dished all about them. Next
moment each child was seized by an Indian; each closed its eyes and
tried not to scream. They waited for the sharp agony of the knife. It
did not come. Next moment they were released, and fell in a trembling
heap. Their heads did not hurt at all. They only felt strangely cool!
Wild war-whoops rang in their ears. When they ventured to open their
eyes they saw four of their foes dancing round them with wild leaps and
screams, and each of the four brandished in his hand a scalp of long
flowing black hair. They put their hands to their heads--their own
scalps were safe! The poor untutored savages had indeed scalped the
children. But they had only, so to speak, scalped them of the black
calico ringlets!

[Illustration: Bright knives were being brandished all about them]

The children fell into each other's arms, sobbing and laughing.

"Their scalps are ours," chanted the chief; "ill-rooted were their
ill-fated hairs! They came off in the hands of the victors--without
struggle, without resistance, they yielded their scalps to the
conquering Rock-dwellers! Oh, how little a thing is a scalp so lightly
won!"

"They'll take our real ones in a minute; you see if they don't," said
Robert, trying to rub some of the red ochre off his face and hands on to
his hair.

"Cheated of our just and fiery revenge are we," the chant went on,--"but
there are other torments than the scalping-knife and the flames. Yet is
the slow fire the correct thing. O strange unnatural country, wherein a
man may find no wood to burn his enemy!--Ah for the boundless forests of
my native land, where the great trees for thousands of miles grow but to
furnish firewood wherewithal to burn our foes. Ah, would we were but in
our native forest once more!"

Suddenly like a flash of lightning, the golden gravel shone all round
the four children instead of the dusky figures. For every single
Indian had vanished on the instant at their leader's word. The Psammead
must have been there all the time. And it had given the Indian chief his
wish.

* * * * *

Martha brought home a jug with a pattern of storks and long grasses on
it. Also she brought back all Anthea's money.

"My cousin, she gave me the jug for luck; she said it was an odd one
what the basin of had got smashed."

"Oh, Martha, you are a dear!" sighed Anthea, throwing her arms round
her.

"Yes," giggled Martha, "you'd better make the most of