a
small hint? No? But of course not--one hint and my powerful Intellect
could guess everything--and then the surprise would be spoiled. Well,
until tomorrow, then!"

* * * * *

[Illustration]

That evening David shut himself in his room and robbed his bank. It
was a squat, cast-iron box, with "A Penny Saved Is A Penny Earned" in
raised letters on one side. The only way to open it was to smash it
with a crowbar, but it could be emptied. It had to be tilted just so,
with a knife blade in the slot to catch the coins and guide them out.
This is what David did, with a bread knife borrowed from the kitchen.
It was a slow, uncertain job, and one coin (he guessed it was a dime
by the way it rattled) never did come out. But the rest, which
included his change from Uncle Charles's present, would be enough.

Early next morning he went to the store and bought three large boxes
of stick cinnamon, two cans of powdered cinnamon, and a huge box of
matches. For the surprise he got a whole quart of strawberry ice
cream, with a piece of dry ice to keep it from melting. He wanted to
buy a cake, too, and candles, but there was not enough money left.
Then he remembered that a new batch of cookies had been baked at home
yesterday, which would have to do instead. He wrapped the cinnamon and
matches up in a neat package with white paper, tied it in a blue
ribbon, and wrote on it "To Feenix, Happy 500 Birthday, from David."
Then he took all the cookies from the jar, borrowed two plates and
spoons, put everything into a large paper bag, and set out for the
Phoenix's ledge.

He was surprised to find the Phoenix working busily in the middle of a
wide place on the ledge. Apparently the bird had been at it all night,
for a huge pile of sticks and brush had been heaped up on the ground
and shaped roughly like a nest. Right now the Phoenix was struggling
with a small log, trying to get it on the pile.

"Hello, Phoenix! Happy birthday!"

"Ah, there, my boy! Thank you very much. Could you kindly give me a
hand with this log?"

They heaved and grunted the piece of wood to the top of the pile, and
David said, "What's this for, Phoenix?"

"This, my boy, is a pyre. A bit untidy around the edges, but
nonetheless a pyre."

"Oh," said David. "What's that?"

"Well--a _pyre_, you know--a sort of fire, as it were."

"Oh, _fire_. I thought you said--oh, yes. Fire. Isn't it awfully
_warm_ for a fire?"

"The weather