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing of the kind!” Cyril whispered angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“... of a vile and conquered nation, can make fire to spring from dry +wood—in the sight of all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should jolly well like to see them do it,” said Pharaoh, just as +the priest had done. +</p> + +<p> +So Cyril, without more ado, did it. +</p> + +<p> +“Do more magic,” said the King, with simple appreciation. +</p> + +<p> +“He cannot do any more magic,” said Anthea suddenly, and all eyes +were turned on her, “because of the voice of the free people who are +shouting for bread and onions and beer and a long mid-day rest. If the people +had what they wanted, he could do more.” +</p> + +<p> +“A rude-spoken girl,” said Pharaoh. “But give the dogs what +they want,” he said, without turning his head. “Let them have their +rest and their extra rations. There are plenty of slaves to work.” +</p> + +<p> +A richly-dressed official hurried out. +</p> + +<p> +“You will be the idol of the people,” Rekh-marā whispered joyously; +“the Temple of Amen will not contain their offerings.” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril struck another match, and all the court was overwhelmed with delight and +wonder. And when Cyril took the candle from his pocket and lighted it with the +match, and then held the burning candle up before the King the enthusiasm knew +no bounds. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, greatest of all, before whom sun and moon and stars bow down,” +said Rekh-marā insinuatingly, “am I pardoned? Is my innocence made +plain?” +</p> + +<p> +“As plain as it ever will be, I daresay,” said Pharaoh shortly. +“Get along with you. You are pardoned. Go in peace.” The priest +went with lightning swiftness. +</p> + +<p> +“And what,” said the King suddenly, “is it that moves in that +sack? +</p> + +<p> +Show me, oh strangers.” +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing for it but to show the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“Seize it,” said Pharaoh carelessly. “A very curious monkey. +It will be a nice little novelty for my wild beast collection.” +</p> + +<p> +And instantly, the entreaties of the children availing as little as the bites +of the Psammead, though both bites and entreaties were fervent, it was carried +away from before their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>do</i> be careful!” cried Anthea. “At least keep it +dry! Keep it in its sacred house!” +</p> + +<p> +She held up the embroidered bag. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a magic creature,” cried Robert; “it’s +simply priceless!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve no right to take it away,” cried Jane incautiously. +“It’s a shame, a barefaced robbery, that’s what it is!” +</p> + +<p> +There was an awful silence. Then Pharaoh spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Take the sacred house of the beast from them,” he said, “and +imprison all. Tonight after supper it may be our pleasure to see more magic. +Guard them well, and do not torture them—yet!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear!” sobbed Jane, as they were led away. “I knew +exactly what it would be! Oh, I wish you hadn’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“Shut up, silly,” said Cyril. “You know you <i>would</i> come +to Egypt. It was your own idea entirely. Shut up. It’ll be all +right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought we should play ball with queens,” sobbed Jane, +“and have no end of larks! And now everything’s going to be +perfectly horrid!” +</p> + +<p> +The room they were shut up in <i>was</i> a room, and not a dungeon, as the +elder ones had feared. That, as Anthea said, was one comfort. There were +paintings on the wall that at any other time would have been most interesting. +And a sort of low couch, and chairs. +</p> + +<p> +When they were alone Jane breathed a sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +“Now we can get home all right,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“And leave the Psammead?” said Anthea reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a sec. I’ve got an idea,” said Cyril. He pondered for a +few moments. Then he began hammering on the heavy cedar door. It opened, and a +guard put in his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop that row,” he said sternly, “or—” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” Cyril interrupted, “it’s very dull for you +isn’t it? Just doing nothing but guard us. Wouldn’t you like to see +some magic? We’re not too proud to do it for you. Wouldn’t you like +to see it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mind if I do,” said the guard. +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, you get us that monkey of ours that was taken away, and +we’ll show you.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do I know you’re not making game of me?” asked the +soldier. “Shouldn’t wonder if you only wanted to get the creature +so as to set it on me. I daresay its teeth and claws are poisonous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, look here,” said Robert. “You see we’ve got +nothing with us? You just shut the door, and open it again in five minutes, and +we’ll have got a magic—oh, I don’t know—a magic flower +in a pot for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you can do that you can do anything,” said the soldier, and he +went out and barred the door. +</p> + +<p> +Then, of course, they held up the Amulet. They found the East by holding it up, +and turning slowly till the Amulet began to grow big, walked home through it, +and came back with a geranium in full scarlet flower from the staircase window +of the Fitzroy Street house. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said the soldier when he came in. “I really +am—!” +</p> + +<p> +“We can do much more wonderful things than that—oh, ever so +much,” said Anthea persuasively, “if we only have our monkey. And +here’s twopence for yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +The soldier looked at the twopence. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Robert explained how much simpler it was to pay money for things than to +exchange them as the people were doing in the market. Later on the soldier gave +the coins to his captain, who, later still, showed them to Pharaoh, who of +course kept them and was much struck with the idea. That was really how coins +first came to be used in Egypt. You will not believe this, I daresay, but +really, if you believe the rest of the story, I don’t see why you +shouldn’t believe this as well. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said Anthea, struck by a sudden thought, “I suppose +it’ll be all right about those workmen? The King won’t go back on +what he said about them just because he’s angry with us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said the soldier, “you see, he’s rather +afraid of magic. He’ll keep to his word right enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then <i>that’s</i> all right,” said Robert; and Anthea said +softly and coaxingly— +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, <i>do</i> get us the monkey, and then you’ll see some lovely +magic. Do—there’s a nice, kind soldier.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know where they’ve put your precious monkey, but if +I can get another chap to take on my duty here I’ll see what I can +do,” he said grudgingly, and went out. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean,” said Robert, “that we’re going off +without even <i>trying</i> for the other half of the Amulet?” +</p> + +<p> +“I really think we’d better,” said Anthea tremulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course the other half of the Amulet’s here somewhere or our +half wouldn’t have brought us here. I do wish we could find it. It is a +pity we don’t know any <i>real</i> magic. Then we could find out. I do +wonder where it is—exactly.” +</p> + +<p> +If they had only known it, something very like the other half of the Amulet was +very near them. It hung round the neck of someone, and that someone was +watching them through a chink, high up in the wall, specially devised for +watching people who were imprisoned. But they did not know. +</p> + +<p> +There was nearly an hour of anxious waiting. They tried to take an interest in +the picture on the wall, a picture of harpers playing very odd harps and women +dancing at a feast. They examined the painted plaster floor, and the chairs +were of white painted wood with coloured stripes at intervals. +</p> + +<p> +But the time went slowly, and everyone had time to think of how Pharaoh had +said, “Don’t torture them—<i>yet</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“If the worst comes to the worst,” said Cyril, “we must just +bunk, and leave the Psammead. I believe it can take care of itself well enough. +They won’t kill it or hurt it when they find it can speak and give +wishes. They’ll build it a temple, I shouldn’t wonder.” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t bear to go without it,” said Anthea, “and +Pharaoh said ‘After supper’, that won’t be just yet. And the +soldier <i>was</i> curious. I’m sure we’re all right for the +present.” +</p> + +<p> +All the same, the sounds of the door being unbarred seemed one of the prettiest +sounds possible. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose he hasn’t got the Psammead?” whispered Jane. +</p> + +<p> +But that doubt was set at rest by the Psammead itself; for almost before the +door was open it sprang through the chink of it into Anthea’s arms, +shivering and hunching up its fur. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s its fancy overcoat,” said the soldier, holding out +the bag, into which the Psammead immediately crept. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Cyril, “what would you like us to do? Anything +you’d like us to get for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Any little trick you like,” said the soldier. “If you can +get a strange flower blooming in an earthenware vase you can get anything, I +suppose,” he said. “I just wish I’d got two men’s loads +of jewels from the King’s treasury. That’s what I’ve always +wished for.” +</p> + +<p> +At the word “<i>wish</i>” the children knew that the Psammead would +attend to <i>that</i> bit of magic. It did, and the floor was littered with a +spreading heap of gold and precious stones. +</p> + +<p> +“Any other little trick?” asked Cyril loftily. “Shall we +become invisible? Vanish?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if you like,” said the soldier; “but not through the +door, you don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +He closed it carefully and set his broad Egyptian back against it. +</p> + +<p> +“No! no!” cried a voice high up among the tops of the tall wooden +pillars that stood against the wall. There was a sound of someone moving above. +</p> + +<p> +The soldier was as much surprised as anybody. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s magic, if you like,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +And then Jane held up the Amulet, uttering the word of Power. At the sound of +it and at the sight of the Amulet growing into the great arch the soldier fell +flat on his face among the jewels with a cry of awe and terror. +</p> + +<p> +The children went through the arch with a quickness born of long practice. But +Jane stayed in the middle of the arch and looked back. +</p> + +<p> +The others, standing on the dining-room carpet in Fitzroy Street, turned and +saw her still in the arch. “Someone’s holding her,” cried +Cyril. “We must go back.” +</p> + +<p> +But they pulled at Jane’s hands just to see if she would come, and, of +course, she did come. +</p> + +<p> +Then, as usual, the arch was little again and there they all were. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I do wish you hadn’t!” Jane said crossly. “It +<i>was</i> so interesting. The priest had come in and he was kicking the +soldier, and telling him he’d done it now, and they must take the jewels +and flee for their lives.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did they?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. You interfered,” said Jane ungratefully. +“I <i>should</i> have liked to see the last of it.” +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, none of them had seen the last of it—if by +“it” Jane meant the adventure of the Priest and the Soldier. +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /> +THE SORRY-PRESENT AND THE EXPELLED LITTLE BOY</h2> + +<p> +“Look here, said Cyril, sitting on the dining-table and swinging his +legs; “I really have got it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Got what?” was the not unnatural rejoinder of the others. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril was making a boat with a penknife and a piece of wood, and the girls were +making warm frocks for their dolls, for the weather was growing chilly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, don’t you see? It’s really not any good our going into +the Past looking for that Amulet. The Past’s as full of different times +as—as the sea is of sand. We’re simply bound to hit upon the wrong +time. We might spend our lives looking for the Amulet and never see a sight of +it. Why, it’s the end of September already. It’s like looking for a +needle in—” +</p> + +<p> +“A bottle of hay—I know,” interrupted Robert; “but if +we don’t go on doing that, what ARE we to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just it,” said Cyril in mysterious accents. +“Oh, <i>bother!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Old Nurse had come in with the tray of knives, forks, and glasses, and was +getting the tablecloth and table-napkins out of the chiffonier drawer. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s always meal-times just when you come to anything +interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“And a nice interesting handful <i>you’d</i> be, Master +Cyril,” said old Nurse, “if I wasn’t to bring your meals up +to time. Don’t you begin grumbling now, fear you get something to grumble +<i>at</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t grumbling,” said Cyril quite untruly; “but it +does always happen like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You deserve to <i>have</i> something happen,” said old Nurse. +“Slave, slave, slave for you day and night, and never a word of thanks. +...” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you do everything beautifully,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the first time any of you’s troubled to say so, +anyhow,” said Nurse shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the use of <i>saying?</i>” inquired Robert. “We +<i>eat</i> our meals fast enough, and almost always two helps. <i>That</i> +ought to show you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said old Nurse, going round the table and putting the knives +and forks in their places; “you’re a man all over, Master Robert. +There was my poor Green, all the years he lived with me I never could get more +out of him than ‘It’s all right!’ when I asked him if +he’d fancied his dinner. And yet, when he lay a-dying, his last words to +me was, ‘Maria, you was always a good cook!’” She ended with +a trembling voice. +</p> + +<p> +“And so you are,” cried Anthea, and she and Jane instantly hugged +her. +</p> + +<p> +When she had gone out of the room Anthea said— +</p> + +<p> +“I know exactly how she feels. Now, look here! Let’s do a penance +to show we’re sorry we didn’t think about telling her before what +nice cooking she does, and what a dear she is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Penances are silly,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Not if the penance is something to please someone else. I didn’t +mean old peas and hair shirts and sleeping on the stones. I mean we’ll +make her a sorry-present,” explained Anthea. “Look here! I vote +Cyril doesn’t tell us his idea until we’ve done something for old +Nurse. It’s worse for us than him,” she added hastily, +“because he knows what it is and we don’t. Do you all agree?” +</p> + +<p> +The others would have been ashamed not to agree, so they did. It was not till +quite near the end of dinner—mutton fritters and blackberry and apple +pie—that out of the earnest talk of the four came an idea that pleased +everybody and would, they hoped, please Nurse. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril and Robert went out with the taste of apple still in their mouths and the +purple of blackberries on their lips—and, in the case of Robert, on the +wristband as well—and bought a big sheet of cardboard at the stationers. +Then at the plumber’s shop, that has tubes and pipes and taps and +gas-fittings in the window, they bought a pane of glass the same size as the +cardboard. The man cut it with a very interesting tool that had a bit of +diamond at the end, and he gave them, out of his own free generousness, a large +piece of putty and a small piece of glue. +</p> + +<p> +While they were out the girls had floated four photographs of the four children +off their cards in hot water. These were now stuck in a row along the top of +the cardboard. Cyril put the glue to melt in a jampot, and put the jampot in a +saucepan and saucepan on the fire, while Robert painted a wreath of poppies +round the photographs. He painted rather well and very quickly, and poppies are +easy to do if you’ve once been shown how. Then Anthea drew some printed +letters and Jane coloured them. The words were: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“With all our loves to shew<br /> +We like the thigs to eat.” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +And when the painting was dry they all signed their names at the bottom and put +the glass on, and glued brown paper round the edge and over the back, and put +two loops of tape to hang it up by. +</p> + +<p> +Of course everyone saw when too late that there were not enough letters in +“things”, so the missing “n”was put in. It was +impossible, of course, to do the whole thing over again for just one letter. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” said Anthea, placing it carefully, face up, under the +sofa. “It’ll be hours before the glue’s dry. Now, Squirrel, +fire ahead!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” said Cyril in a great hurry, rubbing at his gluey +hands with his pocket handkerchief. “What I mean to say is this.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a long pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Robert at last, “<i>what</i> is it that you mean +to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s like this,” said Cyril, and again stopped short. +</p> + +<p> +“Like <i>what?</i>” asked Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“How can I tell you if you will all keep on interrupting?” said +Cyril sharply. +</p> + +<p> +So no one said any more, and with wrinkled frowns he arranged his ideas. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he said, “what I really mean is—we can +remember now what we did when we went to look for the Amulet. And if we’d +found it we should remember that too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather!” said Robert. “Only, you see we +haven’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“But in the future we shall have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we, though?” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—unless we’ve been made fools of by the Psammead. So +then, where we want to go to is where we shall remember about where we did find +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Robert, but he didn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> don’t,” said Anthea, who did, very nearly. +“Say it again, Squirrel, and very slowly.” +</p> + +<p> +“If,” said Cyril, very slowly indeed, “we go into the +future—after we’ve found the Amulet—” +</p> + +<p> +“But we’ve got to find it first,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“There will be a future,” said Cyril, driven to greater clearness +by the blank faces of the other three, “there will be a time <i>after</i> +we’ve found it. Let’s go into <i>that</i> time—and then we +shall remember <i>how</i> we found it. And then we can go back and do the +finding really.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Robert, and this time he did, and I hope <i>you</i> +do. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Anthea. “Oh, Squirrel, how clever of you!” +</p> + +<p> +“But will the Amulet work both ways?” inquired Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“It ought to,” said Cyril, “if time’s only a thingummy +of whatsitsname. Anyway we might try.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s put on our best things, then,” urged Jane. “You +know what people say about progress and the world growing better and brighter. +I expect people will be awfully smart in the future.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Anthea, “we should have to wash anyway, +I’m all thick with glue.” +</p> + +<p> +When everyone was clean and dressed, the charm was held up. +</p> + +<p> +“We want to go into the future and see the Amulet after we’ve found +it,” said Cyril, and Jane said the word of Power. They walked through the +big arch of the charm straight into the British Museum. They knew it at once, +and there, right in front of them, under a glass case, was the +Amulet—their own half of it, as well as the other half they had never +been able to find—and the two were joined by a pin of red stone that +formed a hinge. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, glorious!” cried Robert. “Here it is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Cyril, very gloomily, “here it is. But we +can’t get it out.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Robert, remembering how impossible the Queen of Babylon +had found it to get anything out of the glass cases in the Museum—except +by Psammead magic, and then she hadn’t been able to take anything away +with her; “no—but we remember where we got it, and we +can—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>do</i> we?” interrupted Cyril bitterly, “do +<i>you</i> remember where we got it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Robert, “I don’t exactly, now I come to +think of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Nor did any of the others! +</p> + +<p> +“But <i>why</i> can’t we?” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>I</i> don’t know,” Cyril’s tone was impatient, +“some silly old enchanted rule I suppose. I wish people would teach you +magic at school like they do sums—or instead of. It would be some use +having an Amulet then.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder how far we are in the future,” said Anthea; the Museum +looks just the same, only lighter and brighter, somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s go back and try the Past again,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps the Museum people could tell us how we got it,” said +Anthea with sudden hope. There was no one in the room, but in the next gallery, +where the Assyrian things are and still were, they found a kind, stout man in a +loose, blue gown, and stockinged legs. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, they’ve got a new uniform, how pretty!” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +When they asked him their question he showed them a label on the case. It said, +“From the collection of—.” A name followed, and it was the +name of the learned gentleman who, among themselves, and to his face when he +had been with them at the other side of the Amulet, they had called Jimmy. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>That’s</i> not much good,” said Cyril, “thank +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“How is it you’re not at school?” asked the kind man in blue. +“Not expelled for long I hope?” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re not expelled at all,” said Cyril rather warmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I shouldn’t do it again, if I were you,” said the man, +and they could see he did not believe them. There is no company so little +pleasing as that of people who do not believe you. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you for showing us the label,” said Cyril. And they came +away. +</p> + +<p> +As they came through the doors of the Museum they blinked at the sudden glory +of sunlight and blue sky. The houses opposite the Museum were gone. Instead +there was a big garden, with trees and flowers and smooth green lawns, and not +a single notice to tell you not to walk on the grass and not to destroy the +trees and shrubs and not to pick the flowers. There were comfortable seats all +about, and arbours covered with roses, and long, trellised walks, also +rose-covered. Whispering, splashing fountains fell into full white marble +basins, white statues gleamed among the leaves, and the pigeons that swept +about among the branches or pecked on the smooth, soft gravel were not black +and tumbled like the Museum pigeons are now, but bright and clean and sleek as +birds of new silver. A good many people were sitting on the seats, and on the +grass babies were rolling and kicking and playing—with very little on +indeed. Men, as well as women, seemed to be in charge of the babies and were +playing with them. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s like a lovely picture,” said Anthea, and it was. For +the people’s clothes were of bright, soft colours and all beautifully and +very simply made. No one seemed to have any hats or bonnets, but there were a +great many Japanese-looking sunshades. And among the trees were hung lamps of +coloured glass. +</p> + +<p> +“I expect they light those in the evening,” said Jane. “I +<i>do</i> wish we lived in the future!” +</p> + +<p> +They walked down the path, and as they went the people on the benches looked at +the four children very curiously, but not rudely or unkindly. The children, in +their turn, looked—I hope they did not stare—at the faces of these +people in the beautiful soft clothes. Those faces were worth looking at. Not +that they were all handsome, though even in the matter of handsomeness they had +the advantage of any set of people the children had ever seen. But it was the +expression of their faces that made them worth looking at. The children could +not tell at first what it was. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said Anthea suddenly. “They’re not worried; +that’s what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +And it was. Everybody looked calm, no one seemed to be in a hurry, no one +seemed to be anxious, or fretted, and though some did seem to be sad, not a +single one looked worried. +</p> + +<p> +But though the people looked kind everyone looked so interested in the children +that they began to feel a little shy and turned out of the big main path into a +narrow little one that wound among trees and shrubs and mossy, dripping +springs. +</p> + +<p> +It was here, in a deep, shadowed cleft between tall cypresses, that they found +the expelled little boy. He was lying face downward on the mossy turf, and the +peculiar shaking of his shoulders was a thing they had seen, more than once, in +each other. So Anthea kneeled down by him and said— +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m expelled from school,” said the boy between his sobs. +</p> + +<p> +This was serious. People are not expelled for light offences. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mind telling us what you’d done?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I tore up a sheet of paper and threw it about in the +playground,” said the child, in the tone of one confessing an unutterable +baseness. “You won’t talk to me any more now you know that,” +he added without looking up. +</p> + +<p> +“Was that all?” asked Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s about enough,” said the child; “and I’m +expelled for the whole day!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t quite understand,” said Anthea, gently. The boy +lifted his face, rolled over, and sat up. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, whoever on earth are you?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re strangers from a far country,” said Anthea. “In +our country it’s not a crime to leave a bit of paper about.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is here,” said the child. “If grown-ups do it +they’re fined. When we do it we’re expelled for the whole +day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but,” said Robert, “that just means a day’s +holiday.” +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>must</i> come from a long way off,” said the little boy. +“A holiday’s when you all have play and treats and jolliness, all +of you together. On your expelled days no one’ll speak to you. Everyone +sees you’re an Expelleder or you’d be in school.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose you were ill?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody is—hardly. If they are, of course they wear the badge, and +everyone is kind to you. I know a boy that stole his sister’s illness +badge and wore it when he was expelled for a day. <i>He</i> got expelled for a +week for that. It must be awful not to go to school for a week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you <i>like</i> school, then?” asked Robert incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do. It’s the loveliest place there is. I chose +railways for my special subject this year, there are such splendid models and +things, and now I shall be all behind because of that torn-up paper.” +</p> + +<p> +“You choose your own subject?” asked Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, of course. Where <i>did</i> you come from? Don’t you know +<i>anything?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Jane definitely; “so you’d better tell +us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, on Midsummer Day school breaks up and everything’s decorated +with flowers, and you choose your special subject for next year. Of course you +have to stick to it for a year at least. Then there are all your other +subjects, of course, reading, and painting, and the rules of +Citizenship.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious!” