the shop. And the Psammead to sand. And the other three
went to dinner, which was now ready. And old Nurse was very cross that
Cyril was not ready too.

The three were watching at the windows when Cyril returned, and even
before he was near enough for them to see his face there was something
about the slouch of his shoulders and set of his knickerbockers and
the way he dragged his boots along that showed but too plainly that his
errand had been in vain.

'Well?' they all said, hoping against hope on the front-door step.

'No go,' Cyril answered; 'the man said the thing was perfect. He said
it was a Roman lady's locket, and people shouldn't buy curios if they
didn't know anything about arky--something or other, and that he never
went back on a bargain, because it wasn't business, and he expected his
customers to act the same. He was simply nasty--that's what he was, and
I want my dinner.'

It was plain that Cyril was not pleased.

The unlikeliness of anything really interesting happening in that
parlour lay like a weight of lead on everyone's spirits. Cyril had his
dinner, and just as he was swallowing the last mouthful of apple-pudding
there was a scratch at the door. Anthea opened it and in walked the
Psammead.

'Well,' it said, when it had heard the news, 'things might be worse.
Only you won't be surprised if you have a few adventures before you get
the other half. You want to get it, of course.'

'Rather,' was the general reply. 'And we don't mind adventures.'

'No,' said the Psammead, 'I seem to remember that about you. Well, sit
down and listen with all your ears. Eight, are there? Right--I am glad
you know arithmetic. Now pay attention, because I don't intend to tell
you everything twice over.'

As the children settled themselves on the floor--it was far more
comfortable than the chairs, as well as more polite to the Psammead, who
was stroking its whiskers on the hearth-rug--a sudden cold pain caught
at Anthea's heart. Father--Mother--the darling Lamb--all far away. Then
a warm, comfortable feeling flowed through her. The Psammead was here,
and at least half a charm, and there were to be adventures. (If you
don't know what a cold pain is, I am glad for your sakes, and I hope you
never may.)

'Now,' said the Psammead cheerily, 'you are not particularly nice, nor
particularly clever, and you're not at all good-looking. Still, you've
saved my life--oh, when I think of that man and his pail of water!--so