The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Story of the Amulet, by E. Nesbit

Published：2026-07-30 10:38:17 Source: baby play gyms for 6 months Author: Family Feud Style

The best finger painting kits for 8 year olds under 10 dollarsStory of the Amulet

by E. Nesbit

Contents

TO

Dr Wallis Budge
of the British Museum as a
small token of gratitude for his
unfailing kindness and help
in the making of it

CHAPTER I.
THE PSAMMEAD

There were once four children who spent their summer holidays in a white house,happily situated between a sandpit and a chalkpit. One day they had the goodfortune to find in the sandpit a strange creature. Its eyes were on long hornslike snail’s eyes, and it could move them in and out like telescopes. Ithad ears like a bat’s ears, and its tubby body was shaped like aspider’s and covered with thick soft fur—and it had hands and feetlike a monkey’s. It told the children—whose names were Cyril,Robert, Anthea, and Jane—that it was a Psammead or sand-fairy. (Psammeadis pronounced Sammy-ad.) It was old, old, old, and its birthday was almost atthe very beginning of everything. And it had been buried in the sand forthousands of years. But it still kept its fairylikeness, and part of thisfairylikeness was its power to give people whatever they wished for. You knowfairies have always been able to do this. Cyril, Robert, Anthea, and Jane nowfound their wishes come true; but, somehow, they never could think of just theright things to wish for, and their wishes sometimes turned out very oddlyindeed. In the end their unwise wishings landed them in what Robert called“a very tight place indeed”, and the Psammead consented to helpthem out of it in return for their promise never never to ask it to grant themany more wishes, and never to tell anyone about it, because it did not want tobe bothered to give wishes to anyone ever any more. At the moment of partingJane said politely—

“I wish we were going to see you again some day.”

And the Psammead, touched by this friendly thought, granted the wish. The bookabout all this is called Five Children and It, and it ends up in a mosttiresome way by saying—

“The children didsee the Psammead again, but it was not in thesandpit; it was—but I must say no more—”

The reason that nothing more could be said was that I had not then been able tofind out exactly when and where the children met the Psammead again. Of courseI knew they would meet it, because it was a beast of its word, and when it saida thing would happen, that thing happened without fail. How different from thepeople who tell us about what weather it is going to be on Thursday next, inLondon, the South Coast, and Channel!

The summer holidays during which the Psammead had been found and the wishesgiven had been wonderful holidays in the country, and the children had thehighest hopes of just such another holiday for the next summer. The winterholidays were beguiled by the wonderful happenings of The Phœnix and theCarpet, and the loss of these two treasures would have left the children indespair, but for the splendid hope of their next holiday in the country. Theworld, they felt, and indeed had some reason to feel, was full of wonderfulthings—and they were really the sort of people that wonderful thingshappen to. So they looked forward to the summer holiday; but when it cameeverything was different, and very, very horrid. Father had to go out toManchuria to telegraph news about the war to the tiresome paper he wrotefor—the Daily Bellower, or something like that, was its name. AndMother, poor dear Mother, was away in Madeira, because she had been very ill.And The Lamb—I mean the baby—was with her. And Aunt Emma, who wasMother’s sister, had suddenly married Uncle Reginald, who wasFather’s brother, and they had gone to China, which is much too far offfor you to expect to be asked to spend the holidays in, however fond your auntand uncle may be of you. So the children were left in the care of old Nurse,who lived in Fitzroy Street, near the British Museum, and though she was alwaysvery kind to them, and indeed spoiled them far more than would be good for themost grown-up of us, the four children felt perfectly wretched, and when thecab had driven off with Father and all his boxes and guns and the sheepskin,with blankets and the aluminium mess-kit inside it, the stoutest heart quailed,and the girls broke down altogether, and sobbed in each other’s arms,while the boys each looked out of one of the long gloomy windows of theparlour, and tried to pretend that no boy would be such a muff as to cry.

I hope you notice that they were not cowardly enough to cry till their Fatherhad gone; they knew he had quite enough to upset him without that. But when hewas gone everyone felt as if it had been trying not to cry all its life, andthat it must cry now, if it died for it. So they cried.

Tea—with shrimps and watercress—cheered them a little. Thewatercress was arranged in a hedge round a fat glass salt-cellar, a tastefuldevice they had never seen before. But it was not a cheerful meal.

After tea Anthea went up to the room that had been Father’s, and when shesaw how dreadfully he wasn’t there, and remembered how every minute wastaking him further and further from her, and nearer and nearer to the guns ofthe Russians, she cried a little more. Then she thought of Mother, ill andalone, and perhaps at that very moment wanting a little girl to puteau-de-cologne on her head, and make her sudden cups of tea, and she cried morethan ever. And then she remembered what Mother had said, the night before shewent away, about Anthea being the eldest girl, and about trying to make theothers happy, and things like that. So she stopped crying, and thought instead.And when she had thought as long as she could bear she washed her face andcombed her hair, and went down to the others, trying her best to look as thoughcrying were an exercise she had never even heard of.

She found the parlour in deepest gloom, hardly relieved at all by the effortsof Robert, who, to make the time pass, was pulling Jane’s hair—nothard, but just enough to tease.

“Look here,” said Anthea. “Let’s have a palaver.”This word dated from the awful day when Cyril had carelessly wished that therewere Red Indians in England—and there had been. The word brought backmemories of last summer holidays and everyone groaned; they thought of thewhite house with the beautiful tangled garden—late roses, asters,marigold, sweet mignonette, and feathery asparagus—of the wildernesswhich someone had once meant to make into an orchard, but which was now, asFather said, “five acres of thistles haunted by the ghosts of babycherry-trees”. They thought of the view across the valley, where thelime-kilns looked like Aladdin’s palaces in the sunshine, and theythought of their own sandpit, with its fringe of yellowy grasses andpale-stringy-stalked wild flowers, and the little holes in the cliff that werethe little sand-martins’ little front doors. And they thought of the freefresh air smelling of thyme and sweetbriar, and the scent of the wood-smokefrom the cottages in the lane—and they looked round old Nurse’sstuffy parlour, and Jane said—

“Oh, how different it all is!”

