d pull itself together. It
stiffened itself briskly and floated up between the four walls of the
tower. The children below craned their heads back, and nearly broke
their necks in doing it. The carpet rose and rose. It hung poised darkly
above them for an anxious moment or two; then it dropped down again,
threw itself on the uneven floor of the tower, and as it did so it
tumbled Robert out on the uneven floor of the tower.

'Oh, glory!' said Robert, 'that was a squeak. You don't know how I felt.
I say, I've had about enough for a bit. Let's wish ourselves at home
again and have a go at that jam tart and mutton. We can go out again
afterwards.'

'Righto!' said every one, for the adventure had shaken the nerves of
all. So they all got on to the carpet again, and said--

'I wish we were at home.'

And lo and behold, they were no more at home than before. The carpet
never moved. The Phoenix had taken the opportunity to go to sleep.
Anthea woke it up gently.

'Look here,' she said.

'I'm looking,' said the Phoenix.

'We WISHED to be at home, and we're still here,' complained Jane.

'No,' said the Phoenix, looking about it at the high dark walls of the
tower. 'No; I quite see that.'

'But we wished to be at home,' said Cyril.

'No doubt,' said the bird, politely.

'And the carpet hasn't moved an inch,' said Robert.

'No,' said the Phoenix, 'I see it hasn't.'

'But I thought it was a wishing carpet?'

'So it is,' said the Phoenix.

'Then why--?' asked the children, altogether.

'I did tell you, you know,' said the Phoenix, 'only you are so fond
of listening to the music of your own voices. It is, indeed, the most
lovely music to each of us, and therefore--'

'You did tell us WHAT?' interrupted an Exasperated.

'Why, that the carpet only gives you three wishes a day and YOU'VE HAD
THEM.'

There was a heartfelt silence.

'Then how are we going to get home?' said Cyril, at last.

'I haven't any idea,' replied the Phoenix, kindly. 'Can I fly out and
get you any little thing?'

'How could you carry the money to pay for it?'

'It isn't necessary. Birds always take what they want. It is not
regarded as stealing, except in the case of magpies.'

The children were glad to find they had been right in supposing this to
be the case, on the day when they had wings, and had enjoyed somebody
else's ripe plums.

'Yes; let the Phoenix get us something to eat, anyway,' Robert urged--'
('If it will be so kind yo