legram would bring her.

Yes. And he would have to tell her that perhaps it was his fault.

It was in vain that Philip told himself that Helen would never believe
about the city. He felt that she would. Why shouldn't she? She knew
about the fairy tales and the Arabian Nights. And she would know that
these things _did_ happen.

'Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?' he said, quite loud. And there
was no one but himself to give the answer.

'If I could only get back into the city,' he said. 'But that hateful
nurse has pulled it all down and locked up the nursery. So I can't even
build it again. Oh, what _shall_ I do?'

And with that he began to cry. For now he felt quite sure that the dream
wasn't a dream--that he really _had_ got into the magic city, had
promised to stand by Lucy, and had been false to his promise and to her.

He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and also--rather painfully--with
Mr. Noah, whom he still held. 'What shall I do?' he sobbed.

And a very very teeny tiny voice said:

'~Put me down.~'

'Eh?' said Philip.

'~Put me down~,' said the voice again. It was such a teeny tiny voice
that he could only just hear it. It was unlikely, of course, that the
voice could have been Mr. Noah's; but then whose else could it be? On
the bare chance that it _might_ have been Mr. Noah who spoke--more
unlikely things had happened before, as you know--Philip set the little
wooden figure down on the chess-table. It stood there, wooden as ever.

'Put _who_ down?' Philip asked. And then, before his eyes, the little
wooden figure grew alive, stooped to pick up the yellow disc of wood on
which Noah's Ark people stand, rolled it up like a mat, put it under his
arm and began to walk towards the side of the table where Philip stood.

He knelt down to bring his ears nearer the little live moving thing.

'_What_ did you say?' he asked, for he fancied that Mr. Noah had again
spoken.

'~I said, what's the matter?~' said the little voice.

'It's Lucy. She's lost and it's my fault. And I can only just hear you.
It hurts my ears hearing you,' complained Philip.

'~There's an ear-trumpet in a box on the middle of the cabinet~,' he
could just hear the teeny tiny voice say; '~it belonged to a great-aunt.
Get it out and listen through it~.'

Philip got it out. It was an odd curly thing, and at first he could not
be sure which end he ought to put to his ear. But he tried both ends,
and on the second trial he heard quit