"Our one chance," cried Anthea dramatically; "the last lone-lorn forlorn
hope. Come on."

At a brisk trot she led the way to the sand-pit. Oh, joy!--there was the
Psammead, basking in a golden sandy hollow and preening its whiskers
happily in the glowing afternoon sun. The moment it saw them it whisked
round and began to burrow--it evidently preferred its own company to
theirs. But Anthea was too quick for it. She caught it by its furry
shoulders gently but firmly, and held it.

"Here--none of that!" said the Psammead. "Leave go of me, will you?"

But Anthea held him fast.

"Dear kind darling Sammyadd," she said breathlessly.

"Oh yes--it's all very well," it said; "you want another wish, I expect.
But I can't keep on slaving from morning till night giving people their
wishes. I must have _some_ time to myself."

"Do you hate giving wishes?" asked Anthea gently, and her voice trembled
with excitement.

"Of course I do," it said. "Leave go of me or I'll bite!--I really
will--I mean it. Oh, well, if you choose to risk it."

Anthea risked it and held on.

"Look here," she said, "don't bite me--listen to reason. If you'll only
do what we want to-day, we'll never ask you for another wish as long as
we live."

The Psammead was much moved.

"I'd do anything," it said in a tearful voice. "I'd almost burst myself
to give you one wish after another, as long as I held out, if you'd only
never, never ask me to do it after to-day. If you knew how I hate to
blow myself out with other people's wishes, and how frightened I am
always that I shall strain a muscle or something. And then to wake up
every morning and know you've _got_ to do it. You don't know what it
is--you don't know what it is, you don't!" Its voice cracked with
emotion, and the last "don't" was a squeak.

Anthea set it down gently on the sand.

"It's all over now," she said soothingly. "We promise faithfully never
to ask for another wish after to-day."

"Well, go ahead," said the Psammead; "let's get it over."

"How many can you do?"

"I don't know--as long as I can hold out."

"Well, first, I wish Lady Chittenden may find she's never lost her
jewels."

The Psammead blew itself out, collapsed, and said, "Done."

"I wish," said Anthea more slowly, "mother mayn't get to the police."

"Done," said the creature after the proper interval.

"I wish," said Jane suddenly, "mother could forget all about the
diamonds."

"Done," said the Psammead; b