of a
three-hour search the Chief handed in his resignation.

As for the Scientist, he disappeared completely. A farmer living three
miles out of town said he saw a man, dressed in a nightshirt and
head-bandage, running down the valley road. The farmer guessed the
man's speed to be thirty-five miles an hour. But, he added, there was
such a cloud of dust being raised that he could not see very well.

"It might have been fifty miles an hour," he said.

No one doubted him.

[Illustration]

9: _In Which David and the Phoenix Call On a Faun, and a Lovely
Afternoon Comes to a Strange End_

[Illustration]

The Phoenix was dead tired. And no wonder--all in one week it had
escaped from Gryffons, raced with a Witch, made round-trip flights to
the Pacific Isles and Ireland, been caught in a snare, got burned by a
short circuit, and been knocked down by an exploding cigar. Even a
bird as strong as the Phoenix cannot do all these things without
needing a rest. So the traveling part of David's education was
stopped for a while to let the Phoenix recover.

The days went by pleasantly on the ledge. Summer was at its height.
The sun fell on them with just the right amount of warmth as they
lolled on the grass. The air was filled with a lazy murmuring.
"Listen," the murmuring seemed to say, "don't talk, don't think--close
your eyes and listen." Below them, the whole valley danced and wavered
in the heat waves, so that it seemed to be under water.

There were long, lazy conversations that began nowhere and ended
nowhere--the wonderful kind in which you say whatever comes to your
head without fear of being misunderstood, because what you say has
little importance anyway. The Phoenix told of the times and adventures
it had had. Of the forgotten corners of the world where life went on
as it had from the beginning, and of friends who lived there. Of
Trolls who mined metal from the earth and made from it wondrous
machines which whirred and clattered and clanked and did absolutely
nothing. ("The best kind of machine after all, my boy, since they
injure no one, and there is nothing to worry about when they break
down.") Of Unicorns ("Excellent chaps, but so frightfully melancholy")
which shone white in the sun and tossed their ivory horns like
rapiers. Of a Dragon who, having no treasure to guard, got together a
pathetic heap of colored pebbles in its cave. ("And really, he came to
believe in time that they were absolutely pri