under at least fifteen pence a pair.
There were turtles basking lumpily on the water's edge--but no cook, no
clothes, and no carpet.

'On, on! Into the sea!' gasped Cyril. 'They MUST hate water.
I've--heard--savages always--dirty.'

Their feet were splashing in the warm shallows before his breathless
words were ended. The calm baby-waves were easy to go through. It is
warm work running for your life in the tropics, and the coolness of the
water was delicious. They were up to their arm-pits now, and Jane was up
to her chin.

'Look!' said the Phoenix. 'What are they pointing at?'

The children turned; and there, a little to the west was a head--a head
they knew, with a crooked cap upon it. It was the head of the cook.

For some reason or other the savages had stopped at the water's edge
and were all talking at the top of their voices, and all were pointing
copper-coloured fingers, stiff with interest and excitement, at the head
of the cook.

The children hurried towards her as quickly as the water would let them.

'What on earth did you come out here for?' Robert shouted; 'and where on
earth's the carpet?'

'It's not on earth, bless you,' replied the cook, happily; 'it's UNDER
ME--in the water. I got a bit warm setting there in the sun, and I just
says, "I wish I was in a cold bath"--just like that--and next minute
here I was! It's all part of the dream.'

Every one at once saw how extremely fortunate it was that the carpet had
had the sense to take the cook to the nearest and largest bath--the sea,
and how terrible it would have been if the carpet had taken itself and
her to the stuffy little bath-room of the house in Camden Town!

'Excuse me,' said the Phoenix's soft voice, breaking in on the general
sigh of relief, 'but I think these brown people want your cook.'

'To--to eat?' whispered Jane, as well as she could through the water
which the plunging Lamb was dashing in her face with happy fat hands and
feet.

'Hardly,' rejoined the bird. 'Who wants cooks to EAT? Cooks are ENGAGED,
not eaten. They wish to engage her.'

'How can you understand what they say?' asked Cyril, doubtfully.

'It's as easy as kissing your claw,' replied the bird. 'I speak and
understand ALL languages, even that of your cook, which is difficult and
unpleasing. It's quite easy, when you know how it's done. It just comes
to you. I should advise you to beach the carpet and land the cargo--the
cook, I mean. You can take my word for