n't gone--I'm sure it hasn't,' said Anthea. 'I'll have
another look for it.'

Anthea looked under tables and chairs, and in boxes and baskets, in
mother's work-bag and father's portmanteau, but still the Phoenix showed
not so much as the tip of one shining feather.

Then suddenly Robert remembered how the whole of the Greek invocation
song of seven thousand lines had been condensed by him into one English
hexameter, so he stood on the carpet and chanted--

'Oh, come along, come along, you good old beautiful Phoenix,'

and almost at once there was a rustle of wings down the kitchen stairs,
and the Phoenix sailed in on wide gold wings.

'Where on earth HAVE you been?' asked Anthea. 'I've looked everywhere
for you.'

'Not EVERYWHERE,' replied the bird, 'because you did not look in the
place where I was. Confess that that hallowed spot was overlooked by
you.'

'WHAT hallowed spot?' asked Cyril, a little impatiently, for time was
hastening on, and the wishing carpet still idle.

'The spot,' said the Phoenix, 'which I hallowed by my golden presence
was the Lutron.'

'The WHAT?'

'The bath--the place of washing.'

'I'm sure you weren't,' said Jane. 'I looked there three times and moved
all the towels.'

'I was concealed,' said the Phoenix, 'on the summit of a metal
column--enchanted, I should judge, for it felt warm to my golden toes,
as though the glorious sun of the desert shone ever upon it.'

'Oh, you mean the cylinder,' said Cyril: 'it HAS rather a comforting
feel, this weather. And now where shall we go?'

And then, of course, the usual discussion broke out as to where they
should go and what they should do. And naturally, every one wanted to do
something that the others did not care about.

'I am the eldest,' Cyril remarked, 'let's go to the North Pole.'

'This weather! Likely!' Robert rejoined. 'Let's go to the Equator.'

'I think the diamond mines of Golconda would be nice,' said Anthea;
'don't you agree, Jane?'

'No, I don't,' retorted Jane, 'I don't agree with you. I don't agree
with anybody.'

The Phoenix raised a warning claw.

'If you cannot agree among yourselves, I fear I shall have to leave
you,' it said.

'Well, where shall we go? You decide!' said all.

'If I were you,' said the bird, thoughtfully, 'I should give the carpet
a rest. Besides, you'll lose the use of your legs if you go everywhere
by carpet. Can't you take me out and explain your ugly city to me?'

'We will if it