et's wait here, as father said.'

'We can't do anything else,' said Anthea bitterly.

'Look here,' said Robert, 'I'm NOT frightened--no, I'm not. The Phoenix
has never been a skunk yet, and I'm certain it'll see us through
somehow. I believe in the Phoenix!'

'The Phoenix thanks you, O Robert,' said a golden voice at his feet, and
there was the Phoenix itself, on the Wishing Carpet.

'Quick!' it said. 'Stand on those portions of the carpet which are truly
antique and authentic--and--'

A sudden jet of flame stopped its words. Alas! the Phoenix had
unconsciously warmed to its subject, and in the unintentional heat of
the moment had set fire to the paraffin with which that morning the
children had anointed the carpet. It burned merrily. The children tried
in vain to stamp it out. They had to stand back and let it burn itself
out. When the paraffin had burned away it was found that it had taken
with it all the darns of Scotch heather-mixture fingering. Only the
fabric of the old carpet was left--and that was full of holes.

'Come,' said the Phoenix, 'I'm cool now.'

The four children got on to what was left of the carpet. Very careful
they were not to leave a leg or a hand hanging over one of the holes. It
was very hot--the theatre was a pit of fire. Every one else had got out.

Jane had to sit on Anthea's lap.

'Home!' said Cyril, and instantly the cool draught from under the
nursery door played upon their legs as they sat. They were all on
the carpet still, and the carpet was lying in its proper place on the
nursery floor, as calm and unmoved as though it had never been to the
theatre or taken part in a fire in its life.

Four long breaths of deep relief were instantly breathed. The draught
which they had never liked before was for the moment quite pleasant. And
they were safe. And every one else was safe. The theatre had been quite
empty when they left. Every one was sure of that.

They presently found themselves all talking at once. Somehow none of
their adventures had given them so much to talk about. None other had
seemed so real.

'Did you notice--?' they said, and 'Do you remember--?'

When suddenly Anthea's face turned pale under the dirt which it had
collected on it during the fire.

'Oh,' she cried, 'mother and father! Oh, how awful! They'll think we're
burned to cinders. Oh, let's go this minute and tell them we aren't.'

'We should only miss them,' said the sensible Cyril.

'Well--YOU go the