l your cleverness, I don't believe you can possibly know how--how
respectfully we do respect you. Don't we?'

The others all said yes--and fidgeted in their chairs. Robert spoke the
wishes of all when he said--

'I do wish you'd go on.' So it sat up on the green-covered table and
went on.

'When you'd gone away,' it said, 'I went to sand for a bit, and slept. I
was tired out with all your silly wishes, and I felt as though I hadn't
really been to sand for a year.'

'To sand?' Jane repeated.

'Where I sleep. You go to bed. I go to sand.'

Jane yawned; the mention of bed made her feel sleepy.

'All right,' said the Psammead, in offended tones. 'I'm sure _I_ don't
want to tell you a long tale. A man caught me, and I bit him. And he put
me in a bag with a dead hare and a dead rabbit. And he took me to his
house and put me out of the bag into a basket with holes that I could
see through. And I bit him again. And then he brought me to this city,
which I am told is called the Modern Babylon--though it's not a bit like
the old Babylon--and he sold me to the man you bought me from, and then
I bit them both. Now, what's your news?'

'There's not quite so much biting in our story,' said Cyril regretfully;
'in fact, there isn't any. Father's gone to Manchuria, and Mother and
The Lamb have gone to Madeira because Mother was ill, and don't I just
wish that they were both safe home again.'

Merely from habit, the Sand-fairy began to blow itself out, but it
stopped short suddenly.

'I forgot,' it said; 'I can't give you any more wishes.'

'No--but look here,' said Cyril, 'couldn't we call in old Nurse and get
her to say SHE wishes they were safe home. I'm sure she does.'

'No go,' said the Psammead. 'It's just the same as your wishing yourself
if you get some one else to wish for you. It won't act.'

'But it did yesterday--with the man in the shop,' said Robert.

'Ah yes,' said the creature, 'but you didn't ASK him to wish, and you
didn't know what would happen if he did. That can't be done again. It's
played out.'

'Then you can't help us at all,' said Jane; 'oh--I did think you could
do something; I've been thinking about it ever since we saved your life
yesterday. I thought you'd be certain to be able to fetch back Father,
even if you couldn't manage Mother.'

And Jane began to cry.

'Now DON'T,' said the Psammead hastily; 'you know how it always upsets
me if you cry. I can't feel safe a moment. Look here; you m