It was. Old Nurse had been in the habit of letting lodgings, till Father gaveher the children to take care of. And her rooms were furnished “forletting”. Now it is a very odd thing that no one ever seems to furnish aroom “for letting” in a bit the same way as one would furnish itfor living in. This room had heavy dark red stuff curtains—the colourthat blood would not make a stain on—with coarse lace curtains inside.The carpet was yellow, and violet, with bits of grey and brown oilcloth in oddplaces. The fireplace had shavings and tinsel in it. There was a very varnishedmahogany chiffonier, or sideboard, with a lock that wouldn’t act. Therewere hard chairs—far too many of them—with crochet antimacassarsslipping off their seats, all of which sloped the wrong way. The table wore acloth of a cruel green colour with a yellow chain-stitch pattern round it. Overthe fireplace was a looking-glass that made you look much uglier than youreally were, however plain you might be to begin with. Then there was amantelboard with maroon plush and wool fringe that did not match the plush; adreary clock like a black marble tomb—it was silent as the grave too, forit had long since forgotten how to tick. And there were painted glass vasesthat never had any flowers in, and a painted tambourine that no one everplayed, and painted brackets with nothing on them.

“And maple-framed engravings of the Queen,
The Houses of Parliament, the Plains of Heaven,
And of a blunt-nosed woodman’s flat return.”

There were two books—last December’s Bradshaw, and an oddvolume of Plumridge’s Commentary on Thessalonians. Therewere—but I cannot dwell longer on this painful picture. It was indeed, asJane said, very different.

“Let’s have a palaver,” said Anthea again.

“What about?” said Cyril, yawning.

“There’s nothing to have anythingabout,” said Robertkicking the leg of the table miserably.

“I don’t want to play,” said Jane, and her tone was grumpy.

Anthea tried very hard not to be cross. She succeeded.

“Look here,” she said, “don’t think I want to bepreachy or a beast in any way, but I want to what Father calls define thesituation. Do you agree?”

“Fire ahead,” said Cyril without enthusiasm.

“Well then. We all know the reason we’re staying here is becauseNurse couldn’t leave her house on account of the poor learned gentlemanon the top-floor. And there was no one else Father could entrust to take careof us—and you know it’s taken a lot of money, Mother’s goingto Madeira to be made well.”

Jane sniffed miserably.

“Yes, I know,” said Anthea in a hurry, “but don’tlet’s think about how horrid it all is. I mean we can’t go tothings that cost a lot, but we must do something. And I know there areheaps of things you can see in London without paying for them, and I thoughtwe’d go and see them. We are all quite old now, and we haven’t gotThe Lamb—”

Jane sniffed harder than before.

“I mean no one can say ‘No’ because of him, dear pet. And Ithought we mustget Nurse to see how quite old we are, and let us go outby ourselves, or else we shall never have any sort of a time at all. And I votewe see everything there is, and let’s begin by asking Nurse to give ussome bits of bread and we’ll go to St James’s Park. There are ducksthere, I know, we can feed them. Only we must make Nurse let us go byourselves.”

“Hurrah for liberty!” said Robert, “but shewon’t.”

“Yes she will,” said Jane unexpectedly. “Ithoughtabout that this morning, and I asked Father, and he said yes; and what’smore he told old Nurse we might, only he said we must always say where wewanted to go, and if it was right she would let us.”

“Three cheers for thoughtful Jane,” cried Cyril, now roused at lastfrom his yawning despair. “I say, let’s go now.”

So they went, old Nurse only begging them to be careful of crossings, and toask a policeman to assist in the more difficult cases. But they were used tocrossings, for they had lived in Camden Town and knew the Kentish Town Roadwhere the trams rush up and down like mad at all hours of the day and night,and seem as though, if anything, they would rather run over you than not.

They had promised to be home by dark, but it was July, so dark would be verylate indeed, and long past bedtime.

They started to walk to St James’s Park, and all their pockets werestuffed with bits of bread and the crusts of toast, to feed the ducks with.They started, I repeat, but they never got there.

Between Fitzroy Street and St James’s Park there are a great manystreets, and, if you go the right way you will pass a great many shops that youcannot possibly help stopping to look at. The children stopped to look atseveral with gold-lace and beads and pictures and jewellery and dresses, andhats, and oysters and lobsters in their windows, and their sorrow did not seemnearly so impossible to bear as it had done in the best parlour at No. 300,Fitzroy Street.

Presently, by some wonderful chance turn of Robert’s (who had been votedCaptain because the girls thought it would be good for him—and indeed hethought so himself—and of course Cyril couldn’t vote against himbecause it would have looked like a mean jealousy), they came into the littleinteresting criss-crossy streets that held the most interesting shops ofall—the shops where live things were sold. There was one shop windowentirely filled with cages, and all sorts of beautiful birds in them. Thechildren were delighted till they remembered how they had once wished for wingsthemselves, and had had them—and then they felt how desperately unhappyanything with wings must be if it is shut up in a cage and not allowed to fly.

“It must be fairly beastly to be a bird in a cage,” said Cyril.“Come on!”

They went on, and Cyril tried to think out a scheme for making his fortune as agold-digger at Klondyke, and then buying all the caged birds in the world andsetting them free. Then they came to a shop that sold cats, but the cats werein cages, and the children could not help wishing someone would buy all thecats and put them on hearthrugs, which are the proper places for cats. Andthere was the dog-shop, and that was not a happy thing to look at either,because all the dogs were chained or caged, and all the dogs, big and little,looked at the four children with sad wistful eyes and wagged beseeching tailsas if they were trying to say, “Buy me! buy me! buy me! and let me go fora walk with you; oh, do buy me, and buy my poor brothers too! Do! do!do!” They almost said, “Do! do! do!” plain to the ear, asthey whined; all but one big Irish terrier, and he growled when Jane pattedhim.

