n father's
study table yielded, as the sum-books say, 'the desired result'. But
when he came back into the room holding out a paper, and crying, 'I say,
look here,' the others all said 'Hush!' and he hushed obediently and
instantly, for the bird was speaking.

'Which of you,' it was saying, 'put the egg into the fire?'

'He did,' said three voices, and three fingers pointed at Robert.

The bird bowed; at least it was more like that than anything else.

'I am your grateful debtor,' it said with a high-bred air.

The children were all choking with wonder and curiosity--all except
Robert. He held the paper in his hand, and he KNEW. He said so. He
said--

'_I_ know who you are.'

And he opened and displayed a printed paper, at the head of which was a
little picture of a bird sitting in a nest of flames.

'You are the Phoenix,' said Robert; and the bird was quite pleased.

'My fame has lived then for two thousand years,' it said. 'Allow me to
look at my portrait.' It looked at the page which Robert, kneeling down,
spread out in the fender, and said--

'It's not a flattering likeness... And what are these characters?' it
asked, pointing to the printed part.

'Oh, that's all dullish; it's not much about YOU, you know,' said Cyril,
with unconscious politeness; 'but you're in lots of books.'

'With portraits?' asked the Phoenix.

'Well, no,' said Cyril; 'in fact, I don't think I ever saw any portrait
of you but that one, but I can read you something about yourself, if you
like.'

The Phoenix nodded, and Cyril went off and fetched Volume X of the old
Encyclopedia, and on page 246 he found the following:--

'Phoenix--in ornithology, a fabulous bird of antiquity.'

'Antiquity is quite correct,' said the Phoenix, 'but fabulous--well, do
I look it?'

Every one shook its head. Cyril went on--

'The ancients speak of this bird as single, or the only one of its
kind.'

'That's right enough,' said the Phoenix.

'They describe it as about the size of an eagle.'

'Eagles are of different sizes,' said the Phoenix; 'it's not at all a
good description.'

All the children were kneeling on the hearthrug, to be as near the
Phoenix as possible.

'You'll boil your brains,' it said. 'Look out, I'm nearly cool now;' and
with a whirr of golden wings it fluttered from the fender to the table.
It was so nearly cool that there was only a very faint smell of burning
when it had settled itself on the table-cloth.

'It's o