ck of the chair, swaying backwards and forwards and
up and down, as you may see your own domestic parrot do. I mean the grey
one with the red tail. All eyes were on the stage, where the lobster
was delighting the audience with that gem of a song, 'If you can't walk
straight, walk sideways!' when the Phoenix murmured warmly--

'No altar, no fire, no incense!' and then, before any of the children
could even begin to think of stopping it, it spread its bright wings and
swept round the theatre, brushing its gleaming feathers against delicate
hangings and gilded woodwork.

It seemed to have made but one circular wing-sweep, such as you may see
a gull make over grey water on a stormy day. Next moment it was perched
again on the chair-back--and all round the theatre, where it had passed,
little sparks shone like tinsel seeds, then little smoke wreaths curled
up like growing plants--little flames opened like flower-buds. People
whispered--then people shrieked.

'Fire! Fire!' The curtain went down--the lights went up.

'Fire!' cried every one, and made for the doors.

'A magnificent idea!' said the Phoenix, complacently. 'An enormous
altar--fire supplied free of charge. Doesn't the incense smell
delicious?'

The only smell was the stifling smell of smoke, of burning silk, or
scorching varnish.

The little flames had opened now into great flame-flowers. The people in
the theatre were shouting and pressing towards the doors.

'Oh, how COULD you!' cried Jane. 'Let's get out.'

'Father said stay here,' said Anthea, very pale, and trying to speak in
her ordinary voice.

'He didn't mean stay and be roasted,' said Robert. 'No boys on burning
decks for me, thank you.'

'Not much,' said Cyril, and he opened the door of the box.

But a fierce waft of smoke and hot air made him shut it again. It was
not possible to get out that way.

They looked over the front of the box. Could they climb down?

It would be possible, certainly; but would they be much better off?

'Look at the people,' moaned Anthea; 'we couldn't get through.'

And, indeed, the crowd round the doors looked as thick as flies in the
jam-making season.

'I wish we'd never seen the Phoenix,' cried Jane.

Even at that awful moment Robert looked round to see if the bird
had overheard a speech which, however natural, was hardly polite or
grateful.

The Phoenix was gone.

'Look here,' said Cyril, 'I've read about fires in papers; I'm sure it's
all right. L