“Grrrrr,” he seemed to say, as he looked at them from the backcorner of his eye—“Youwon’t buy me. Nobodywill—ever—I shall die chained up—and I don’t know thatI care how soon it is, either!”

I don’t know that the children would have understood all this, only oncethey had been in a besieged castle, so they knew how hateful it is to be keptin when you want to get out.

Of course they could not buy any of the dogs. They did, indeed, ask the priceof the very, very smallest, and it was sixty-five pounds—but that wasbecause it was a Japanese toy spaniel like the Queen once had her portraitpainted with, when she was only Princess of Wales. But the children thought, ifthe smallest was all that money, the biggest would run into thousands—sothey went on.

And they did not stop at any more cat or dog or bird shops, but passed them by,and at last they came to a shop that seemed as though it only sold creaturesthat did not much mind where they were—such as goldfish and white mice,and sea-anemones and other aquarium beasts, and lizards and toads, andhedgehogs and tortoises, and tame rabbits and guinea-pigs. And there theystopped for a long time, and fed the guinea-pigs with bits of bread through thecage-bars, and wondered whether it would be possible to keep a sandy-coloureddouble-lop in the basement of the house in Fitzroy Street.

“I don’t suppose old Nurse would mind verymuch,” saidJane. “Rabbits are most awfully tame sometimes. I expect it would knowher voice and follow her all about.”

“She’d tumble over it twenty times a day,” said Cyril;“now a snake—”

“There aren’t any snakes,” said Robert hastily, “andbesides, I never could cotton to snakes somehow—I wonder why.”

“Worms are as bad,” said Anthea, “and eels and slugs—Ithink it’s because we don’t like things that haven’t gotlegs.”

“Father says snakes have got legs hidden away inside of them,” saidRobert.

“Yes—and he says we’vegot tails hidden away insideus—but it doesn’t either of it come to anythingreally,” said Anthea. “I hate things that haven’t anylegs.”

“It’s worse when they have too many,” said Jane with ashudder, “think of centipedes!”

They stood there on the pavement, a cause of some inconvenience to thepassersby, and thus beguiled the time with conversation. Cyril was leaning hiselbow on the top of a hutch that had seemed empty when they had inspected thewhole edifice of hutches one by one, and he was trying to reawaken the interestof a hedgehog that had curled itself into a ball earlier in the interview, whena small, soft voice just below his elbow said, quietly, plainly and quiteunmistakably—not in any squeak or whine that had to betranslated—but in downright common English—

“Buy me—do—please buy me!”

Cyril started as though he had been pinched, and jumped a yard away from thehutch.

“Come back—oh, come back!” said the voice, rather louder butstill softly; “stoop down and pretend to be tying up yourbootlace—I see it’s undone, as usual.”

Cyril mechanically obeyed. He knelt on one knee on the dry, hot dusty pavement,peered into the darkness of the hutch and found himself face to facewith—the Psammead!

It seemed much thinner than when he had last seen it. It was dusty and dirty,and its fur was untidy and ragged. It had hunched itself up into a miserablelump, and its long snail’s eyes were drawn in quite tight so that theyhardly showed at all.

“Listen,” said the Psammead, in a voice that sounded as though itwould begin to cry in a minute, “I don’t think the creature whokeeps this shop will ask a very high price for me. I’ve bitten him morethan once, and I’ve made myself look as common as I can. He’s neverhad a glance from my beautiful, beautiful eyes. Tell the others I’mhere—but tell them to look at some of those low, common beasts whileI’m talking to you. The creature inside mustn’t think you care muchabout me, or he’ll put a price upon me far, far beyond your means. Iremember in the dear old days last summer you never had much money. Oh—Inever thought I should be so glad to see you—I never did.” Itsniffed, and shot out its long snail’s eyes expressly to drop a tear wellaway from its fur. “Tell the others I’m here, and then I’lltell you exactly what to do about buying me.”

Cyril tied his bootlace into a hard knot, stood up and addressed the others infirm tones—

“Look here,” he said, “I’m not kidding—and Iappeal to your honour,” an appeal which in this family was never made invain. “Don’t look at that hutch—look at the white rat. Nowyou are not to look at that hutch whatever I say.”

He stood in front of it to prevent mistakes.

“Now get yourselves ready for a great surprise. In that hutchthere’s an old friend of ours—don’tlook!—Yes;it’s the Psammead, the good old Psammead! it wants us to buy it. It saysyou’re not to look at it. Look at the white rat and count your money! Onyour honour don’t look!”

The others responded nobly. They looked at the white rat till they quite staredhim out of countenance, so that he went and sat up on his hind legs in a farcorner and hid his eyes with his front paws, and pretended he was washing hisface.

Cyril stooped again, busying himself with the other bootlace and listened forthe Psammead’s further instructions.

“Go in,” said the Psammead, “and ask the price of lots ofother things. Then say, ‘What do you want for that monkey that’slost its tail—the mangy old thing in the third hutch from the end.’Oh—don’t mind myfeelings—call me a mangymonkey—I’ve tried hard enough to look like one! I don’t thinkhe’ll put a high price on me—I’ve bitten him eleven timessince I came here the day before yesterday. If he names a bigger price than youcan afford, say you wish you had the money.”

“But you can’t give us wishes. I’ve promised never to haveanother wish from you,” said the bewildered Cyril.

“Don’t be a silly little idiot,” said the Sand-fairy intrembling but affectionate tones, “but find out how much moneyyou’ve got between you, and do exactly what I tell you.”

Cyril, pointing a stiff and unmeaning finger at the white rat, so as to pretendthat its charms alone employed his tongue, explained matters to the others,while the Psammead hunched itself, and bunched itself, and did its very best tomake itself look uninteresting.

Then the four children filed into the shop.

“How much do you want for that white rat?” asked Cyril.

“Eightpence,” was the answer.

“And the guinea-pigs?”

“Eighteenpence to five bob, according to the breed.”

“And the lizards?”

“Ninepence each.”

“And toads?”

