asured--but he was taller than your father would be if he stood on
your mother's head, which I am sure he would never be unkind enough to
do. He must have been ten or eleven feet high, and as broad as a boy of
that height ought to be. His suit had fortunately grown too, and now he
stood up in it--with one of his enormous stockings turned down to show
the gigantic bruise on his vast leg. Immense tears of fury still stood
on his flushed giant face. He looked so surprised, and he was so large
to be wearing a turned down collar outside of his jacket that the others
could not help laughing.

"The Sammyadd's done us again," said Cyril.

[Illustration: "The Sammyadd's done us again," said Cyril]

"Not us--_me_," said Robert. "If you'd got any decent feeling you'd try
to make it make you the same size. You've no idea how silly it feels,"
he added thoughtlessly.

"And I don't want to; I can jolly well see how silly it looks," Cyril
was beginning; but Anthea said--

"Oh, _don't_! I don't know what's the matter with you boys to-day. Look
here, Squirrel, let's play fair. It is hateful for poor old Bobs, all
alone up there. Let's ask the Sammyadd for another wish, and, if it
will, I do really think we ought all to be made the same size."

The others agreed, but not gaily; but when they found the Psammead, it
wouldn't.

"Not I," it said crossly, rubbing its face with its feet. "He's a rude
violent boy, and it'll do him good to be the wrong size for a bit. What
did he want to come digging me out with his nasty wet hands for? He
nearly touched me! He's a perfect savage. A boy of the Stone Age would
have had more sense."

Robert's hands had indeed been wet--with tears.

"Go away and leave me in peace, do," the Psammead went on. "I can't
think why you don't wish for something sensible--something to eat or
drink, or good manners, or good tempers. Go along with you, do!"

It almost snarled as it shook its whiskers, and turned a sulky brown
back on them. The most hopeful felt that further parley was vain.

They turned again to the colossal Robert.

"What ever shall we do?" they said; and they all said it.

"First," said Robert grimly, "I'm going to reason with that baker's boy.
I shall catch him at the end of the road."

"Don't hit a chap smaller than yourself, old man," said Cyril.

"Do I look like hitting him?" said Robert scornfully. "Why, I should
_kill_ him. But I'll give him something to remember. Wait till I pull up