The Phoenix and the Carpet. Эдит Несбит

in its life. On the mantelpiece stood the Phoenix, waiting with an air of modest yet sterling worth for the thanks of the children.

      'But how did you do it?' they asked, when every one had thanked the Phoenix again and again.

      'Oh, I just went and got a wish from your friend the Psammead.'

      'But how did you know where to find it?'

      'I found that out from the carpet; these wishing creatures always know all about each other—they're so clannish; like the Scots, you know—all related.'

      'But the carpet can't talk, can it?'

      'No.'

      'Then how—'

      'How did I get the Psammead's address? I tell you I got it from the carpet.'

      'Did it speak then?'

      'No,' said the Phoenix, thoughtfully, 'it didn't speak, but I gathered my information from something in its manner. I was always a singularly observant bird.'

      it was not till after the cold mutton and the jam tart, as well as the tea and bread-and-butter, that any one found time to regret the golden treasure which had been left scattered on the floor of the underground passage, and which, indeed, no one had thought of till now, since the moment when Cyril burnt his fingers at the flame of the last match.

      'What owls and goats we were!' said Robert. 'Look how we've always wanted treasure—and now—'

      'Never mind,' said Anthea, trying as usual to make the best of it. 'We'll go back again and get it all, and then we'll give everybody presents.'

      More than a quarter of an hour passed most agreeably in arranging what presents should be given to whom, and, when the claims of generosity had been satisfied, the talk ran for fifty minutes on what they would buy for themselves.

      It was Cyril who broke in on Robert's almost too technical account of the motor-car on which he meant to go to and from school—

      'There!' he said. 'Dry up. It's no good. We can't ever go back. We don't know where it is.'

      'Don't you know?' Jane asked the Phoenix, wistfully.

      'Not in the least,' the Phoenix replied, in a tone of amiable regret.

      'Then we've lost the treasure,' said Cyril.

      And they had.

      'But we've got the carpet and the Phoenix,' said Anthea.

      'Excuse me,' said the bird, with an air of wounded dignity, 'I do so hate to seem to interfere, but surely you must mean the Phoenix and the carpet?'