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said the child, jumping up, “it’s nearly +four. The expelledness only lasts till then. Come home with me. Mother will +tell you all about everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will your mother like you taking home strange children?” asked +Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand,” said the child, settling his leather +belt over his honey-coloured smock and stepping out with hard little bare feet. +“Come on.” +</p> + +<p> +So they went. +</p> + +<p> +The streets were wide and hard and very clean. There were no horses, but a sort +of motor carriage that made no noise. The Thames flowed between green banks, +and there were trees at the edge, and people sat under them, fishing, for the +stream was clear as crystal. Everywhere there were green trees and there was no +smoke. The houses were set in what seemed like one green garden. +</p> + +<p> +The little boy brought them to a house, and at the window was a good, bright +mother-face. The little boy rushed in, and through the window they could see +him hugging his mother, then his eager lips moving and his quick hands +pointing. +</p> + +<p> +A lady in soft green clothes came out, spoke kindly to them, and took them into +the oddest house they had ever seen. It was very bare, there were no ornaments, +and yet every single thing was beautiful, from the dresser with its rows of +bright china, to the thick squares of Eastern-looking carpet on the floors. I +can’t describe that house; I haven’t the time. And I haven’t +heart either, when I think how different it was from our houses. The lady took +them all over it. The oddest thing of all was the big room in the middle. It +had padded walls and a soft, thick carpet, and all the chairs and tables were +padded. There wasn’t a single thing in it that anyone could hurt itself +with. +</p> + +<p> +“What ever’s this for?—lunatics?” asked Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +The lady looked very shocked. +</p> + +<p> +“No! It’s for the children, of course,” she said. +“Don’t tell me that in your country there are no children’s +rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are nurseries,” said Anthea doubtfully, “but the +furniture’s all cornery and hard, like other rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“How shocking!” said the lady; “you must be <i>very</i> much +behind the times in your country! Why, the children are more than half of the +people; it’s not much to have one room where they can have a good time +and not hurt themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there’s no fireplace,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“Hot-air pipes, of course,” said the lady. “Why, how could +you have a fire in a nursery? A child might get burned.” +</p> + +<p> +“In our country,” said Robert suddenly, “more than 3,000 +children are burned to death every year. Father told me,” he added, as if +apologizing for this piece of information, “once when I’d been +playing with fire.” +</p> + +<p> +The lady turned quite pale. +</p> + +<p> +“What a frightful place you must live in!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s all the furniture padded for?” Anthea asked, hastily +turning the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you couldn’t have little tots of two or three running about +in rooms where the things were hard and sharp! They might hurt +themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Robert fingered the scar on his forehead where he had hit it against the +nursery fender when he was little. +</p> + +<p> +“But does everyone have rooms like this, poor people and all?” +asked Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a room like this wherever there’s a child, of +course,” said the lady. “How refreshingly ignorant you +are!—no, I don’t mean ignorant, my dear. Of course, you’re +awfully well up in ancient History. But I see you haven’t done your +Duties of Citizenship Course yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“But beggars, and people like that?” persisted Anthea “and +tramps and people who haven’t any homes?” +</p> + +<p> +“People who haven’t any homes?” repeated the lady. “I +really <i>don’t</i> understand what you’re talking about.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all different in our country,” said Cyril carefully; +and I have read it used to be different in London. Usedn’t people to have +no homes and beg because they were hungry? And wasn’t London very black +and dirty once upon a time? And the Thames all muddy and filthy? And narrow +streets, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“You must have been reading very old-fashioned books,” said the +lady. “Why, all that was in the dark ages! My husband can tell you more +about it than I can. He took Ancient History as one of his special +subjects.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t seen any working people,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, we’re all working people,” said the lady; “at +least my husband’s a carpenter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious!” said Anthea; “but you’re a +lady!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said the lady, “that quaint old word! Well, my husband +<i>will</i> enjoy a talk with you. In the dark ages everyone was allowed to +have a smoky chimney, and those nasty horses all over the streets, and all +sorts of rubbish thrown into the Thames. And, of course, the sufferings of the +people will hardly bear thinking of. It’s very learned of you to know it +all. Did <i>you</i> make Ancient History your special subject?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not exactly,” said Cyril, rather uneasily. “What is the +Duties of Citizenship Course about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you <i>really</i> know? Aren’t you +pretending—just for fun? Really not? Well, that course teaches you how to +be a good citizen, what you must do and what you mayn’t do, so as to do +your full share of the work of making your town a beautiful and happy place for +people to live in. There’s a quite simple little thing they teach the +tiny children. How does it go...? +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“I must not steal and I must learn,<br /> +Nothing is mine that I do not earn.<br /> +I must try in work and play<br /> +To make things beautiful every day.<br /> +I must be kind to everyone,<br /> +And never let cruel things be done.<br /> +I must be brave, and I must try<br /> +When I am hurt never to cry,<br /> +And always laugh as much as I can,<br /> +And be glad that I’m going to be a man<br /> +To work for my living and help the rest<br /> +And never do less than my very best.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very easy,” said Jane. “<i>I</i> could remember +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s only the very beginning, of course,” said the lady; +“there are heaps more rhymes. There’s the one beginning— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“I must not litter the beautiful street<br /> +With bits of paper or things to eat;<br /> +I must not pick the public flowers,<br /> +They are not <i>mine</i>, but they are <i>ours</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“And ‘things to eat’ reminds me—are you hungry? Wells, +run and get a tray of nice things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you call him ‘Wells’?” asked Robert, as the boy +ran off. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s after the great reformer—surely you’ve heard of +<i>him?</i> He lived in the dark ages, and he saw that what you ought to do is +to find out what you want and then try to get it. Up to then people had always +tried to tinker up what they’d got. We’ve got a great many of the +things he thought of. Then ‘Wells’ means springs of clear water. +It’s a nice name, don’t you think?” +</p> + +<p> +Here Wells returned with strawberries and cakes and lemonade on a tray, and +everybody ate and enjoyed. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Wells,” said the lady, “run off or you’ll be late +and not meet your Daddy.” +</p> + +<p> +Wells kissed her, waved to the others, and went. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said Anthea suddenly, “would you like to come to +<i>our</i> country, and see what it’s like? It wouldn’t take you a +minute.” +</p> + +<p> +The lady laughed. But Jane held up the charm and said the word. +</p> + +<p> +“What a splendid conjuring trick!” cried the lady, enchanted with +the beautiful, growing arch. +</p> + +<p> +“Go through,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +The lady went, laughing. But she did not laugh when she found herself, +suddenly, in the dining-room at Fitzroy Street. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what a <i>horrible</i> trick!” she cried. “What a +hateful, dark, ugly place!” +</p> + +<p> +She ran to the window and looked out. The sky was grey, the street was foggy, a +dismal organ-grinder was standing opposite the door, a beggar and a man who +sold matches were quarrelling at the edge of the pavement on whose greasy black +surface people hurried along, hastening to get to the shelter of their houses. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, look at their faces, their horrible faces!” she cried. +“What’s the matter with them all?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re poor people, that’s all,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s <i>not</i> all! They’re ill, they’re unhappy, +they’re wicked! Oh, do stop it, there’s dear children. It’s +very, very clever. Some sort of magic-lantern trick, I suppose, like I’ve +read of. But <i>do</i> stop it. Oh! their poor, tired, miserable, wicked +faces!” +</p> + +<p> +The tears were in her eyes. Anthea signed to Jane. The arch grew, they spoke +the words, and pushed the lady through it into her own time and place, where +London is clean and beautiful, and the Thames runs clear and bright, and the +green trees grow, and no one is afraid, or anxious, or in a hurry. +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence. Then— +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad we went,” said Anthea, with a deep breath. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll never throw paper about again as long as I live,” said +Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother always told us not to,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“I would like to take up the Duties of Citizenship for a special +subject,” said Cyril. “I wonder if Father could put me through it. +I shall ask him when he comes home.” +</p> + +<p> +“If we’d found the Amulet, Father could be home <i>now</i>,” +said Anthea, “and Mother and The Lamb.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s go into the future <i>again</i>,” suggested Jane +brightly. “Perhaps we could remember if it wasn’t such an awful way +off.” +</p> + +<p> +So they did. This time they said, “The future, where the Amulet is, not +so far away.” +</p> + +<p> +And they went through the familiar arch into a large, light room with three +windows. Facing them was the familiar mummy-case. And at a table by the window +sat the learned gentleman. They knew him at once, though his hair was white. He +was one of the faces that do not change with age. In his hand was the +Amulet—complete and perfect. +</p> + +<p> +He rubbed his other hand across his forehead in the way they were so used to. +</p> + +<p> +“Dreams, dreams!” he said; “old age is full of them!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been in dreams with us before now,” said Robert, +“don’t you remember?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, indeed,” said he. The room had many more books than the +Fitzroy Street room, and far more curious and wonderful Assyrian and Egyptian +objects. “The most wonderful dreams I ever had had you in them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where,” asked Cyril, “did you get that thing in your +hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you weren’t just a dream,” he answered, smiling, +you’d remember that you gave it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where did we get it?” Cyril asked eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you never would tell me that,” he said, “You always had +your little mysteries. You dear children! What a difference you made to that +old Bloomsbury house! I wish I could dream you oftener. Now you’re grown +up you’re not like you used to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Grown up?” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman pointed to a frame with four photographs in it. +</p> + +<p> +“There you are,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The children saw four grown-up people’s portraits—two ladies, two +gentlemen—and looked on them with loathing. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we grow up like <i>that?</i>” whispered Jane. “How +perfectly horrid!” +</p> + +<p> +“If we’re ever like that, we sha’nn’t know it’s +horrid, I expect,” Anthea with some insight whispered back. “You +see, you get used to yourself while you’re changing. +It’s—it’s being so sudden makes it seem so frightful +now.” +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman was looking at them with wistful kindness. +“Don’t let me undream you just yet,” he said. There was a +pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember <i>when</i> we gave you that Amulet?” Cyril asked +suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“You know, or you would if you weren’t a dream, that it was on the +3rd December, 1905. I shall never forget <i>that</i> day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Cyril, earnestly; “oh, thank you very +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve got a new room,” said Anthea, looking out of the +window, “and what a lovely garden!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “I’m too old now to care even about +being near the Museum. This is a beautiful place. Do you know—I can +hardly believe you’re just a dream, you do look so exactly real. Do you +know...” his voice dropped, “I can say it to <i>you</i>, though, of +course, if I said it to anyone that wasn’t a dream they’d call me +mad; there was something about that Amulet you gave me—something very +mysterious.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was that,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I don’t mean your pretty little childish mysteries about where +you got it. But about the thing itself. First, the wonderful dreams I used to +have, after you’d shown me the first half of it! Why, my book on +Atlantis, that I did, was the beginning of my fame and my fortune, too. And I +got it all out of a dream! And then, ‘Britain at the Time of the Roman +Invasion’—that was only a pamphlet, but it explained a lot of +things people hadn’t understood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Anthea, “it would.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was the beginning. But after you’d given me the whole of the +Amulet—ah, it was generous of you!—then, somehow, I didn’t +need to theorize, I seemed to <i>know</i> about the old Egyptian civilization. +And they can’t upset my theories”—he rubbed his thin hands +and laughed triumphantly—“they can’t, though they’ve +tried. Theories, they call them, but they’re more like—I +don’t know—more like memories. I <i>know</i> I’m right about +the secret rites of the Temple of Amen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so glad you’re rich,” said Anthea. “You +weren’t, you know, at Fitzroy Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I wasn’t,” said he, “but I am now. This +beautiful house and this lovely garden—I dig in it sometimes; you +remember, you used to tell me to take more exercise? Well, I feel I owe it all +to you—and the Amulet.