fat legs in the air. Then of course the sand got into his eyes, as it
had into Anthea's, and he howled.

The thoughtful Robert had brought one solid brown bottle of ginger-beer
with him, relying on a thirst that had never yet failed him. This had to
be uncorked hurriedly--it was the only wet thing within reach, and it
was necessary to wash the sand out of the Lamb's eyes somehow. Of course
the ginger hurt horribly, and he howled more than ever. And, amid his
anguish of kicking, the bottle was upset and the beautiful ginger-beer
frothed out into the sand and was lost for ever.

It was then that Robert, usually a very patient brother, so far forgot
himself as to say--

"Anybody would want him, indeed! Only they don't; Martha doesn't, not
really, or she'd jolly well keep him with her. He's a little nuisance,
that's what he is. It's too bad. I only wish everybody _did_ want him
with all their hearts; we might get some peace in our lives."

The Lamb stopped howling now, because Jane had suddenly remembered that
there is only one safe way of taking things out of little children's
eyes, and that is with your own soft wet tongue. It is quite easy if you
love the Baby as much as you ought to do.

Then there was a little silence. Robert was not proud of himself for
having been so cross, and the others were not proud of him either. You
often notice that sort of silence when someone has said something it
ought not to--and everyone else holds its tongue and waits for the one
who oughtn't to have said it is sorry.

The silence was broken by a sigh--a breath suddenly let out. The
children's heads turned as if there had been a string tied to each nose,
and somebody had pulled all the strings at once.

And everyone saw the Sand-fairy sitting quite close to them, with the
expression which it used as a smile on its hairy face.

"Good-morning," it said; "I did that quite easily! Everyone wants him
now."

"It doesn't matter," said Robert sulkily, because he knew he had been
behaving rather like a pig. "No matter who wants him--there's no one
here to--anyhow."

"Ingratitude," said the Psammead, "is a dreadful vice."

"We're not ungrateful," Jane made haste to say, "but we didn't _really_
want that wish. Robert only just said it. Can't you take it back and
give us a new one?"

"No--I can't," the Sand-fairy said shortly; "chopping and changing--it's
not business. You ought to be careful what you _do_ wish. There was a
little bo