The Phoenix and the Carpet

The Phoenix and the Carpet

It began with the day when it was almost the Fifth of November, and a

doubt arose in some breast--Robert’s, I fancy--as to the quality of the

fireworks laid in for the Guy Fawkes celebration.

‘They were jolly cheap,’ said whoever it was, and I think it was Robert,

‘and suppose they didn’t go off on the night? Those Prosser kids would

have something to snigger about then.’

‘The ones I got are all right,’ Jane said; ‘I know they are, because

the man at the shop said they were worth thribble the money--’

‘I’m sure thribble isn’t grammar,’ Anthea said.

‘Of course it isn’t,’ said Cyril; ‘one word can’t be grammar all by

itself, so you needn’t be so jolly clever.’

Anthea was rummaging in the corner-drawers of her mind for a very

disagreeable answer, when she remembered what a wet day it was, and how

the boys had been disappointed of that ride to London and back on the

top of the tram, which their mother had promised them as a reward for

not having once forgotten, for six whole days, to wipe their boots on

the mat when they came home from school.

So Anthea only said, ‘Don’t be so jolly clever yourself, Squirrel. And

the fireworks look all right, and you’ll have the eightpence that your

tram fares didn’t cost to-day, to buy something more with. You ought to

get a perfectly lovely Catharine wheel for eightpence.’

‘I daresay,’ said Cyril, coldly; ‘but it’s not YOUR eightpence anyhow--’

‘But look here,’ said Robert, ‘really now, about the fireworks. We don’t

want to be disgraced before those kids next door. They think because

they wear red plush on Sundays no one else is any good.’

‘I wouldn’t wear plush if it was ever so--unless it was black to be

beheaded in, if I was Mary Queen of Scots,’ said Anthea, with scorn.

Robert stuck steadily to his point. One great point about Robert is the

steadiness with which he can stick.

‘I think we ought to test them,’ he said.

‘You young duffer,’ said Cyril, ‘fireworks are like postage-stamps. You

can only use them once.’

‘What do you suppose it means by “Carter’s tested seeds” in the

advertisement?’

There was a blank silence. Then Cyril touched his forehead with his

finger and shook his head.

‘A little wrong here,’ he said. ‘I was always afraid of that with poor

Robert. All that cleverness, you know, and being top in algebra so

often--it’s bound to tell--’

‘Dry up,’ said Robert, fiercely. ‘Don’t you see? You can’t TEST seeds if

you do them ALL. You just take a few here and there, and if those

grow you can feel pretty sure the others will be--what do you call

it?--Father told me--“up to sample”. Don’t you think we ought to sample

the fire-works? Just shut our eyes and each draw one out, and then try

them.’

‘But it’s raining cats and dogs,’ said Jane.

‘And Queen Anne is dead,’ rejoined Robert. No one was in a very good

temper. ‘We needn’t go out to do them; we can just move back the table,

and let them off on the old tea-tray we play toboggans with. I don’t

know what YOU think, but I think it’s time we did something, and

that would be really useful; because then we shouldn’t just HOPE the

fireworks would make those Prossers sit up--we should KNOW.’

‘It WOULD be something to do,’ Cyril owned with languid approval.

So the table was moved back. And then the hole in the carpet, that

had been near the window till the carpet was turned round, showed most

awfully. But Anthea stole out on tip-toe, and got the tray when cook

The children had seen the Phoenix-egg hatched in the flames in their own

nursery grate, and had heard from it how the carpet on their own nursery

floor was really the wishing carpet, which would take them anywhere they

chose. The carpet had transported them to bed just at the right

moment, and the Phoenix had gone to roost on the cornice supporting the

window-curtains of the boys’ room.

‘Excuse me,’ said a gentle voice, and a courteous beak opened, very

kindly and delicately, the right eye of Cyril. ‘I hear the slaves below

preparing food. Awaken! A word of explanation and arrangement... I do

wish you wouldn’t--’

The Phoenix stopped speaking and fluttered away crossly to the

cornice-pole; for Cyril had hit out, as boys do when they are awakened

suddenly, and the Phoenix was not used to boys, and his feelings, if not

his wings, were hurt.

‘Sorry,’ said Cyril, coming awake all in a minute. ‘Do come back! What

was it you were saying? Something about bacon and rations?’

The Phoenix fluttered back to the brass rail at the foot of the bed.

‘I say--you ARE real,’ said Cyril. ‘How ripping! And the carpet?’

‘The carpet is as real as it ever was,’ said the Phoenix, rather

contemptuously; ‘but, of course, a carpet’s only a carpet, whereas a

Phoenix is superlatively a Phoenix.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Cyril, ‘I see it is. Oh, what luck! Wake up, Bobs!

There’s jolly well something to wake up for today. And it’s Saturday,

too.’

‘I’ve been reflecting,’ said the Phoenix, ‘during the silent watches

of the night, and I could not avoid the conclusion that you were quite

insufficiently astonished at my appearance yesterday. The ancients were

always VERY surprised. Did you, by chance, EXPECT my egg to hatch?’

‘Not us,’ Cyril said.

‘And if we had,’ said Anthea, who had come in in her nightie when she

heard the silvery voice of the Phoenix, ‘we could never, never have

expected it to hatch anything so splendid as you.’

The bird smiled. Perhaps you’ve never seen a bird smile?

‘You see,’ said Anthea, wrapping herself in the boys’ counterpane, for

the morning was chill, ‘we’ve had things happen to us before;’ and she

told the story of the Psammead, or sand-fairy.

‘Ah yes,’ said the Phoenix; ‘Psammeads were rare, even in my time. I

remember I used to be called the Psammead of the Desert. I was always

having compliments paid me; I can’t think why.’

‘Can YOU give wishes, then?’ asked Jane, who had now come in too.

‘Oh, dear me, no,’ said the Phoenix, contemptuously, ‘at least--but I

hear footsteps approaching. I hasten to conceal myself.’ And it did.

I think I said that this day was Saturday. It was also cook’s birthday,

and mother had allowed her and Eliza to go to the Crystal Palace with a

party of friends, so Jane and Anthea of course had to help to make beds

and to wash up the breakfast cups, and little things like that. Robert

and Cyril intended to spend the morning in conversation with the

Phoenix, but the bird had its own ideas about this.

‘I must have an hour or two’s quiet,’ it said, ‘I really must. My nerves

will give way unless I can get a little rest. You must remember it’s two

thousand years since I had any conversation--I’m out of practice, and I

must take care of myself. I’ve often been told that mine is a valuable

life.’ So it nestled down inside an old hatbox of father’s, which had

been brought down from the box-room some days before, when a helmet was

suddenly needed for a game of tournaments, with its golden head under

its golden wing, and went to sleep. So then Robert and Cyril moved