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so glad,” said Anthea, and kissed him. He started. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>That</i> didn’t feel like a dream,” he said, and his +voice trembled. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t exactly a dream,” said Anthea softly, +“it’s all part of the Amulet—it’s a sort of extra +special, real dream, dear Jimmy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said he, “when you call me that, I know I’m +dreaming. My little sister—I dream of her sometimes. But it’s not +real like this. Do you remember the day I dreamed you brought me the Babylonish +ring?” +</p> + +<p> +“We remember it all,” said Robert. “Did you leave Fitzroy +Street because you were too rich for it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” he said reproachfully. “You know I should never +have done such a thing as that. Of course, I left when your old Nurse died +and—what’s the matter!” +</p> + +<p> +“Old Nurse <i>dead?</i>” said Anthea. “Oh, <i>no!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, it’s the common lot. It’s a long time ago +now.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane held up the Amulet in a hand that twittered. +</p> + +<p> +“Come!” she cried, “oh, come home! She may be dead before we +get there, and then we can’t give it to her. Oh, come!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, don’t let the dream end now!” pleaded the learned +gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“It must,” said Anthea firmly, and kissed him again. +</p> + +<p> +“When it comes to people dying,” said Robert, “good-bye! +I’m so glad you’re rich and famous and happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Do</i> come!” cried Jane, stamping in her agony of impatience. +</p> + +<p> +And they went. Old Nurse brought in tea almost as soon as they were back in +Fitzroy Street. As she came in with the tray, the girls rushed at her and +nearly upset her and it. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t die!” cried Jane, “oh, don’t!” and +Anthea cried, “Dear, ducky, darling old Nurse, don’t die!” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord, love you!” said Nurse, “I’m not agoin’ to +die yet a while, please Heaven! Whatever on earth’s the matter with the +chicks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. Only don’t!” +</p> + +<p> +She put the tray down and hugged the girls in turn. The boys thumped her on the +back with heartfelt affection. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m as well as ever I was in my life,” she said. “What +nonsense about dying! You’ve been a sitting too long in the dusk, +that’s what it is. Regular blind man’s holiday. Leave go of me, +while I light the gas.” +</p> + +<p> +The yellow light illuminated four pale faces. +</p> + +<p> +“We do love you so,” Anthea went on, “and we’ve made +you a picture to show you how we love you. Get it out, Squirrel.” +</p> + +<p> +The glazed testimonial was dragged out from under the sofa and displayed. +</p> + +<p> +“The glue’s not dry yet,” said Cyril, “look out!” +</p> + +<p> +“What a beauty!” cried old Nurse. “Well, I never! And your +pictures and the beautiful writing and all. Well, I always did say your hearts +was in the right place, if a bit careless at times. Well! I never did! I +don’t know as I was ever pleased better in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +She hugged them all, one after the other. And the boys did not mind it, +somehow, that day. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“How is it we can remember all about the future, <i>now?</i>” +Anthea woke the Psammead with laborious gentleness to put the question. +“How is it we can remember what we saw in the future, and yet, when we +<i>were</i> in the future, we could not remember the bit of the future that was +past then, the time of finding the Amulet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what a silly question!” said the Psammead, “of course +you cannot remember what hasn’t happened yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the <i>future</i> hasn’t happened yet,” Anthea +persisted, “and we remember that all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that isn’t what’s happened, my good child,” said +the Psammead, rather crossly, “that’s prophetic vision. And you +remember dreams, don’t you? So why not visions? You never do seem to +understand the simplest thing.” +</p> + +<p> +It went to sand again at once. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea crept down in her nightgown to give one last kiss to old Nurse, and one +last look at the beautiful testimonial hanging, by its tapes, its glue now +firmly set, in glazed glory on the wall of the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, bless your loving heart,” said old Nurse, “if +only you don’t catch your deather-cold!” +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> +THE SHIPWRECK ON THE TIN ISLANDS</h2> + +<p> +“Blue and red,” said Jane softly, “make purple.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not always they don’t,” said Cyril, “it has to be +crimson lake and Prussian blue. If you mix Vermilion and Indigo you get the +most loathsome slate colour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sepia’s the nastiest colour in the box, I think,” said Jane, +sucking her brush. +</p> + +<p> +They were all painting. Nurse in the flush of grateful emotion, excited by +Robert’s border of poppies, had presented each of the four with a +shilling paint-box, and had supplemented the gift with a pile of old copies of +the <i>Illustrated London News</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Sepia,” said Cyril instructively, “is made out of beastly +cuttlefish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Purple’s made out of a fish, as well as out of red and +blue,” said Robert. “Tyrian purple was, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out of lobsters?” said Jane dreamily. “They’re red +when they’re boiled, and blue when they aren’t. If you mixed live +and dead lobsters you’d get Tyrian purple.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> shouldn’t like to mix anything with a live +lobster,” said Anthea, shuddering. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there aren’t any other red and blue fish,” said Jane; +“you’d have to.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather not have the purple,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“The Tyrian purple wasn’t that colour when it came out of the fish, +nor yet afterwards, it wasn’t,” said Robert; “it was scarlet +really, and Roman Emperors wore it. And it wasn’t any nice colour while +the fish had it. It was a yellowish-white liquid of a creamy +consistency.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” asked Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“I read it,” said Robert, with the meek pride of superior +knowledge. +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” asked Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“In print,” said Robert, still more proudly meek. +</p> + +<p> +“You think everything’s true if it’s printed,” said +Cyril, naturally annoyed, “but it isn’t. Father said so. Quite a +lot of lies get printed, especially in newspapers.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see, as it happens,” said Robert, in what was really a rather +annoying tone, “it wasn’t a newspaper, it was in a book.” +</p> + +<p> +“How sweet Chinese white is!” said Jane, dreamily sucking her brush +again. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe it,” said Cyril to Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Have a suck yourself,” suggested Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean about the Chinese white. I mean about the cream fish +turning purple and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Anthea, jumping up very quickly, “I’m tired +of painting. Let’s go somewhere by Amulet. I say let’s let +<i>it</i> choose.” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril and Robert agreed that this was an idea. Jane consented to stop painting +because, as she said, Chinese white, though certainly sweet, gives you a queer +feeling in the back of the throat if you paint with it too long. +</p> + +<p> +The Amulet was held up. +</p> + +<p> +“Take us somewhere,” said Jane, “anywhere you like in the +Past—but somewhere where you are.” Then she said the word. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment everyone felt a queer rocking and swaying—something like what +you feel when you go out in a fishing boat. And that was not wonderful, when +you come to think of it, for it was in a boat that they found themselves. A +queer boat, with high bulwarks pierced with holes for oars to go through. There +was a high seat for the steersman, and the prow was shaped like the head of +some great animal with big, staring eyes. The boat rode at anchor in a bay, and +the bay was very smooth. The crew were dark, wiry fellows with black beards and +hair. They had no clothes except a tunic from waist to knee, and round caps +with knobs on the top. They were very busy, and what they were doing was so +interesting to the children that at first they did not even wonder where the +Amulet had brought them. +</p> + +<p> +And the crew seemed too busy to notice the children. They were fastening rush +baskets to a long rope with a great piece of cork at the end, and in each +basket they put mussels or little frogs. Then they cast out the rope, the +baskets sank, but the cork floated. And all about on the blue water were other +boats and all the crews of all the boats were busy with ropes and baskets and +frogs and mussels. +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever are you doing?” Jane suddenly asked a man who had rather +more clothes than the others, and seemed to be a sort of captain or overseer. +He started and stared at her, but he had seen too many strange lands to be very +much surprised at these queerly-dressed stowaways. +</p> + +<p> +“Setting lines for the dye shell-fish,” he said shortly. “How +did you get here?” +</p> + +<p> +“A sort of magic,” said Robert carelessly. The Captain fingered an +Amulet that hung round his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this place?” asked Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Tyre, of course,” said the man. Then he drew back and spoke in a +low voice to one of the sailors. +</p> + +<p> +“Now we shall know about your precious cream-jug fish,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“But we never <i>said</i> come to Tyre,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“The Amulet heard us talking, I expect. I think it’s <i>most</i> +obliging of it,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“And the Amulet’s here too,” said Robert. “We ought to +be able to find it in a little ship like this. I wonder which of them’s +got it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—look, look!” cried Anthea suddenly. On the bare breast of +one of the sailors gleamed something red. It was the exact counterpart of their +precious half-Amulet. +</p> + +<p> +A silence, full of emotion, was broken by Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Then we’ve found it!” she said. “Oh do let’s +take it and go home!” +</p> + +<p> +“Easy to say ‘take it’,” said Cyril; “he looks +very strong.” +</p> + +<p> +He did—yet not so strong as the other sailors. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s odd,” said Anthea musingly, “I do believe +I’ve seen that man somewhere before.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s rather like our learned gentleman,” said Robert, +“but I’ll tell you who he’s much more like—” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment that sailor looked up. His eyes met Robert’s—and +Robert and the others had no longer any doubt as to where they had seen him +before. It was Rekh-marā, the priest who had led them to the palace of +Pharaoh—and whom Jane had looked back at through the arch, when he was +counselling Pharaoh’s guard to take the jewels and fly for his life. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody was quite pleased, and nobody quite knew why. +</p> + +<p> +Jane voiced the feelings of all when she said, fingering <i>their</i> Amulet +through the folds of her frock, “We can go back in a minute if anything +nasty happens.” +</p> + +<p> +For the moment nothing worse happened than an offer of food—figs and +cucumbers it was, and very pleasant. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said the Captain, “that you are from a far country. +Since you have honoured my boat by appearing on it, you must stay here till +morning. Then I will lead you to one of our great ones. He loves strangers from +far lands.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s go home,” Jane whispered, “all the frogs are +drowning <i>now</i>. I think the people here are cruel.” +</p> + +<p> +But the boys wanted to stay and see the lines taken up in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just like eel-pots and lobster-pots,” said Cyril, +“the baskets only open from outside—I vote we stay.” +</p> + +<p> +So they stayed. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Tyre over there,” said the Captain, who was evidently +trying to be civil. He pointed to a great island rock, that rose steeply from +the sea, crowned with huge walls and towers. There was another city on the +mainland. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s part of Tyre, too,” said the Captain; +“it’s where the great merchants have their pleasure-houses and +gardens and farms.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look, look!” Cyril cried suddenly; “what a lovely little +ship!” +</p> + +<p> +A ship in full sail was passing swiftly through the fishing fleet. The +Captain’s face changed. He frowned, and his eyes blazed with fury. +</p> + +<p> +“Insolent young barbarian!” he cried. “Do you call the ships +of Tyre <i>little?</i> None greater sail the seas. That ship has been on a +three years’ voyage. She is known in all the great trading ports from +here to the Tin Islands. She comes back rich and glorious. Her very anchor is +of silver.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure we beg your pardon,” said Anthea hastily. “In +our country we say ‘little’ for a pet name. Your wife might call +you her dear little husband, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to catch her at it,” growled the Captain, but he +stopped scowling. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a rich trade,” he went on. “For cloth <i>once</i> +dipped, second-best glass, and the rough images our young artists carve for +practice, the barbarian King in Tessos lets us work the silver mines. We get so +much silver there that we leave them our iron anchors and come back with silver +ones.” +</p> + +<p> +“How splendid!” said Robert. “Do go on. What’s cloth +once dipped?” +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>must</i> be barbarians from the outer darkness,” said the +Captain scornfully. “All wealthy nations know that our finest stuffs are +twice dyed—dibaptha. They’re only for the robes of kings and +priests and princes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do the rich merchants wear,” asked Jane, with interest, +“in the pleasure-houses?” +</p> + +<p> +“They wear the dibaptha. <i>Our</i> merchants <i>are</i> princes,” +scowled the skipper. