ng you think it's going to be."

In her heart she could hear the pretty, soft little loving voice of the
baby Lamb--so different from the affected tones of the dreadful grown-up
Lamb (one of whose names was Devereux)--saying, "Me love Panty--wants to
come to own Panty."

"Oh, let's go home, for goodness' sake," she said. "You shall say
whatever you like in the morning--if you can," she added in a whisper.

It was a gloomy party that went home through the soft evening. During
Anthea's remarks Robert had again made play with the pin and the bicycle
tyre, and the Lamb (whom they had to call St. Maur or Devereux or
Hilary) seemed really at last to have had his fill of bicycle-mending.
So the machine was wheeled.

The sun was just on the point of setting when they arrived at the White
House. The four elder children would have liked to linger in the lane
till the complete sunsetting turned the grown-up Lamb (whose Christian
names I will not further weary you by repeating) into their own dear
tiresome baby brother. But he, in his grown-upness, insisted on going
on, and thus he was met in the front garden by Martha.

Now you remember that, as a special favour, the Psammead had arranged
that the servants in the house should never notice any change brought
about by the wishes of the children. Therefore Martha merely saw the
usual party, with the baby Lamb, about whom she had been desperately
anxious all the afternoon, trotting beside Anthea, on fat baby legs,
while the children, of course, still saw the grown-up Lamb (never mind
what names he was christened by), and Martha rushed at him and caught
him in her arms, exclaiming--

"Come to his own Martha, then--a precious poppet!"

The grown-up Lamb (whose names shall now be buried in oblivion)
struggled furiously. An expression of intense horror and annoyance was
seen on his face. But Martha was stronger than he. She lifted him up and
carried him into the house. None of the children will ever forget that
picture. The neat grey-flannel-suited grown-up young man with the green
necktie and the little black mustache--fortunately, he was slightly
built, and not tall--struggling in the sturdy arms of Martha, who
bore him away helpless, imploring him, as she went, to be a good boy
now, and come and have his nice bremmink! Fortunately, the sun set as
they reached the doorstep, the bicycle disappeared, and Martha was seen
to carry into the house the real live darling sleepy two-year-