“Fourpence. Now look here,” said the greasy owner of all this cagedlife with a sudden ferocity which made the whole party back hurriedly on to thewainscoting of hutches with which the shop was lined. “Lookee here. Iain’t agoin’ to have you a comin’ in here a turnin’ thewhole place outer winder, an’ prizing every animile in the stock just foryour larks, so don’t think it! If you’re a buyer, beabuyer—but I never had a customer yet as wanted to buy mice, and lizards,and toads, and guineas all at once. So hout you goes.”

“Oh! wait a minute,” said the wretched Cyril, feeling how foolishlyyet well-meaningly he had carried out the Psammead’s instructions.“Just tell me one thing. What do you want for the mangy old monkey in thethird hutch from the end?”

The shopman only saw in this a new insult.

“Mangy young monkey yourself,” said he; “get along with yourblooming cheek. Hout you goes!”

“Oh! don’t be so cross,” said Jane, losing her headaltogether, “don’t you see he really doeswant to knowthat!”

“Ho! does ’e indeed,” sneered the merchant. Then he scratchedhis ear suspiciously, for he was a sharp business man, and he knew the ring oftruth when he heard it. His hand was bandaged, and three minutes before hewould have been glad to sell the “mangy old monkey” for tenshillings. Now—

“Ho! ’E does, does ’e,” he said, “then two punten’s my price. He’s not got his fellow that monkey ain’t,nor yet his match, not this side of the equator, which he comes from. And theonly one ever seen in London. Ought to be in the Zoo. Two pun ten, down on thenail, or houtyou goes!”

The children looked at each other—twenty-three shillings and fivepencewas all they had in the world, and it would have been merely three andfivepence, but for the sovereign which Father had given to them “betweenthem” at parting.

“We’ve only twenty-three shillings and fivepence,” saidCyril, rattling the money in his pocket.

“Twenty-three farthings and somebody’s own cheek,” said thedealer, for he did not believe that Cyril had so much money.

There was a miserable pause. Then Anthea remembered, and said—

“Oh! I wishI had two pounds ten.”

“So do I, Miss, I’m sure,” said the man with bitterpoliteness; “I wish you “ad, I’m sure!”

Anthea’s hand was on the counter, something seemed to slide under it. Shelifted it. There lay five bright half sovereigns.

“Why, I havegot it after all,” she said;“here’s the money, now let’s have the Sammy,... the monkey Imean.”

The dealer looked hard at the money, but he made haste to put it in his pocket.

“I only hope you come by it honest,” he said, shrugging hisshoulders. He scratched his ear again.

“Well!” he said, “I suppose I must let you have it, butit’s worth thribble the money, so it is—”

He slowly led the way out to the hutch—opened the door gingerly, and madea sudden fierce grab at the Psammead, which the Psammead acknowledged in onelast long lingering bite.

“Here, take the brute,” said the shopman, squeezing the Psammead sotight that he nearly choked it. “It’s bit me to the marrow, ithave.”

The man’s eyes opened as Anthea held out her arms. “Don’tblame me if it tears your face off its bones,” he said, and the Psammeadmade a leap from his dirty horny hands, and Anthea caught it in hers, whichwere not very clean, certainly, but at any rate were soft and pink, and held itkindly and closely.

“But you can’t take it home like that,” Cyril said, “weshall have a crowd after us,” and indeed two errand boys and a policemanhad already collected.

“I can’t give you nothink only a paper-bag, like what we put thetortoises in,” said the man grudgingly.

So the whole party went into the shop, and the shopman’s eyes nearly cameout of his head when, having given Anthea the largest paper-bag he could find,he saw her hold it open, and the Psammead carefully creep into it.

“Well!” he said, “if that there don’t beatcockfighting! But p’raps you’ve met the brute afore.”

“Yes,” said Cyril affably, “he’s an old friend ofours.”

“If I’d a known that,” the man rejoined, “youshouldn’t a had him under twice the money. ’Owever,” headded, as the children disappeared, “I ain’t done so bad, seeing asI only give five bob for the beast. But then there’s the bites to takeinto account!”

The children trembling in agitation and excitement, carried home the Psammead,trembling in its paper-bag.

When they got it home, Anthea nursed it, and stroked it, and would have criedover it, if she hadn’t remembered how it hated to be wet.

When it recovered enough to speak, it said—

“Get me sand; silver sand from the oil and colour shop. And get meplenty.”

They got the sand, and they put it and the Psammead in the round bath together,and it rubbed itself, and rolled itself, and shook itself and scraped itself,and scratched itself, and preened itself, till it felt clean and comfy, andthen it scrabbled a hasty hole in the sand, and went to sleep in it.

The children hid the bath under the girls’ bed, and had supper. Old Nursehad got them a lovely supper of bread and butter and fried onions. She was fullof kind and delicate thoughts.

When Anthea woke the next morning, the Psammead was snuggling down between hershoulder and Jane’s.

“You have saved my life,” it said. “I know that man wouldhave thrown cold water on me sooner or later, and then I should have died. Isaw him wash out a guinea-pig’s hutch yesterday morning. I’m stillfrightfully sleepy, I think I’ll go back to sand for another nap. Wakethe boys and this dormouse of a Jane, and when you’ve had your breakfastswe’ll have a talk.”

“Don’t youwant any breakfast?” asked Anthea.

“I daresay I shall pick a bit presently,” it said; “but sandis all I care about—it’s meat and drink to me, and coals and fireand wife and children.” With these words it clambered down by thebedclothes and scrambled back into the bath, where they heard it scratchingitself out of sight.

“Well!” said Anthea, “anyhow our holidays won’t be dullnow. We’ve found the Psammead again.”

“No,” said Jane, beginning to put on her stockings. “Weshan’t be dull—but it’ll be only like having a pet dognow it can’t give us wishes.”

“Oh, don’t be so discontented,” said Anthea. “If itcan’t do anything else it can tell us about Megatheriums andthings.”