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t be cross, we do so like hearing about things. We want to +know <i>all</i> about the dyeing,” said Anthea cordially. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you do, do you?” growled the man. “So that’s what +you’re here for? Well, you won’t get the secrets of the dye trade +out of <i>me</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +He went away, and everyone felt snubbed and uncomfortable. And all the time the +long, narrow eyes of the Egyptian were watching, watching. They felt as though +he was watching them through the darkness, when they lay down to sleep on a +pile of cloaks. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning the baskets were drawn up full of what looked like whelk shells. +</p> + +<p> +The children were rather in the way, but they made themselves as small as they +could. While the skipper was at the other end of the boat they did ask one +question of a sailor, whose face was a little less unkind than the others. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he answered, “this is the dye-fish. It’s a sort +of murex—and there’s another kind that they catch at Sidon and +then, of course, there’s the kind that’s used for the dibaptha. But +that’s quite different. It’s—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue!” shouted the skipper. And the man held it. +</p> + +<p> +The laden boat was rowed slowly round the end of the island, and was made fast +in one of the two great harbours that lay inside a long breakwater. The harbour +was full of all sorts of ships, so that Cyril and Robert enjoyed themselves +much more than their sisters. The breakwater and the quays were heaped with +bales and baskets, and crowded with slaves and sailors. Farther along some men +were practising diving. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s jolly good,” said Robert, as a naked brown body cleft +the water. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think so,” said the skipper. “The pearl-divers of +Persia are not more skilful. Why, we’ve got a fresh-water spring that +comes out at the bottom of the sea. Our divers dive down and bring up the fresh +water in skin bottles! Can your barbarian divers do as much?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose not,” said Robert, and put away a wild desire to explain +to the Captain the English system of waterworks, pipes, taps, and the +intricacies of the plumbers’ trade. +</p> + +<p> +As they neared the quay the skipper made a hasty toilet. He did his hair, +combed his beard, put on a garment like a jersey with short sleeves, an +embroidered belt, a necklace of beads, and a big signet ring. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said he, “I’m fit to be seen. Come along?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where to?” said Jane cautiously. +</p> + +<p> +“To Pheles, the great sea-captain, said the skipper, “the man I +told you of, who loves barbarians.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Rekh-marā came forward, and, for the first time, spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“I have known these children in another land,” he said. “You +know my powers of magic. It was my magic that brought these barbarians to your +boat. And you know how they will profit you. I read your thoughts. Let me come +with you and see the end of them, and then I will work the spell I promised you +in return for the little experience you have so kindly given me on your +boat.” +</p> + +<p> +The skipper looked at the Egyptian with some disfavour. +</p> + +<p> +“So it was <i>your</i> doing,” he said. “I might have guessed +it. Well, come on.” +</p> + +<p> +So he came, and the girls wished he hadn’t. But Robert whispered— +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense—as long as he’s with us we’ve got <i>some</i> +chance of the Amulet. We can always fly if anything goes wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +The morning was so fresh and bright; their breakfast had been so good and so +unusual; they had actually seen the Amulet round the Egyptian’s neck. One +or two, or all these things, suddenly raised the children’s spirits. They +went off quite cheerfully through the city gate—it was not arched, but +roofed over with a great flat stone—and so through the street, which +smelt horribly of fish and garlic and a thousand other things even less +agreeable. But far worse than the street scents was the scent of the factory, +where the skipper called in to sell his night’s catch. I wish I could +tell you all about that factory, but I haven’t time, and perhaps after +all you aren’t interested in dyeing works. I will only mention that +Robert was triumphantly proved to be right. The dye <i>was</i> a +yellowish-white liquid of a creamy consistency, and it smelt more strongly of +garlic than garlic itself does. +</p> + +<p> +While the skipper was bargaining with the master of the dye works the Egyptian +came close to the children, and said, suddenly and softly— +</p> + +<p> +“Trust me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish we could,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“You feel,” said the Egyptian, “that I want your Amulet. That +makes you distrust me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Cyril bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“But you also, you want my Amulet, and I am trusting you.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s something in that,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“We have the two halves of the Amulet,” said the Priest, “but +not yet the pin that joined them. Our only chance of getting that is to remain +together. Once part these two halves and they may never be found in the same +time and place. Be wise. Our interests are the same.” +</p> + +<p> +Before anyone could say more the skipper came back, and with him the +dye-master. His hair and beard were curled like the men’s in Babylon, and +he was dressed like the skipper, but with added grandeur of gold and +embroidery. He had necklaces of beads and silver, and a glass amulet with a +man’s face, very like his own, set between two bull’s heads, as +well as gold and silver bracelets and armlets. He looked keenly at the +children. Then he said— +</p> + +<p> +“My brother Pheles has just come back from Tarshish. He’s at his +garden house—unless he’s hunting wild boar in the marshes. He gets +frightfully bored on shore.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said the skipper, “he’s a true-born Phoenician. +‘Tyre, Tyre for ever! Oh, Tyre rules the waves!’ as the old song +says. I’ll go at once, and show him my young barbarians.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should,” said the dye-master. “They are very rum, +aren’t they? What frightful clothes, and what a lot of them! Observe the +covering of their feet. Hideous indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +Robert could not help thinking how easy, and at the same time pleasant, it +would be to catch hold of the dye-master’s feet and tip him backward into +the great sunken vat just near him. But if he had, flight would have had to be +the next move, so he restrained his impulse. +</p> + +<p> +There was something about this Tyrian adventure that was different from all the +others. It was, somehow, calmer. And there was the undoubted fact that the +charm was there on the neck of the Egyptian. +</p> + +<p> +So they enjoyed everything to the full, the row from the Island City to the +shore, the ride on the donkeys that the skipper hired at the gate of the +mainland city, and the pleasant country—palms and figs and cedars all +about. It was like a garden—clematis, honeysuckle, and jasmine clung +about the olive and mulberry trees, and there were tulips and gladiolus, and +clumps of mandrake, which has bell-flowers that look as though they were cut +out of dark blue jewels. In the distance were the mountains of Lebanon. +</p> + +<p> +The house they came to at last was rather like a bungalow—long and low, +with pillars all along the front. Cedars and sycamores grew near it and +sheltered it pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +Everyone dismounted, and the donkeys were led away. +</p> + +<p> +“Why is this like Rosherville?” whispered Robert, and instantly +supplied the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Because it’s the place to spend a happy day.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s jolly decent of the skipper to have brought us to such a +ripping place,” said Cyril. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” said Anthea, “this feels more real than +anything else we’ve seen? It’s like a holiday in the country at +home.” +</p> + +<p> +The children were left alone in a large hall. The floor was mosaic, done with +wonderful pictures of ships and sea-beasts and fishes. Through an open doorway +they could see a pleasant courtyard with flowers. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to spend a week here,” said Jane, “and donkey +ride every day.” +</p> + +<p> +Everyone was feeling very jolly. Even the Egyptian looked pleasanter than +usual. And then, quite suddenly, the skipper came back with a joyous smile. +With him came the master of the house. He looked steadily at the children and +nodded twice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, “my steward will pay you the price. But I +shall not pay at that high rate for the Egyptian dog.” +</p> + +<p> +The two passed on. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” said the Egyptian, “is a pretty kettle of +fish.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is?” asked all the children at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Our present position,” said Rekh-marā. “Our seafaring +friend,” he added, “has sold us all for slaves!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +A hasty council succeeded the shock of this announcement. The Priest was +allowed to take part in it. His advice was “stay”, because they +were in no danger, and the Amulet in its completeness must be somewhere near, +or, of course, they could not have come to that place at all. And after some +discussion they agreed to this. +</p> + +<p> +The children were treated more as guests than as slaves, but the Egyptian was +sent to the kitchen and made to work. +</p> + +<p> +Pheles, the master of the house, went off that very evening, by the +King’s orders, to start on another voyage. And when he was gone his wife +found the children amusing company, and kept them talking and singing and +dancing till quite late. “To distract my mind from my sorrows,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“I do like being a slave,” remarked Jane cheerfully, as they curled +up on the big, soft cushions that were to be their beds. +</p> + +<p> +It was black night when they were awakened, each by a hand passed softly over +its face, and a low voice that whispered— +</p> + +<p> +“Be quiet, or all is lost.” +</p> + +<p> +So they were quiet. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s me, Rekh-marā, the Priest of Amen,” said the whisperer. +“The man who brought us has gone to sea again, and he has taken my Amulet +from me by force, and I know no magic to get it back. Is there magic for that +in the Amulet you bear?” +</p> + +<p> +Everyone was instantly awake by now. +</p> + +<p> +“We can go after him,” said Cyril, leaping up; “but he might +take <i>ours</i> as well; or he might be angry with us for following +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see to <i>that</i>,” said the Egyptian in the dark. +“Hide your Amulet well.” +</p> + +<p> +There in the deep blackness of that room in the Tyrian country house the Amulet +was once more held up and the word spoken. +</p> + +<p> +All passed through on to a ship that tossed and tumbled on a wind-blown sea. +They crouched together there till morning, and Jane and Cyril were not at all +well. When the dawn showed, dove-coloured, across the steely waves, they stood +up as well as they could for the tumbling of the ship. Pheles, that hardy +sailor and adventurer, turned quite pale when he turned round suddenly and saw +them. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” he said, “well, I never did!” +</p> + +<p> +“Master,” said the Egyptian, bowing low, and that was even more +difficult than standing up, “we are here by the magic of the sacred +Amulet that hangs round your neck.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never did!” repeated Pheles. “Well, well!” +</p> + +<p> +“What port is the ship bound for?” asked Robert, with a nautical +air. +</p> + +<p> +But Pheles said, “Are you a navigator?” Robert had to own that he +was not. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Pheles, “I don’t mind telling you that +we’re bound for the Tin Isles. Tyre alone knows where the Tin Isles are. +It is a splendid secret we keep from all the world. It is as great a thing to +us as your magic to you.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke in quite a new voice, and seemed to respect both the children and the +Amulet a good deal more than he had done before. +</p> + +<p> +“The King sent you, didn’t he?” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Pheles, “he bade me set sail with half a +score brave gentlemen and this crew. You shall go with us, and see many +wonders.” He bowed and left them. +</p> + +<p> +“What are we going to do now?” said Robert, when Pheles had caused +them to be left along with a breakfast of dried fruits and a sort of hard +biscuit. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till he lands in the Tin Isles,” said Rekh-marā, “then +we can get the barbarians to help us. We will attack him by night and tear the +sacred Amulet from his accursed heathen neck,” he added, grinding his +teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“When shall we get to the Tin Isles?” asked Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—six months, perhaps, or a year,” said the Egyptian +cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +“A <i>year</i> of this?” cried Jane, and Cyril, who was still +feeling far too unwell to care about breakfast, hugged himself miserably and +shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +It was Robert who said— +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, we can shorten that year. Jane, out with the Amulet! Wish +that we were where the Amulet will be when the ship is twenty miles from the +Tin Island. That’ll give us time to mature our plans.” +</p> + +<p> +It was done—the work of a moment—and there they were on the same +ship, between grey northern sky and grey northern sea. The sun was setting in a +pale yellow line. It was the same ship, but it was changed, and so were the +crew. Weather-worn and dirty were the sailors, and their clothes torn and +ragged. And the children saw that, of course, though they had skipped the nine +months, the ship had had to live through them. Pheles looked thinner, and his +face was rugged and anxious. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” he cried, “the charm has brought you back! I have +prayed to it daily these nine months—and now you are here? Have you no +magic that can help?” +</p> + +<p> +“What is your need?” asked the Egyptian quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“I need a great wave that shall whelm away the foreign ship that follows +us. A month ago it lay in wait for us, by the pillars of the gods, and it +follows, follows, to find out the secret of Tyre—the place of the Tin +Islands. If I could steer by night I could escape them yet, but tonight there +will be no stars.” +</p> + +<p> +“My magic will not serve you here,” said the Egyptian. +</p> + +<p> +But Robert said, “My magic will not bring up great waves, but I can show +you how to steer without stars.” +</p> + +<p> +He took out the shilling compass, still, fortunately, in working order, that he +had bought off another boy at school for fivepence, a piece of indiarubber, a +strip of whalebone, and half a stick of red sealing-wax. +</p> + +<p> +And he showed Pheles how it worked. And Pheles wondered at the compass’s +magic truth. +</p> + +<p> +“I will give it to you,” Robert said, “in return for that +charm about your neck.” +</p> + +<p> +Pheles made no answer. He first laughed, snatched the compass from +Robert’s hand, and turned away still laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Be comforted,” the Priest whispered, “our time will +come.” +</p> + +<p> +The dusk deepened, and Pheles, crouched beside a dim lantern, steered by the +shilling compass from the Crystal Palace. +</p> + +<p> +No one ever knew how the other ship sailed, but suddenly, in the deep night, +the look-out man at the stern cried out in a terrible voice— +</p> + +<p> +“She is close upon us!” +</p> + +<p> +“And we,” said Pheles, “are close to the harbour.” He +was silent a moment, then suddenly he altered the ship’s course, and then +he stood up and spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Good friends and gentlemen,” he said, “who are bound with me +in this brave venture by our King’s command, the false, foreign ship is +close on our heels. If we land, they land, and only the gods know whether they +might not beat us in fight, and themselves survive to carry back the tale of +Tyre’s secret island to enrich their own miserable land. Shall this +be?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” cried the half-dozen men near him. The slaves were rowing +hard below and could not hear his words. +</p> + +<p> +The Egyptian leaped upon him; suddenly, fiercely, as a wild beast leaps. +“Give me back my Amulet,” he cried, and caught at the charm. The +chain that held it snapped, and it lay in the Priest’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +Pheles laughed, standing balanced to the leap of the ship that answered the +oarstroke. +</p> + +<p> +“This is no time for charms and mummeries,” he said. +“We’ve lived like men, and we’ll die like gentlemen for the +honour and glory of Tyre, our splendid city. ‘Tyre, Tyre for ever! +It’s Tyre that rules the waves.’ I steer her straight for the +Dragon rocks, and we go down for our city, as brave men should. The creeping +cowards who follow shall go down as slaves—and slaves they shall be to +us—when we live again. Tyre, Tyre for ever!” +</p> + +<p> +A great shout went up, and the slaves below joined in it. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick, the Amulet,” cried Anthea, and held it up. Rekh-marā held +up the one he had snatched from Pheles. The word was spoken, and the two great +arches grew on the plunging ship in the shrieking wind under the dark sky. From +each Amulet a great and beautiful green light streamed and shone far out over +the waves. It illuminated, too, the black faces and jagged teeth of the great +rocks that lay not two ships’ lengths from the boat’s peaked nose. +</p> + +<p> +“Tyre, Tyre for ever! It’s Tyre that rules the waves!” the +voices of the doomed rose in a triumphant shout. The children scrambled through +the arch, and stood trembling and blinking in the Fitzroy Street parlour, and +in their ears still sounded the whistle of the wind, and the rattle of the +oars, the crash of the ships bow on the rocks, and the last shout of the brave +gentlemen-adventurers who went to their deaths singing, for the sake of the +city they loved. +</p> + +<p> +“And so we’ve lost the other half of the Amulet again,” said +Anthea, when they had told the Psammead all about it. +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, pooh!” said the Psammead. “That wasn’t the +other half. It was the same half that you’ve got—the one that +wasn’t crushed and lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how could it be the same?” said Anthea gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, not exactly, of course. The one you’ve got is a good many +years older, but at any rate it’s not the other one. What did you say +when you wished?” +</p> + +<p> +“I forget,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t,” said the Psammead. “You said, ‘Take us +where <i>you</i> are’—and it did, so you see it was the same +half.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“But you mark my words,” the Psammead went on, “you’ll +have trouble with that Priest yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he was quite friendly,” said Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“All the same you’d better beware of the Reverend Rekh-marā.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m sick of the Amulet,” said Cyril, “we shall +never get it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes we shall,” said Robert. “Don’t you remember +December 3rd?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jinks!” said Cyril, “I’d forgotten that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe it,” said Jane, “and I don’t +feel at all well.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I were you,” said the Psammead, “I should not go out into +the Past again till that date. You’ll find it safer not to go where +you’re likely to meet that Egyptian any more just at present.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course we’ll do as you say,” said Anthea soothingly, +“though there’s something about his face that I really do +like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, you don’t want to run after him, I suppose,” snapped +the Psammead. “You wait till the 3rd, and then see what happens.” +</p> + +<p> +Cyril and Jane were feeling far from well, Anthea was always obliging, so +Robert was overruled. And they promised. And none of them, not even the +Psammead, at all foresaw, as you no doubt do quite plainly, exactly what it was +that <i>would</i> happen on that memorable date. +</p> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> +THE HEART’S DESIRE</h2> + +<p> +If I only had time I could tell you lots of things. For instance, how, in spite +of the advice of the Psammead, the four children did, one very wet day, go +through their Amulet Arch into the golden desert, and there find the great +Temple of Baalbec and meet with the Phœnix whom they never thought to see +again. And how the Phœnix did not remember them at all until it went into a +sort of prophetic trance—if that can be called remembering. But, alas! I +<i>haven’t</i> time, so I must leave all that out though it was a +wonderfully thrilling adventure. I must leave out, too, all about the visit of +the children to the Hippodrome with the Psammead in its travelling bag, and +about how the wishes of the people round about them were granted so suddenly +and surprisingly that at last the Psammead had to be taken hurriedly home by +Anthea, who consequently missed half the performance. Then there was the time +when, Nurse having gone to tea with a friend out Ivalunk way, they were playing +“devil in the dark”—and in the midst of that most creepy +pastime the postman’s knock frightened Jane nearly out of her life. She +took in the letters, however, and put them in the back of the hat-stand drawer, +so that they should be safe. And safe they were, for she never thought of them +again for weeks and weeks. +</p> + +<p> +One really good thing happened when they took the Psammead to a magic-lantern +show and lecture at the boys’ school at Camden Town. The lecture was all +about our soldiers in South Africa. And the lecturer ended up by saying, +“And I hope every boy in this room has in his heart the seeds of courage +and heroism and self-sacrifice, and I wish that every one of you may grow up to +be noble and brave and unselfish, worthy citizens of this great Empire for whom +our soldiers have freely given their lives.” +</p> + +<p> +And, of course, this came true—which was a distinct score for Camden +Town. +</p> + +<p> +As Anthea said, it was unlucky that the lecturer said boys, because now she and +Jane would have to be noble and unselfish, if at all, without any outside help. +But Jane said, “I daresay we are already because of our beautiful +natures. It’s only boys that have to be made brave by +magic”—which nearly led to a first-class row. +</p> + +<p> +And I daresay you would like to know all about the affair of the fishing rod, +and the fish-hooks, and the cook next door—which was amusing from some +points of view, though not perhaps the cook’s—but there really is +no time even for that. +</p> + +<p> +The only thing that there’s time to tell about is the Adventure of +Maskelyne and Cooke’s, and the Unexpected Apparition—which is also +the beginning of the end. +</p> + +<p> +It was Nurse who broke into the gloomy music of the autumn rain on the window +panes by suggesting a visit to the Egyptian Hall, England’s Home of +Mystery. Though they had good, but private reasons to know that their own +particular personal mystery was of a very different brand, the four all +brightened at the idea. All children, as well as a good many grown-ups, love +conjuring. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s in Piccadilly,” said old Nurse, carefully counting out +the proper number of shillings into Cyril’s hand, “not so very far +down on the left from the Circus. There’s big pillars outside, something +like Carter’s seed place in Holborn, as used to be Day and Martin’s +blacking when I was a gell. And something like Euston Station, only not so +big.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” said everybody. +</p> + +<p> +So they started. +</p> + +<p> +But though they walked along the left-hand side of Piccadilly they saw no +pillared building that was at all like Carter’s seed warehouse or Euston +Station or England’s Home of Mystery as they remembered it. +</p> + +<p> +At last they stopped a hurried lady, and asked her the way to Maskelyne and +Cooke’s. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, I’m sure,” she said, pushing past them. +“I always shop at the Stores.” Which just shows, as Jane said, how +ignorant grown-up people are. +</p> + +<p> +It was a policeman who at last explained to them that England’s Mysteries +are now appropriately enough enacted at St George’s Hall. So they tramped +to Langham Place, and missed the first two items in the programme. But they +were in time for the most wonderful magic appearances and disappearances, which +they could hardly believe—even with all their knowledge of a larger +magic—was not really magic after all. +</p> + +<p> +“If only the Babylonians could have seen <i>this</i> conjuring,” +whispered Cyril. “It takes the shine out of their old conjurer, +doesn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” said Anthea and several other members of the audience. +</p> + +<p> +Now there was a vacant seat next to Robert. And it was when all eyes were fixed +on the stage where Mr Devant was pouring out glasses of all sorts of different +things to drink, out of one kettle with one spout, and the audience were +delightedly tasting them, that Robert felt someone in that vacant seat. He did +not feel someone sit down in it. It was just that one moment there was no one +sitting there, and the next moment, suddenly, there was someone. +</p> + +<p> +Robert turned. The someone who had suddenly filled that empty place was +Rekh-marā, the Priest of Amen! +</p> + +<p> +Though the eyes of the audience were fixed on Mr David Devant, Mr David +Devant’s eyes were fixed on the audience. And it happened that his eyes +were more particularly fixed on that empty chair. So that he saw quite plainly +the sudden appearance, from nowhere, of the Egyptian Priest. +</p> + +<p> +“A jolly good trick,” he said to himself, “and worked under +my own eyes, in my own hall. I’ll find out how that’s done.” +He had never seen a trick that he could not do himself if he tried. +</p> + +<p> +By this time a good many eyes in the audience had turned on the clean-shaven, +curiously-dressed figure of the Egyptian Priest. +</p> + +<p> +“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr Devant, rising to the occasion, +“this is a trick I have never before performed. The empty seat, third +from the end, second row, gallery—you will now find occupied by an +Ancient Egyptian, warranted genuine.” +</p> + +<p> +He little knew how true his words were. +</p> + +<p> +And now all eyes were turned on the Priest and the children, and the whole +audience, after a moment’s breathless surprise, shouted applause. Only +the lady on the other side of Rekh-marā drew back a little. She <i>knew</i> no +one had passed her, and, as she said later, over tea and cold tongue, “it +was that sudden it made her flesh creep.” +</p> + +<p> +Rekh-marā seemed very much annoyed at the notice he was exciting. +</p> + +<p> +“Come out of this crowd,” he whispered to Robert. “I must +talk with you apart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” Jane whispered. “I did so want to see the Mascot +Moth, and the Ventriloquist.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get here?” was Robert’s return whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get to Egypt and to Tyre?” retorted Rekh-marā. +“Come, let us leave this crowd.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no help for it, I suppose,” Robert shrugged angrily. +But they all got up. +</p> + +<p> +“Confederates!” said a man in the row behind. “Now they go +round to the back and take part in the next scene.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish we did,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Confederate yourself!” said Cyril. And so they got away, the +audience applauding to the last. +</p> + +<p> +In the vestibule of St George’s Hall they disguised Rekh-marā as well as +they could, but even with Robert’s hat and Cyril’s Inverness cape +he was too striking a figure for foot-exercise in the London streets. It had to +be a cab, and it took the last, least money of all of them. They stopped the +cab a few doors from home, and then the girls went in and engaged old +Nurse’s attention by an account of the conjuring and a fervent entreaty +for dripping-toast with their tea, leaving the front door open so that while +Nurse was talking to them the boys could creep quietly in with Rekh-marā and +smuggle him, unseen, up the stairs into their bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +When the girls came up they found the Egyptian Priest sitting on the side of +Cyril’s bed, his hands on his knees, looking like a statue of a king. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on,” said Cyril impatiently. “He won’t begin till +we’re all here. And shut the door, can’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +When the door was shut the Egyptian said— +</p> + +<p> +“My interests and yours are one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very interesting,” said Cyril, “and it’ll be a jolly +sight more interesting if you keep following us about in a decent country with +no more clothes on than <i>that!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace,” said the Priest. “What is this country? and what is +this <i>time?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“The country’s England,” said Anthea, “and the +time’s about 6,000 years later than <i>your</i> time.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Amulet, then,” said the Priest, deeply thoughtful, +“gives the power to move to and fro in time as well as in space?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s about it,” said Cyril gruffly. “Look here, +it’ll be tea-time directly. What are we to do with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have one-half of the Amulet, I the other,” said Rekh-marā. +“All that is now needed is the pin to join them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think it,” said Robert. “The half +you’ve got is the same half as the one we’ve got.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the same thing cannot be in the same place and the same time, and +yet be not one, but twain,” said the Priest. “See, here is my +half.” He laid it on the Marcella counterpane. “Where is +yours?” +</p> + +<p> +Jane watching the eyes of the others, unfastened the string of the Amulet and +laid it on the bed, but too far off for the Priest to seize it, even if he had +been so dishonourable. Cyril and Robert stood beside him, ready to spring on +him if one of his hands had moved but ever so little towards the magic treasure +that was theirs. But his hands did not move, only his eyes opened very wide, +and so did everyone else’s for the Amulet the Priest had now quivered and +shook; and then, as steel is drawn to the magnet, it was drawn across the white +counterpane, nearer and nearer to the Amulet, warm from the neck of Jane. And +then, as one drop of water mingles with another on a rain-wrinkled window-pane, +as one bead of quick-silver is drawn into another bead, Rekh-marā’s +Amulet slipped into the other one, and, behold! there was no more but the one +Amulet! +</p> + +<p> +“Black magic!” cried Rekh-marā, and sprang forward to snatch the +Amulet that had swallowed his. But Anthea caught it up, and at the same moment +the Priest was jerked back by a rope thrown over his head. It drew, tightened +with the pull of his forward leap, and bound his elbows to his sides. Before he +had time to use his strength to free himself, Robert had knotted the cord +behind him and tied it to the bedpost. Then the four children, overcoming the +priest’s wrigglings and kickings, tied his legs with more rope. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought,” said Robert, breathing hard, and drawing the last knot +tight, “he’d have a try for <i>Ours</i>, so I got the ropes out of +the box-room, so as to be ready.” +</p> + +<p> +The girls, with rather white faces, applauded his foresight. +</p> + +<p> +“Loosen these bonds!” cried Rekh-marā in fury, “before I +blast you with the seven secret curses of Amen-Rā!” +</p> + +<p> +“We shouldn’t be likely to loose them <i>after</i>,” Robert +retorted. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t quarrel!” said Anthea desperately. “Look +here, he <i>has</i> just as much right to the thing as we have. This,” +she took up the Amulet that had swallowed the other one, “this has got +his in it as well as being ours. Let’s go shares.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go!” cried the Priest, writhing. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, look here,” said Robert, “if you make a row we can just +open that window and call the police—the guards, you know—and tell +them you’ve been trying to rob us. <i>Now</i> will you shut up and listen +to reason?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” said Rekh-marā sulkily. +</p> + +<p> +But reason could not be spoken to him till a whispered counsel had been held in +the far corner by the washhand-stand and the towel-horse, a counsel rather long +and very earnest. +</p> + +<p> +At last Anthea detached herself from the group, and went back to the Priest. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” she said in her kind little voice, “we want to +be friends. We want to help you. Let’s make a treaty. Let’s join +together to <i>get</i> the Amulet—the whole one, I mean. And then it +shall belong to you as much as to us, and we shall all get our hearts’ +desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fair words,” said the Priest, “grow no onions.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>We</i> say, ‘Butter no parsnips’,” Jane put in. +“But don’t you see we <i>want</i> to be fair? Only we want to bind +you in the chains of honour and upright dealing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you deal fairly by us?” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” said the Priest. “By the sacred, secret name that +is written under the Altar of Amen-Rā, I will deal fairly by you. Will you, +too, take the oath of honourable partnership?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Anthea, on the instant, and added rather rashly, +“We don’t swear in England, except in police courts, where the +guards are, you know, and you don’t want to go there. But when we +<i>say</i> we’ll do a thing—it’s the same as an oath to +us—we do it. You trust us, and we’ll trust you.” She began to +unbind his legs, and the boys hastened to untie his arms. +</p> + +<p> +When he was free he stood up, stretched his arms, and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he said, “I am stronger than you and my oath is void. +I have sworn by nothing, and my oath is nothing likewise. For there <i>is</i> +no secret, sacred name under the altar of Amen-Rā.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes there is!” said a voice from under the bed. Everyone +started—Rekh-marā most of all. +</p> + +<p> +Cyril stooped and pulled out the bath of sand where the Psammead slept. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know everything, though you <i>are</i> a Divine Father +of the Temple of Amen,” said the Psammead shaking itself till the sand +fell tinkling on the bath edge. “There <i>is</i> a secret, sacred name +beneath the altar of Amen-Rā. Shall I call on that name?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” cried the Priest in terror. “No,” said Jane, +too. “Don’t let’s have any calling names.” +</p> + +<p> +“Besides,” said Rekh-marā, who had turned very white indeed under +his natural brownness, “I was only going to say that though there +isn’t any name under—” +</p> + +<p> +“There <i>is</i>,” said the Psammead threateningly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, even if there <i>wasn’t</i>, I will be bound by the wordless +oath of your strangely upright land, and having said that I will be your +friend—I will be it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then that’s all right,” said the Psammead; “and +there’s the tea-bell. What are you going to do with your distinguished +partner? He can’t go down to tea like that, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see we can’t do anything till the 3rd of December,” said +Anthea, “that’s when we are to find the whole charm. What can we do +with Rekh-marā till then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Box-room,” said Cyril briefly, “and smuggle up his meals. It +will be rather fun.” +</p> + +<p> +“Like a fleeing Cavalier concealed from exasperated Roundheads,” +said Robert. “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +So Rekh-marā was taken up to the box-room and made as comfortable as possible +in a snug nook between an old nursery fender and the wreck of a big +four-poster. They gave him a big rag-bag to sit on, and an old, moth-eaten fur +coat off the nail on the door to keep him warm. And when they had had their own +tea they took him some. He did not like the tea at all, but he liked the bread +and butter, and cake that went with it. They took it in turns to sit with him +during the evening, and left him fairly happy and quite settled for the night. +</p> + +<p> +But when they went up in the morning with a kipper, a quarter of which each of +them had gone without at breakfast, Rekh-marā was gone! There was the cosy +corner with the rag-bag, and the moth-eaten fur coat—but the cosy corner +was empty. +</p> + +<p> +“Good riddance!” was naturally the first delightful thought in each +mind. The second was less pleasing, because everyone at once remembered that +since his Amulet had been swallowed up by theirs—which hung once more +round the neck of Jane—he could have no possible means of returning to +his Egyptian past. Therefore he must be still in England, and probably +somewhere quite near them, plotting mischief. +</p> + +<p> +The attic was searched, to prevent mistakes, but quite vainly. +</p> + +<p> +“The best thing we can do,” said Cyril, “is to go through the +half Amulet straight away, get the whole Amulet, and come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Anthea hesitated. “Would that be quite +fair? Perhaps he isn’t really a base deceiver. Perhaps something’s +happened to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Happened?” said Cyril, “not it! Besides, what <i>could</i> +happen?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Anthea. “Perhaps burglars came in +the night, and accidentally killed him, and took away the—all that was +mortal of him, you know—to avoid discovery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or perhaps,” said Cyril, “they hid the—all that was +mortal, in one of those big trunks in the box-room. <i>Shall we go back and +look?</i>” he added grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” Jane shuddered. “Let’s go and tell the +Psammead and see what it says.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Anthea, “let’s ask the learned gentleman. If +anything <i>has</i> happened to Rekh-marā a gentleman’s advice would be +more useful than a Psammead’s. And the learned gentleman’ll only +think it’s a dream, like he always does.” +</p> + +<p> +They tapped at the door, and on the “Come in” entered. The learned +gentleman was sitting in front of his untasted breakfast. Opposite him, in the +easy chair, sat Rekh-marā! +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” said the learned gentleman very earnestly, “please, +hush! or the dream will go. I am learning... Oh, what have I not learned in the +last hour!” +</p> + +<p> +“In the grey dawn,” said the Priest, “I left my hiding-place, +and finding myself among these treasures from my own country, I remained. I +feel more at home here somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I know it’s a dream,” said the learned gentleman +feverishly, “but, oh, ye gods! what a dream! By Jove!...” +</p> + +<p> +“Call not upon the gods,” said the Priest, “lest ye raise +greater ones than ye can control. Already,” he explained to the children, +“he and I are as brothers, and his welfare is dear to me as my +own.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has told me,” the learned gentleman began, but Robert +interrupted. This was no moment for manners. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you told him,” he asked the Priest, “all about the +Amulet?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Rekh-marā. +</p> + +<p> +“Then tell him now. He is very learned. Perhaps he can tell us what to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +Rekh-marā hesitated, then told—and, oddly enough, none of the children +ever could remember afterwards what it was that he did tell. Perhaps he used +some magic to prevent their remembering. +</p> + +<p> +When he had done the learned gentleman was silent, leaning his elbow on the +table and his head on his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Jimmy,” said Anthea gently, “don’t worry about +it. We are sure to find it today, somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Rekh-marā, “and perhaps, with it, Death.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s to bring us our hearts’ desire,” said Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows,” said the Priest, “what things undreamed-of and +infinitely desirable lie beyond the dark gates?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>don’t</i>,” said Jane, almost whimpering. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman raised his head suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not,” he suggested, “go back into the Past? At a moment +when the Amulet is unwatched. Wish to be with it, and that it shall be under +your hand.” +</p> + +<p> +It was the simplest thing in the world! And yet none of them had ever thought +of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” cried Rekh-marā, leaping up. “Come <i>now!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“May—may I come?” the learned gentleman timidly asked. +“It’s only a dream, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, and welcome, oh brother,” Rekh-marā was beginning, but Cyril +and Robert with one voice cried, “<i>No</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“You weren’t with us in Atlantis,” Robert added, “or +you’d know better than to let him come.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Jimmy,” said Anthea, “please don’t ask to come. +We’ll go and be back again before you have time to know that we’re +gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“We must keep together,” said Rekh-marā, “since there is but +one perfect Amulet to which I and these children have equal claims.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane held up the Amulet—Rekh-marā went first—and they all passed +through the great arch into which the Amulet grew at the Name of Power. +</p> + +<p> +The learned gentleman saw through the arch a darkness lighted by smoky gleams. +He rubbed his eyes. And he only rubbed them for ten seconds. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The children and the Priest were in a small, dark chamber. A square doorway of +massive stone let in gleams of shifting light, and the sound of many voices +chanting a slow, strange hymn. They stood listening. Now and then the chant +quickened and the light grew brighter, as though fuel had been thrown on a +fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are we?” whispered Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +“And when?” whispered Robert. +</p> + +<p> +“This is some shrine near the beginnings of belief,” said the +Egyptian shivering. “Take the Amulet and come away. It is cold here in +the morning of the world.” +</p> + +<p> +And then Jane felt that her hand was on a slab or table of stone, and, under +her hand, something that felt like the charm that had so long hung round her +neck, only it was thicker. Twice as thick. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s <i>here!</i>” she said, “I’ve got +it!” And she hardly knew the sound of her own voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Come away,” repeated Rekh-marā. