just such a need. They lifted the cluster-thorns with long
poles--much as men at home, nowadays, lift hay with a fork.

Jane bit her lip and tried to decide not to cry.

Robert felt in his pocket for a toy pistol and loaded it with a pink
paper cap. It was his only weapon.

Cyril tightened his belt two holes.

And Anthea absently took the drooping red roses from the buttonholes of
the others, bit the ends of the stalks, and set them in a pot of water
that stood in the shadow by a hut door. She was always rather silly
about flowers.

'Look here!' she said. 'I think perhaps the Psammead is really arranging
something for us. I don't believe it would go away and leave us all
alone in the Past. I'm certain it wouldn't.'

Jane succeeded in deciding not to cry--at any rate yet.

'But what can we do?' Robert asked.

'Nothing,' Cyril answered promptly, 'except keep our eyes and ears open.
Look! That runner chap's getting his wind. Let's go and hear what he's
got to say.'

The runner had risen to his knees and was sitting back on his heels. Now
he stood up and spoke. He began by some respectful remarks addressed to
the heads of the village. His speech got more interesting when he said--

'I went out in my raft to snare ibises, and I had gone up the stream an
hour's journey. Then I set my snares and waited. And I heard the sound
of many wings, and looking up, saw many herons circling in the air. And
I saw that they were afraid; so I took thought. A beast may scare one
heron, coming upon it suddenly, but no beast will scare a whole flock of
herons. And still they flew and circled, and would not light. So then I
knew that what scared the herons must be men, and men who knew not our
ways of going softly so as to take the birds and beasts unawares. By
this I knew they were not of our race or of our place. So, leaving my
raft, I crept along the river bank, and at last came upon the strangers.
They are many as the sands of the desert, and their spear-heads shine
red like the sun. They are a terrible people, and their march is towards
US. Having seen this, I ran, and did not stay till I was before you.'

'These are YOUR folk,' said the headman, turning suddenly and angrily on
Cyril, 'you came as spies for them.'

'We did NOT,' said Cyril indignantly. 'We wouldn't be spies for
anything. I'm certain these people aren't a bit like us. Are they now?'
he asked the runner.

'No,' was the answer. 'These men's faces were darkened,