CHAPTER II.
THE HALF AMULET

Long ago—that is to say last summer—the children, findingthemselves embarrassed by some wish which the Psammead had granted them, andwhich the servants had not received in a proper spirit, had wished that theservants might not notice the gifts which the Psammead gave. And when theyparted from the Psammead their last wish had been that they should meet itagain. Therefore they hadmet it (and it was jolly lucky for thePsammead, as Robert pointed out). Now, of course, you see that thePsammead’s being where it was, was the consequence of one of theirwishes, and therefore was a Psammead-wish, and as such could not be noticed bythe servants. And it was soon plain that in the Psammead’s opinion oldNurse was still a servant, although she had now a house of her own, for shenever noticed the Psammead at all. And that was as well, for she would neverhave consented to allow the girls to keep an animal and a bath of sand undertheir bed.

When breakfast had been cleared away—it was a very nice breakfast withhot rolls to it, a luxury quite out of the common way—Anthea went anddragged out the bath, and woke the Psammead. It stretched and shook itself.

“You must have bolted your breakfast most unwholesomely,” it said,“you can’t have been five minutes over it.”

“We’ve been nearly an hour,” said Anthea.“Come—you know you promised.”

“Now look here,” said the Psammead, sitting back on the sand andshooting out its long eyes suddenly, “we’d better begin as we meanto go on. It won’t do to have any misunderstanding, so I tell you plainlythat—”

“Oh, please,” Anthea pleaded, “do wait till we get tothe others. They’ll think it most awfully sneakish of me to talk to youwithout them; do come down, there’s a dear.”

She knelt before the sand-bath and held out her arms. The Psammead must haveremembered how glad it had been to jump into those same little arms only theday before, for it gave a little grudging grunt, and jumped once more.

Anthea wrapped it in her pinafore and carried it downstairs. It was welcomed ina thrilling silence.

At last Anthea said, “Now then!”

“What place is this?” asked the Psammead, shooting its eyes out andturning them slowly round.

“It’s a sitting-room, of course,” said Robert.

“Then I don’t like it,” said the Psammead.

“Never mind,” said Anthea kindly; “we’ll take youanywhere you like if you want us to. What was it you were going to say upstairswhen I said the others wouldn’t like it if I stayed talking to youwithout them?”

It looked keenly at her, and she blushed.

“Don’t be silly,” it said sharply. “Of course,it’s quite natural that you should like your brothers and sisters to knowexactly how good and unselfish you were.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” said Jane. “Anthea was quiteright. What was it you were going to say when she stopped you?”

“I’ll tell you,” said the Psammead, “since you’reso anxious to know. I was going to say this. You’ve saved mylife—and I’m not ungrateful—but it doesn’t change yournature or mine. You’re still very ignorant, and rather silly, and I amworth a thousand of you any day of the week.”

“Of course you are!” Anthea was beginning but it interrupted her.

“It’s very rude to interrupt,” it said; “what I mean isthat I’m not going to stand any nonsense, and if you think whatyou’ve done is to give you the right to pet me or make me demean myselfby playing with you, you’ll find out that what you think doesn’tmatter a single penny. See? It’s what Ithink that matters.”

“I know,” said Cyril, “it always was, if you remember.”

“Well,” said the Psammead, “then that’s settled.We’re to be treated as we deserve. I with respect, and all of youwith—but I don’t wish to be offensive. Do you want me to tell youhow I got into that horrible den you bought me out of? Oh, I’m notungrateful! I haven’t forgotten it and I shan’t forget it.”

“Do tell us,” said Anthea. “I know you’re awfullyclever, but even with all your cleverness, I don’t believe you canpossibly know how—how respectfully we do respect you. Don’twe?”

The others all said yes—and fidgeted in their chairs. Robert spoke thewishes of all when he said—

“I do wish you’d go on.” So it sat up on the green-coveredtable and went on.

“When you’d gone away,” it said, “I went to sand for abit, and slept. I was tired out with all your silly wishes, and I felt asthough 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’msure Idon’t want to tell you a long tale. A man caught me, and Ibit him. And he put me in a bag with a dead hare and a dead rabbit. And he tookme to his house and put me out of the bag into a basket with holes that I couldsee through. And I bit him again. And then he brought me to this city, which Iam told is called the Modern Babylon—though it’s not a bit like theold Babylon—and he sold me to the man you bought me from, and then I bitthem both. Now, what’s your news?”

“There’s not quite so much biting in our story,” said Cyrilregretfully; “in fact, there isn’t any. Father’s gone toManchuria, 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 stoppedshort suddenly.

“I forgot,” it said; “I can’t give you any morewishes.”

“No—but look here,” said Cyril, “couldn’t we callin old Nurse and get her to say shewishes they were safe home.I’m sure she does.”

“No go,” said the Psammead. “It’s just the same as yourwishing yourself if you get some one else to wish for you. It won’tact.”

“But it did yesterday—with the man in the shop,” said Robert.

“Ah yes,” said the creature, “but you didn’t askhim to wish, and you didn’t know what would happen if he did. Thatcan’t be done again. It’s played out.”

“Then you can’t help us at all,” said Jane; “oh—Idid think you could do something; I’ve been thinking about it ever sincewe saved your life yesterday. I thought you’d be certain to be able tofetch back Father, even if you couldn’t manage Mother.”

And Jane began to cry.

“Now don’t,” said the Psammead hastily; “youknow how it always upsets me if you cry. I can’t feel safe a moment. Lookhere; you must have some new kind of charm.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“Not a bit of it,” said the creature; “there’s one ofthe strongest charms in the world not a stone’s throw from where youbought me yesterday. The man that I bit so—the first one, Imean—went into a shop to ask how much something cost—I think hesaid it was a concertina—and while he was telling the man in the shop howmuch too much he wanted for it, I saw the charm in a sort of tray, with a lotof other things. If you can only buy that, you will be able to have yourheart’s desire.”

The children looked at each other and then at the Psammead. Then Cyril coughedawkwardly and took sudden courage to say what everyone was thinking.

“I do hope you won’t be waxy,” he said; “but it’slike this: when you used to give us our wishes they almost always got us intosome row or other, and we used to think you wouldn’t have been pleased ifthey hadn’t. Now, about this charm—we haven’t got over andabove too much tin, and if we blue it all on this charm and it turns out to benot up to much—well—you see what I’m driving at, don’tyou?”

