on the floor,
the scattered pots and bottles, the wandering brushes and combs, all
involved in the tangle of ribbons and laces which an open drawer had
yielded to the baby's inquisitive fingers.

'He must have crept out, then,' said mother; 'do keep him with you,
there's a darling. If I don't get some sleep I shall be a wreck when
father comes home.'

Anthea closed the door softly. Then she tore downstairs and burst into
the nursery, crying--

'He must have wished he was with mother. He's been there all the time.
"Aggety dag--"'

The unusual word was frozen on her lip, as people say in books.

For there, on the floor, lay the carpet, and on the carpet, surrounded
by his brothers and by Jane, sat the Lamb. He had covered his face and
clothes with vaseline and violet powder, but he was easily recognizable
in spite of this disguise.

'You are right,' said the Phoenix, who was also present; 'it is evident
that, as you say, "Aggety dag" is Bosh for "I want to be where my mother
is," and so the faithful carpet understood it.'

'But how,' said Anthea, catching up the Lamb and hugging him--'how did
he get back here?'

'Oh,' said the Phoenix, 'I flew to the Psammead and wished that your
infant brother were restored to your midst, and immediately it was so.'

'Oh, I am glad, I am glad!' cried Anthea, still hugging the baby. 'Oh,
you darling! Shut up, Jane! I don't care HOW much he comes off on
me! Cyril! You and Robert roll that carpet up and put it in the
beetle-cupboard. He might say "Aggety dag" again, and it might mean
something quite different next time. Now, my Lamb, Panther'll clean you
a little. Come on.'

'I hope the beetles won't go wishing,' said Cyril, as they rolled up the
carpet.

Two days later mother was well enough to go out, and that evening the
coconut matting came home. The children had talked and talked, and
thought and thought, but they had not found any polite way of telling
the Phoenix that they did not want it to stay any longer.

The days had been days spent by the children in embarrassment, and by
the Phoenix in sleep.

And, now the matting was laid down, the Phoenix awoke and fluttered down
on to it.

It shook its crested head.

'I like not this carpet,' it said; 'it is harsh and unyielding, and it
hurts my golden feet.'

'We've jolly well got to get used to its hurting OUR golden feet,' said
Cyril.

'This, then,' said the bird, 'supersedes the Wishing Carpet.'

'Yes,' said