eading, but some of the things you say,
I don't understand; they never enter my head, and yet they're so
astoundingly probable.'

'It's all right,' said Anthea reassuringly. '_I_ understand. And don't
worry. It's all quite simple really.'

It was not quite so simple when Anthea, having heard the others come
in, went down, and before she had had time to ask how they had liked the
Zoo, heard a noise outside, compared to which the wild beasts' noises
were gentle as singing birds.

'Good gracious!' cried Anthea, 'what's that?'

The loud hum of many voices came through the open window. Words could be
distinguished.

''Ere's a guy!'

'This ain't November. That ain't no guy. It's a ballet lady, that's what
it is.'

'Not it--it's a bloomin' looney, I tell you.'

Then came a clear voice that they knew.

'Retire, slaves!' it said.

'What's she a saying of?' cried a dozen voices. 'Some blamed foreign
lingo,' one voice replied.

The children rushed to the door. A crowd was on the road and pavement.

In the middle of the crowd, plainly to be seen from the top of the
steps, were the beautiful face and bright veil of the Babylonian Queen.

'Jimminy!' cried Robert, and ran down the steps, 'here she is!'

'Here!' he cried, 'look out--let the lady pass. She's a friend of ours,
coming to see us.'

'Nice friend for a respectable house,' snorted a fat woman with marrows
on a handcart.

All the same the crowd made way a little. The Queen met Robert on the
pavement, and Cyril joined them, the Psammead bag still on his arm.

'Here,' he whispered; 'here's the Psammead; you can get wishes.'

'_I_ wish you'd come in a different dress, if you HAD to come,' said
Robert; 'but it's no use my wishing anything.'

'No,' said the Queen. 'I wish I was dressed--no, I don't--I wish THEY
were dressed properly, then they wouldn't be so silly.'

The Psammead blew itself out till the bag was a very tight fit for it;
and suddenly every man, woman, and child in that crowd felt that it had
not enough clothes on. For, of course, the Queen's idea of proper dress
was the dress that had been proper for the working-classes 3,000 years
ago in Babylon--and there was not much of it.

'Lawky me!' said the marrow-selling woman, 'whatever could a-took me
to come out this figure?' and she wheeled her cart away very quickly
indeed.

'Someone's made a pretty guy of you--talk of guys,' said a man who sold
bootlaces.

'Well, don't you talk,' said th