“I see that youdon’t see more than the length of your nose,and that’snot far,” said the Psammead crossly. “Lookhere, I hadto give you the wishes, and of course they turned out badly,in a sort of way, because you hadn’t the sense to wish for what was goodfor you. But this charm’s quite different. I haven’t gottodo this for you, it’s just my own generous kindness that makes me tellyou about it. So it’s bound to be all right. See?”

“Don’t be cross,” said Anthea, “Please, pleasedon’t. You see, it’s all we’ve got; we shan’t have anymore pocket-money till Daddy comes home—unless he sends us some in aletter. But we dotrust you. And I say all of you,” she went on,“don’t you think it’s worth spending allthe money, ifthere’s even the chanciest chance of getting Father and Mother back safenow?Just think of it! Oh, do let’s!”

“Idon’t care what you do,” said the Psammead;“I’ll go back to sand again till you’ve made up yourminds.”

“No, don’t!” said everybody; and Jane added, “We arequite mind made-up—don’t you see we are? Let’s get our hats.Will you come with us?”

“Of course,” said the Psammead; “how else would you find theshop?”

So everybody got its hat. The Psammead was put into a flat bass-bag that hadcome from Farringdon Market with two pounds of filleted plaice in it. Now itcontained about three pounds and a quarter of solid Psammead, and the childrentook it in turns to carry it.

“It’s not half the weight of The Lamb,” Robert said, and thegirls sighed.

The Psammead poked a wary eye out of the top of the basket every now and then,and told the children which turnings to take.

“How on earth do you know?” asked Robert. “I can’tthink how you do it.”

And the Psammead said sharply, “No—I don’t suppose youcan.”

At last they came to theshop. It had all sorts and kinds of things inthe window—concertinas, and silk handkerchiefs, china vases and tea-cups,blue Japanese jars, pipes, swords, pistols, lace collars, silver spoons tied upin half-dozens, and wedding-rings in a red lacquered basin. There wereofficers’ epaulets and doctors’ lancets. There were tea-caddiesinlaid with red turtle-shell and brass curly-wurlies, plates of different kindsof money, and stacks of different kinds of plates. There was a beautifulpicture of a little girl washing a dog, which Jane liked very much. And in themiddle of the window there was a dirty silver tray full of mother-of-pearl cardcounters, old seals, paste buckles, snuff-boxes, and all sorts of little dingyodds and ends.

The Psammead put its head quite out of the fish-basket to look in the window,when Cyril said—

“There’s a tray there with rubbish in it.”

And then its long snail’s eyes saw something that made them stretch outso much that they were as long and thin as new slate-pencils. Its fur bristledthickly, and its voice was quite hoarse with excitement as it whispered—

“That’s it! That’s it! There, under that blue and yellowbuckle, you can see a bit sticking out. It’s red. Do you see?”

“Is it that thing something like a horse-shoe?” asked Cyril.“And red, like the common sealing-wax you do up parcels with?”

“Yes, that’s it,” said the Psammead. “Now, you do justas you did before. Ask the price of other things. That blue buckle would do.Then the man will get the tray out of the window. I think you’d better bethe one,” it said to Anthea. “We’ll wait out here.”

So the others flattened their noses against the shop window, and presently alarge, dirty, short-fingered hand with a very big diamond ring came stretchingthrough the green half-curtains at the back of the shop window and took awaythe tray.

They could not see what was happening in the interview between Anthea and theDiamond Ring, and it seemed to them that she had had time—if she had hadmoney—to buy everything in the shop before the moment came when she stoodbefore them, her face wreathed in grins, as Cyril said later, and in her handthe charm.

It was something like this:

and it was made of a red, smooth, softly shiny stone.

“I’ve got it,” Anthea whispered, just opening her hand togive the others a glimpse of it. “Do let’s get home. We can’tstand here like stuck-pigs looking at it in the street.”

So home they went. The parlour in Fitzroy Street was a very flat background tomagic happenings. Down in the country among the flowers and green fieldsanything had seemed—and indeed had been—possible. But it was hardto believe that anything really wonderful could happen so near the TottenhamCourt Road. But the Psammead was there—and it in itself was wonderful.And it could talk—and it had shown them where a charm could be boughtthat would make the owner of it perfectly happy. So the four children hurriedhome, taking very long steps, with their chins stuck out, and their mouths shutvery tight indeed. They went so fast that the Psammead was quite shaken aboutin its fish-bag, but it did not say anything—perhaps for fear ofattracting public notice.

They got home at last, very hot indeed, and set the Psammead on the greentablecloth.

“Now then!” said Cyril.

But the Psammead had to have a plate of sand fetched for it, for it was quitefaint. When it had refreshed itself a little it said—

“Now then! Let me see the charm,” and Anthea laid it on the greentable-cover. The Psammead shot out his long eyes to look at it, then it turnedthem reproachfully on Anthea and said—

“But there’s only half of it here!”

This was indeed a blow.

“It was all there was,” said Anthea, with timid firmness. She knewit was not her fault.

“There should be another piece,” said the Psammead, “and asort of pin to fasten the two together.”

“Isn’t half any good?”—“Won’t it workwithout the other bit?”—“It costseven-and-six.”—“Oh, bother, bother,bother!”—“Don’t be silly little idiots!” saideveryone and the Psammead altogether.

Then there was a wretched silence. Cyril broke it—

“What shall we do?”

“Go back to the shop and see if they haven’t got the otherhalf,” said the Psammead. “I’ll go to sand till you comeback. Cheer up! Even the bit you’ve got is somegood, butit’ll be no end of a bother if you can’t find the other.”

So Cyril went to the shop. And the Psammead to sand. And the other three wentto dinner, which was now ready. And old Nurse was very cross that Cyril was notready too.

The three were watching at the windows when Cyril returned, and even before hewas near enough for them to see his face there was something about the slouchof his shoulders and set of his knickerbockers and the way he dragged his bootsalong that showed but too plainly that his errand had been in vain.

