slates, and odd pieces of toys that had lost the rest of
themselves. 'Now hear the wisdom of Phoenix, the son of the Phoenix--'

'There is a society called that,' said Cyril.

'Where is it? And what is a society?' asked the bird.

'It's a sort of joined-together lot of people--a sort of brotherhood--a
kind of--well, something very like your temple, you know, only quite
different.'

'I take your meaning,' said the Phoenix. 'I would fain see these calling
themselves Sons of the Phoenix.'

'But what about your words of wisdom?'

'Wisdom is always welcome,' said the Phoenix.

'Pretty Polly!' remarked the Lamb, reaching his hands towards the golden
speaker.

The Phoenix modestly retreated behind Robert, and Anthea hastened to
distract the attention of the Lamb by murmuring--

"I love my little baby rabbit;
But oh! he has a dreadful habit
Of paddling out among the rocks
And soaking both his bunny socks.'

'I don't think you'd care about the sons of the Phoenix, really,' said
Robert. 'I have heard that they don't do anything fiery. They only drink
a great deal. Much more than other people, because they drink lemonade
and fizzy things, and the more you drink of those the more good you
get.'

'In your mind, perhaps,' said Jane; 'but it wouldn't be good in your
body. You'd get too balloony.'

The Phoenix yawned.

'Look here,' said Anthea; 'I really have an idea. This isn't like a
common carpet. It's very magic indeed. Don't you think, if we put Tatcho
on it, and then gave it a rest, the magic part of it might grow, like
hair is supposed to do?'

'It might,' said Robert; 'but I should think paraffin would do as
well--at any rate as far as the smell goes, and that seems to be the
great thing about Tatcho.'

But with all its faults Anthea's idea was something to do, and they did
it.

It was Cyril who fetched the Tatcho bottle from father's washhand-stand.
But the bottle had not much in it.

'We mustn't take it all,' Jane said, 'in case father's hair began to
come off suddenly. If he hadn't anything to put on it, it might all
drop off before Eliza had time to get round to the chemist's for another
bottle. It would be dreadful to have a bald father, and it would all be
our fault.'

'And wigs are very expensive, I believe,' said Anthea. 'Look here, leave
enough in the bottle to wet father's head all over with in case any
emergency emerges--and let's make up with paraffin. I expect it's