gson?' said Robert, 'and DID you keep it up last night?'

The mouth of the housemaid fell open.

'Did you doss with Maria or Emily?' asked Cyril.

'How did Mrs Prosser enjoy herself?' asked Jane.

'Forbear,' said Cyril, 'they've had enough. Whether we tell or not
depends on your later life,' he went on, addressing the servants. 'If
you are decent to us we'll be decent to you. You'd better make that
treacle roley--and if I were you, Eliza, I'd do a little housework and
cleaning, just for a change.'

The servants gave in once and for all.

'There's nothing like firmness,' Cyril went on, when the breakfast
things were cleared away and the children were alone in the nursery.
'People are always talking of difficulties with servants. It's quite
simple, when you know the way. We can do what we like now and they won't
peach. I think we've broken THEIR proud spirit. Let's go somewhere by
carpet.'

'I wouldn't if I were you,' said the Phoenix, yawning, as it swooped
down from its roost on the curtain pole. 'I've given you one or two
hints, but now concealment is at an end, and I see I must speak out.'

It perched on the back of a chair and swayed to and fro, like a parrot
on a swing.

'What's the matter now?' said Anthea. She was not quite so gentle as
usual, because she was still weary from the excitement of last night's
cats. 'I'm tired of things happening. I shan't go anywhere on the
carpet. I'm going to darn my stockings.'

'Darn!' said the Phoenix, 'darn! From those young lips these strange
expressions--'

'Mend, then,' said Anthea, 'with a needle and wool.'

The Phoenix opened and shut its wings thoughtfully.

'Your stockings,' it said, 'are much less important than they now appear
to you. But the carpet--look at the bare worn patches, look at the great
rent at yonder corner. The carpet has been your faithful friend--your
willing servant. How have you requited its devoted service?'

'Dear Phoenix,' Anthea urged, 'don't talk in that horrid lecturing tone.
You make me feel as if I'd done something wrong. And really it is a
wishing carpet, and we haven't done anything else to it--only wishes.'

'Only wishes,' repeated the Phoenix, ruffling its neck feathers angrily,
'and what sort of wishes? Wishing people to be in a good temper, for
instance. What carpet did you ever hear of that had such a wish asked
of it? But this noble fabric, on which you trample so recklessly' (every
one removed its boots from the carp