“Well?” they all said, hoping against hope on the front-door step.

“No go,” Cyril answered; “the man said the thing was perfect.He said it was a Roman lady’s locket, and people shouldn’t buycurios if they didn’t know anything about arky—something or other,and that he never went back on a bargain, because it wasn’t business, andhe expected his customers to act the same. He was simplynasty—that’s what he was, and I want my dinner.”

It was plain that Cyril was not pleased.

The unlikeliness of anything really interesting happening in that parlour laylike a weight of lead on everyone’s spirits. Cyril had his dinner, andjust as he was swallowing the last mouthful of apple-pudding there was ascratch at the door. Anthea opened it and in walked the Psammead.

“Well,” it said, when it had heard the news, “things might beworse. Only you won’t be surprised if you have a few adventures beforeyou get the other half. You want to get it, of course.”

“Rather,” was the general reply. “And we don’t mindadventures.”

“No,” said the Psammead, “I seem to remember that about you.Well, sit down and listen with all your ears. Eight, are there? Right—Iam glad you know arithmetic. Now pay attention, because I don’t intend totell you everything twice over.”

As the children settled themselves on the floor—it was far morecomfortable than the chairs, as well as more polite to the Psammead, who wasstroking its whiskers on the hearth-rug—a sudden cold pain caught atAnthea’s heart. Father—Mother—the darling Lamb—all faraway. Then a warm, comfortable feeling flowed through her. The Psammead washere, and at least half a charm, and there were to be adventures. (If youdon’t know what a cold pain is, I am glad for your sakes, and I hope younever may.)

“Now,” said the Psammead cheerily, “you are not particularlynice, nor particularly clever, and you’re not at all good-looking. Still,you’ve saved my life—oh, when I think of that man and his pail ofwater!—so I’ll tell you all I know. At least, of course Ican’t do that, because I know far too much. But I’ll tell you all Iknow about this red thing.”

“Do! Do! Do! Do!” said everyone.

“Well, then,” said the Psammead. “This thing is half of anAmulet that can do all sorts of things; it can make the corn grow, and thewaters flow, and the trees bear fruit, and the little new beautiful babiescome. (Not that babies arebeautiful, of course,” it broke off tosay, “but their mothers think they are—and as long as you think athing’s true it istrue as far as you’re concerned.)”

Robert yawned.

The Psammead went on.

“The complete Amulet can keep off all the things that make peopleunhappy—jealousy, bad temper, pride, disagreeableness, greediness,selfishness, laziness. Evil spirits, people called them when the Amulet wasmade. Don’t you think it would be nice to have it?”

“Very,” said the children, quite without enthusiasm.

“And it can give you strength and courage.”

“That’s better,” said Cyril.

“And virtue.”

“I suppose it’s nice to have that,” said Jane, but not withmuch interest.

“And it can give you your heart’s desire.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Robert.

“Of course I am,” retorted the Psammead tartly, “sothere’s no need for you to.”

“Heart’s desire is good enough for me,” said Cyril.

“Yes, but,” Anthea ventured, “all that’s what thewholecharm can do. There’s something that the half we’vegot can win off its own bat—isn’t there?” She appealed to thePsammead. It nodded.

“Yes,” it said; “the half has the power to take you anywhereyou like to look for the other half.”

This seemed a brilliant prospect till Robert asked—

“Does it know where to look?”

The Psammead shook its head and answered, “I don’t think it’slikely.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Then,” said Robert, “we might as well look for a needle in abottle of hay. Yes—it isbottle, and not bundle, Father saidso.”

“Not at all,” said the Psammead briskly-, “you think you knoweverything, but you are quite mistaken. The first thing is to get the thing totalk.”

“Can it?” Jane questioned. Jane’s question did not mean thatshe thought it couldn’t, for in spite of the parlour furniture thefeeling of magic was growing deeper and thicker, and seemed to fill the roomlike a dream of a scented fog.

“Of course it can. I suppose you can read.”

“Oh yes!” Everyone was rather hurt at the question.

“Well, then—all you’ve got to do is to read the namethat’s written on the part of the charm that you’ve got. And assoon as you say the name out loud the thing will have power to do—well,several things.”

There was a silence. The red charm was passed from hand to hand.

“There’s no name on it,” said Cyril at last.

“Nonsense,” said the Psammead; “what’s that?”

“Oh, that!” said Cyril, “it’s not reading. Itlooks like pictures of chickens and snakes and things.”

This was what was on the charm:

“I’ve no patience with you,” said the Psammead; “if youcan’t read you must find some one who can. A priest now?”

“We don’t know any priests,” said Anthea; “we know aclergyman—he’s called a priest in the prayer-book, youknow—but he only knows Greek and Latin and Hebrew, and this isn’tany of those—I know.”

The Psammead stamped a furry foot angrily.

“I wish I’d never seen you,” it said; “you aren’tany more good than so many stone images. Not so much, if I’m to tell thetruth. Is there no wise man in your Babylon who can pronounce the names of theGreat Ones?”

“There’s a poor learned gentleman upstairs,” said Anthea,“we might try him. He has a lot of stone images in his room, andiron-looking ones too—we peeped in once when he was out. Old Nurse sayshe doesn’t eat enough to keep a canary alive. He spends it all on stonesand things.”

“Try him,” said the Psammead, “only be careful. If he knows agreater name than this and uses it against you, your charm will be of no use.Bind him first with the chains of honour and upright dealing. And then ask hisaid—oh, yes, you’d better all go; you can put me to sand as you goupstairs. I must have a few minutes’ peace and quietness.”

So the four children hastily washed their hands and brushed theirhair—this was Anthea’s idea—and went up to knock at the doorof the “poor learned gentleman”, and to “bind him with thechains of honour and upright dealing”.

