clears up,' said Robert, without enthusiasm. 'Just look
at the rain. And why should we give the carpet a rest?'

'Are you greedy and grasping, and heartless and selfish?' asked the
bird, sharply.

'NO!' said Robert, with indignation.

'Well then!' said the Phoenix. 'And as to the rain--well, I am not fond
of rain myself. If the sun knew _I_ was here--he's very fond of shining
on me because I look so bright and golden. He always says I repay a
little attention. Haven't you some form of words suitable for use in wet
weather?'

'There's "Rain, rain, go away,"' said Anthea; 'but it never DOES go.'

'Perhaps you don't say the invocation properly,' said the bird.

'Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day,
Little baby wants to play,'

said Anthea.

'That's quite wrong; and if you say it in that sort of dull way, I can
quite understand the rain not taking any notice. You should open the
window and shout as loud as you can--

'Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day;
Now we want the sun, and so,
Pretty rain, be kind and go!

'You should always speak politely to people when you want them to do
things, and especially when it's going away that you want them to do.
And to-day you might add--

'Shine, great sun, the lovely Phoe-
Nix is here, and wants to be
Shone on, splendid sun, by thee!'

'That's poetry!' said Cyril, decidedly.

'It's like it,' said the more cautious Robert.

'I was obliged to put in "lovely",' said the Phoenix, modestly, 'to make
the line long enough.'

'There are plenty of nasty words just that length,' said Jane; but every
one else said 'Hush!' And then they opened the window and shouted the
seven lines as loud as they could, and the Phoenix said all the words
with them, except 'lovely', and when they came to that it looked down
and coughed bashfully.

The rain hesitated a moment and then went away.

'There's true politeness,' said the Phoenix, and the next moment it was
perched on the window-ledge, opening and shutting its radiant wings and
flapping out its golden feathers in such a flood of glorious sunshine as
you sometimes have at sunset in autumn time. People said afterwards that
there had not been such sunshine in December for years and years and
years.

'And now,' said the bird, 'we will go out into the city, and you shall
take me to see one of my temples.'

'Your temples?'

'I gather from the carpet that I have man