x?"

"'Home is the sailor, home from the hill,'" the Phoenix said, "'And
the hunter home from the sea.' Or is it the other way around? At any
rate, we are home, my boy."

And so they were.

"Weren't we playing with a Faun just now?"

"Quite so."

"But there was something else," David said. "Something ... Didn't
somebody say, 'Follow, before it is too late,' or something like that?
_Did_ we follow?--I can't remember."

"No, my boy. By the time one hears that, it is already too late."

"Oh." Too late for what? he wondered. Oh, well ... He sighed, and fell
to daydreaming.

A cough from the Phoenix brought him back.

"Beg your pardon?"

"I have never seen you so thoughtful, my boy. However, I believe I
know what you are thinking about. It _is_ a difficult problem, is it
not?"

"Yes, I was just--"

"--thinking what you could get me for a birthday present," interrupted
the Phoenix. "Am I not correct?"

David, who had not even given this a thought until now, flushed.

"Aha!" said the Phoenix triumphantly. "Just as I thought! Believe me,
my dear fellow, when you have been around as long as _I_ have, you can
read the minds of your friends as easily as a book. Now, the problem
of what to give is a hard one at any time, but the problem of what to
give for a five hundredth birthday is even harder. A monogrammed ash
tray? I do not receive cigars often enough to make that practical. A
hand-knitted sweater? It would not fit (they never do). A gold-plated
watch chain? I have no watch. No, the best idea would be to get me
something which I can use."

"Certainly, Phoenix," David stammered. "What _do_ you want, then?"

"Ah! We have reached the kernel of the problem. And the answer, my
boy, is this: cinnamon."

"Cinnamon?"

"Precisely. Also a box of matches--the kind that strike anywhere, you
know."

"Well--all right. It doesn't sound like much of a present, but if
that's what you really want.... What are you going to do with them,
Phoenix? I mean, if you don't mind my asking."

"The plain fact is, my boy," said the Phoenix doubtfully, "the plain
fact is--well, I do not know. Odd! But something tells me I shall need
them. Well, it will come to me in the morning, no doubt. And then, of
course, I shall be very glad to have them on hand."

"All right, cinnamon and matches, then. And I'll get some--no, I won't
tell you _that_. It'll be a surprise."

"A surprise? Splendid, my boy! You could not, I suppose, drop me