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish we could see more of this Temple,” said Robert resistingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come away,” the Priest urged, “there is death all about, and +strong magic. Listen.” +</p> + +<p> +The chanting voices seemed to have grown louder and fiercer, and light +stronger. +</p> + +<p> +“They are coming!” cried Rekh-marā. “Quick, quick, the +Amulet!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane held it up. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“What a long time you’ve been rubbing your eyes!” said +Anthea; “don’t you see we’ve got back?” The learned +gentleman merely stared at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Anthea—Miss Jane!” It was Nurse’s voice, very +much higher and squeaky and more exalted than usual. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, bother!” said everyone. Cyril adding, “You just go on +with the dream for a sec, Mr Jimmy, we’ll be back directly. +Nurse’ll come up if we don’t. <i>She</i> wouldn’t think +Rekh-marā was a dream.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they went down. Nurse was in the hall, an orange envelope in one hand, and +a pink paper in the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Pa and Ma’s come home. ‘Reach London 11.15. Prepare +rooms as directed in letter’, and signed in their two names.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, hooray! hooray! hooray!” shouted the boys and Jane. But Anthea +could not shout, she was nearer crying. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” she said almost in a whisper, “then it <i>was</i> true. +And we <i>have</i> got our hearts’ desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t understand about the letter,” Nurse was saying. +“I haven’t <i>had</i> no letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Oh!</i>” said Jane in a queer voice, “I wonder whether it +was one of those... they came that night—you know, when we were playing +‘devil in the dark’—and I put them in the hat-stand drawer, +behind the clothes-brushes and”—she pulled out the drawer as she +spoke—“and here they are!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a letter for Nurse and one for the children. The letters told how +Father had done being a war-correspondent and was coming home; and how Mother +and The Lamb were going to meet him in Italy and all come home together; and +how The Lamb and Mother were quite well; and how a telegram would be sent to +tell the day and the hour of their home-coming. +</p> + +<p> +“Mercy me!” said old Nurse. “I declare if it’s not too +bad of you, Miss Jane. I shall have a nice to-do getting things straight for +your Pa and Ma.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, never mind, Nurse,” said Jane, hugging her; “isn’t +it just too lovely for anything!” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll come and help you,” said Cyril. “There’s +just something upstairs we’ve got to settle up, and then we’ll all +come and help you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Get along with you,” said old Nurse, but she laughed jollily. +“Nice help <i>you’d</i> be. I know you. And it’s ten +o’clock now.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +There was, in fact, something upstairs that they had to settle. Quite a +considerable something, too. And it took much longer than they expected. +</p> + +<p> +A hasty rush into the boys’ room secured the Psammead, very sandy and +very cross. +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t matter how cross and sandy it is though,” said +Anthea, “it ought to be there at the final council.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll give the learned gentleman fits, I expect,” said +Robert, “when he sees it.” +</p> + +<p> +But it didn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“The dream is growing more and more wonderful,” he exclaimed, when +the Psammead had been explained to him by Rekh-marā. “I have dreamed this +beast before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Robert, “Jane has got the half Amulet and +I’ve got the whole. Show up, Jane.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane untied the string and laid her half Amulet on the table, littered with +dusty papers, and the clay cylinders marked all over with little marks like the +little prints of birds’ little feet. +</p> + +<p> +Robert laid down the whole Amulet, and Anthea gently restrained the eager hand +of the learned gentleman as it reached out yearningly towards the +“perfect specimen”. +</p> + +<p> +And then, just as before on the Marcella quilt, so now on the dusty litter of +papers and curiosities, the half Amulet quivered and shook, and then, as steel +is drawn to a magnet, it was drawn across the dusty manuscripts, nearer and +nearer to the perfect Amulet, warm from the pocket of Robert. And then, as one +drop of water mingles with another when the panes of the window are wrinkled +with rain, as one bead of mercury is drawn into another bead, the half Amulet, +that was the children’s and was also Rekh-marā’s,—slipped +into the whole Amulet, and, behold! there was only one—the perfect and +ultimate Charm. +</p> + +<p> +“And <i>that’s</i> all right,” said the Psammead, breaking a +breathless silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Anthea, “and we’ve got our hearts’ +desire. Father and Mother and The Lamb are coming home today.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what about me?” said Rekh-marā. +</p> + +<p> +“What <i>is</i> your heart’s desire?” Anthea asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Great and deep learning,” said the Priest, without a +moment’s hesitation. “A learning greater and deeper than that of +any man of my land and my time. But learning too great is useless. If I go back +to my own land and my own age, who will believe my tales of what I have seen in +the future? Let me stay here, be the great knower of all that has been, in that +our time, so living to me, so old to you, about which your learned men +speculate unceasingly, and often, <i>he</i> tells me, vainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I were you,” said the Psammead, “I should ask the Amulet +about that. It’s a dangerous thing, trying to live in a time that’s +not your own. You can’t breathe an air that’s thousands of +centuries ahead of your lungs without feeling the effects of it, sooner or +later. Prepare the mystic circle and consult the Amulet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>what</i> a dream!” cried the learned gentleman. “Dear +children, if you love me—and I think you do, in dreams and out of +them—prepare the mystic circle and consult the Amulet!” +</p> + +<p> +They did. As once before, when the sun had shone in August splendour, they +crouched in a circle on the floor. Now the air outside was thick and yellow +with the fog that by some strange decree always attends the Cattle Show week. +And in the street costers were shouting. “Ur Hekau Setcheh,” Jane +said the Name of Power. And instantly the light went out, and all the sounds +went out too, so that there was a silence and a darkness, both deeper than any +darkness or silence that you have ever even dreamed of imagining. It was like +being deaf or blind, only darker and quieter even than that. +</p> + +<p> +Then out of that vast darkness and silence came a light and a voice. The light +was too faint to see anything by, and the voice was too small for you to hear +what it said. But the light and the voice grew. And the light was the light +that no man may look on and live, and the voice was the sweetest and most +terrible voice in the world. The children cast down their eyes. And so did +everyone. +</p> + +<p> +“I speak,” said the voice. “What is it that you would +hear?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. Everyone was afraid to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“What are we to do about Rekh-marā?” said Robert suddenly and +abruptly. “Shall he go back through the Amulet to his own time, +or—” +</p> + +<p> +“No one can pass through the Amulet now,” said the beautiful, +terrible voice, “to any land or any time. Only when it was imperfect +could such things be. But men may pass through the perfect charm to the perfect +union, which is not of time or space.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you be so very kind,” said Anthea tremulously, “as to +speak so that we can understand you? The Psammead said something about +Rekh-marā not being able to live here, and if he can’t get +back—” She stopped, her heart was beating desperately in her +throat, as it seemed. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody can continue to live in a land and in a time not +appointed,” said the voice of glorious sweetness. “But a soul may +live, if in that other time and land there be found a soul so akin to it as to +offer it refuge, in the body of that land and time, that thus they two may be +one soul in one body.” +</p> + +<p> +The children exchanged discouraged glances. But the eyes of Rekh-marā and the +learned gentleman met, and were kind to each other, and promised each other +many things, secret and sacred and very beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +Anthea saw the look. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but,” she said, without at all meaning to say it, “dear +Jimmy’s soul isn’t at all like Rekh-marā’s. I’m certain +it isn’t. I don’t want to be rude, but it <i>isn’t</i>, you +know. Dear Jimmy’s soul is as good as gold, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing that is not good can pass beneath the double arch of my perfect +Amulet,” said the voice. “If both are willing, say the word of +Power, and let the two souls become one for ever and ever more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I?” asked Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +The voices were those of the Egyptian Priest and the learned gentleman, and the +voices were eager, alive, thrilled with hope and the desire of great things. +</p> + +<p> +So Jane took the Amulet from Robert and held it up between the two men, and +said, for the last time, the word of Power. +</p> + +<p> +“Ur Hekau Setcheh.” +</p> + +<p> +The perfect Amulet grew into a double arch; the two arches leaned to each other +Λ making a great A. +</p> + +<p> +“A stands for Amen,” whispered Jane; “what he was a priest +of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!” breathed Anthea. +</p> + +<p> +The great double arch glowed in and through the green light that had been there +since the Name of Power had first been spoken—it glowed with a light more +bright yet more soft than the other light—a glory and splendour and +sweetness unspeakable. +</p> + +<p> +“Come!” cried Rekh-marā, holding out his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Come!” cried the learned gentleman, and he also held out his +hands. +</p> + +<p> +Each moved forward under the glowing, glorious arch of the perfect Amulet. +</p> + +<p> +Then Rekh-marā quavered and shook, and as steel is drawn to a magnet he was +drawn, under the arch of magic, nearer and nearer to the learned gentleman. +And, as one drop of water mingles with another, when the window-glass is +rain-wrinkled, as one quick-silver bead is drawn to another quick-silver bead, +Rekh-marā, Divine Father of the Temple of Amen-Rā, was drawn into, slipped +into, disappeared into, and was one with Jimmy, the good, the beloved, the +learned gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly it was good daylight and the December sun shone. The fog has +passed away like a dream. +</p> + +<p> +The Amulet was there—little and complete in Jane’s hand, and there +were the other children and the Psammead, and the learned gentleman. But +Rekh-marā—or the body of Rekh-marā—was not there any more. As for +his soul... +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the horrid thing!” cried Robert, and put his foot on a +centipede as long as your finger, that crawled and wriggled and squirmed at the +learned gentleman’s feet. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>That</i>,” said the Psammead, “was the evil in the soul +of Rekh-marā.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a deep silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Then Rekh-marā’s <i>him</i> now?” said Jane at last. +</p> + +<p> +“All that was good in Rekh-marā,” said the Psammead. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>He</i> ought to have his heart’s desire, too,” said +Anthea, in a sort of stubborn gentleness. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>His</i> heart’s desire,” said the Psammead, “is the +perfect Amulet you hold in your hand. Yes—and has been ever since he +first saw the broken half of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got ours,” said Anthea softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the Psammead—its voice was crosser than they had +ever heard it—“your parents are coming home. And what’s to +become of <i>me?</i> I shall be found out, and made a show of, and degraded in +every possible way. I <i>know</i> they’ll make me go into +Parliament—hateful place—all mud and no sand. That beautiful +Baalbec temple in the desert! Plenty of good sand there, and no politics! I +wish I were there, safe in the Past—that I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you were,” said the learned gentleman absently, yet polite +as ever. +</p> + +<p> +The Psammead swelled itself up, turned its long snail’s eyes in one last +lingering look at Anthea—a loving look, she always said, and +thought—and—vanished. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Anthea, after a silence, “I suppose it’s +happy. The only thing it ever did really care for was <i>sand</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear children,” said the learned gentleman, “I must have +fallen asleep. I’ve had the most extraordinary dream.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope it was a nice one,” said Cyril with courtesy. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.... I feel a new man after it. Absolutely a new man.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a ring at the front-door bell. The opening of a door. Voices. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s <i>them!</i>” cried Robert, and a thrill ran through +four hearts. +</p> + +<p> +“Here!” cried Anthea, snatching the Amulet from Jane and pressing +it into the hand of the learned gentleman. “Here—it’s +<i>yours</i>—your very own—a present from us, because you’re +Rekh-marā as well as... I mean, because you’re such a dear.” +</p> + +<p> +She hugged him briefly but fervently, and the four swept down the stairs to the +hall, where a cabman was bringing in boxes, and where, heavily disguised in +travelling cloaks and wraps, was their hearts’ +desire—three-fold—Mother, Father, and The Lamb. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“Bless me!” said the learned gentleman, left alone, “bless +me! What a treasure! The dear children! It must be their affection that has +given me these luminous <i>aperçus</i>. I seem to see so many things +now—things I never saw before! The dear children! The dear, dear +children!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF THE AMULET ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 837-h.htm or 837-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/8/3/837/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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