now quite often held the graceful
forms of Cyril, Robert, Anthea, and Jane.

One day Cyril and Robert in tight white underclothing had spent a
pleasant hour in reproducing the attitudes of statues seen either in the
British Museum, or in Father's big photograph book. But the show ended
abruptly because Robert wanted to be the Venus of Milo, and for this
purpose pulled at the sheet which served for drapery at the very moment
when Cyril, looking really quite like the Discobolos--with a gold and
white saucer for the disc--was standing on one foot, and under that one
foot was the sheet.

Of course the Discobolos and his disc and the would-be Venus came down
together, and everyone was a good deal hurt, especially the saucer,
which would never be the same again, however neatly one might join its
uneven bits with Seccotine or the white of an egg.

'I hope you're satisfied,' said Cyril, holding his head where a large
lump was rising.

'Quite, thanks,' said Robert bitterly. His thumb had caught in the
banisters and bent itself back almost to breaking point.

'I AM so sorry, poor, dear Squirrel,' said Anthea; 'and you were looking
so lovely. I'll get a wet rag. Bobs, go and hold your hand under the
hot-water tap. It's what ballet girls do with their legs when they hurt
them. I saw it in a book.'

'What book?' said Robert disagreeably. But he went.

When he came back Cyril's head had been bandaged by his sisters, and he
had been brought to the state of mind where he was able reluctantly to
admit that he supposed Robert hadn't done it on purpose.

Robert replying with equal suavity, Anthea hastened to lead the talk
away from the accident.

'I suppose you don't feel like going anywhere through the Amulet,' she
said.

'Egypt!' said Jane promptly. 'I want to see the pussy cats.'

'Not me--too hot,' said Cyril. 'It's about as much as I can stand
here--let alone Egypt.' It was indeed, hot, even on the second landing,
which was the coolest place in the house. 'Let's go to the North Pole.'

'I don't suppose the Amulet was ever there--and we might get our fingers
frost-bitten so that we could never hold it up to get home again. No
thanks,' said Robert.

'I say,' said Jane, 'let's get the Psammead and ask its advice. It will
like us asking, even if we don't take it.'

The Psammead was brought up in its green silk embroidered bag, but
before it could be asked anything the door of the learned gentleman's
room opened and the