CHAPTER III.
THE PAST

The learned gentleman had let his dinner get quite cold. It was mutton chop,and as it lay on the plate it looked like a brown island in the middle of afrozen pond, because the grease of the gravy had become cold, and consequentlywhite. It looked very nasty, and it was the first thing the children saw when,after knocking three times and receiving no reply, one of them ventured to turnthe handle and softly to open the door. The chop was on the end of a long tablethat ran down one side of the room. The table had images on it and queer-shapedstones, and books. And there were glass cases fixed against the wall behind,with little strange things in them. The cases were rather like the ones you seein jewellers’ shops.

The “poor learned gentleman” was sitting at a table in the window,looking at something very small which he held in a pair of fine pincers. He hada round spy-glass sort of thing in one eye—which reminded the children ofwatchmakers, and also of the long snail’s eyes of the Psammead.

The gentleman was very long and thin, and his long, thin boots stuck out underthe other side of his table. He did not hear the door open, and the childrenstood hesitating. At last Robert gave the door a push, and they all startedback, for in the middle of the wall that the door had hidden was amummy-case—very, very, very big—painted in red and yellow and greenand black, and the face of it seemed to look at them quite angrily.

You know what a mummy-case is like, of course? If you don’t you hadbetter go to the British Museum at once and find out. Anyway, it is not at allthe sort of thing that you expect to meet in a top-floor front in Bloomsbury,looking as though it would like to know what business youhad there.

So everyone said, “Oh!” rather loud, and their boots clattered asthey stumbled back.

The learned gentleman took the glass out of his eye and said—“I begyour pardon,” in a very soft, quiet pleasant voice—the voice of agentleman who has been to Oxford.

“It’s us that beg yours,” said Cyril politely. “We aresorry to disturb you.”

“Come in,” said the gentleman, rising—with the mostdistinguished courtesy, Anthea told herself. “I am delighted to see you.Won’t you sit down? No, not there; allow me to move that papyrus.”

He cleared a chair, and stood smiling and looking kindly through his large,round spectacles.

“He treats us like grown-ups,” whispered Robert, “and hedoesn’t seem to know how many of us there are.”

“Hush,” said Anthea, “it isn’t manners to whisper. Yousay, Cyril—go ahead.”

“We’re very sorry to disturb you,” said Cyril politely,“but we did knock three times, and you didn’t say ‘Comein’, or ‘Run away now’, or that you couldn’t bebothered just now, or to come when you weren’t so busy, or any of thethings people do say when you knock at doors, so we opened it. We knew you werein because we heard you sneeze while we were waiting.”

“Not at all,” said the gentleman; “do sit down.”

“He has found out there are four of us,” said Robert, as thegentleman cleared three more chairs. He put the things off them carefully onthe floor. The first chair had things like bricks that tiny, tiny birds’feet have walked over when the bricks were soft, only the marks were in regularlines. The second chair had round things on it like very large, fat, long, palebeads. And the last chair had a pile of dusty papers on it.

The children sat down.

“We know you are very, very learned,” said Cyril, “and wehave got a charm, and we want you to read the name on it, because itisn’t in Latin or Greek, or Hebrew, or any of the languages weknow—”

“A thorough knowledge of even those languages is a very fair foundationon which to build an education,” said the gentleman politely.

“Oh!” said Cyril blushing, “but we only know them to look at,except Latin—and I’m only in Caesar with that.”

The gentleman took off his spectacles and laughed. His laugh sounded rusty,Cyril thought, as though it wasn’t often used.

“Of course!” he said. “I’m sure I beg your pardon. Ithink I must have been in a dream. You are the children who live downstairs,are you not? Yes. I have seen you as I have passed in and out. And you havefound something that you think to be an antiquity, and you’ve brought itto show me? That was very kind. I should like to inspect it.”

“I’m afraid we didn’t think about your liking to inspectit,” said the truthful Anthea. “It was just forus—because we wanted to know the name on it—”

“Oh, yes—and, I say,” Robert interjected, “youwon’t think it rude of us if we ask you first, before we show it, to bebound in the what-do-you-call-it of—”

“In the bonds of honour and upright dealing,” said Anthea.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you,” said thegentleman, with gentle nervousness.

“Well, it’s this way,” said Cyril. “We’ve gotpart of a charm. And the Sammy—I mean, something told us it would work,though it’s only half a one; but it won’t work unless we can saythe name that’s on it. But, of course, if you’ve got another namethat can lick ours, our charm will be no go; so we want you to give us yourword of honour as a gentleman—though I’m sure, now I’ve seenyou, that it’s not necessary; but still I’ve promised to ask you,so we must. Will you please give us your honourable word not to say any namestronger than the name on our charm?”

The gentleman had put on his spectacles again and was looking at Cyril throughthem. He now said: “Bless me!” more than once, adding, “Whotold you all this?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Cyril. “I’m very sorry,but I can’t.”

Some faint memory of a far-off childhood must have come to the learnedgentleman just then, for he smiled. “I see,” he said. “It issome sort of game that you are engaged in? Of course! Yes! Well, I willcertainly promise. Yet I wonder how you heard of the names of power?”

“We can’t tell you that either,” said Cyril; and Anthea said,“Here is our charm,” and held it out.

With politeness, but without interest, the gentleman took it. But after thefirst glance all his body suddenly stiffened, as a pointer’s does when hesees a partridge.

“Excuse me,” he said in quite a changed voice, and carried thecharm to the window.

He looked at it; he turned it over. He fixed his spy-glass in his eye andlooked again. No one said anything. Only Robert made a shuffling noise with hisfeet till Anthea nudged him to shut up.

At last the learned gentleman drew a long breath.

“Where did you find this?” he asked.

“We didn’t find it. We bought it at a shop. Jacob Absalom the nameis—not far from Charing Cross,” said Cyril.

“We gave seven-and-sixpence for it,” added Jane.

“It is not for sale, I suppose? You do not wish to part with it? I oughtto tell you that it is extremely valuable—extraordinarily valuable, I maysay.”

“Yes,” said Cyril, “we know that, so of course we want tokeep it.”

“Keep it carefully, then,” said the gentleman impressively;“and if ever you should wish to part with it, may I ask you to give methe refusal of it?”

“The refusal?”

“I mean, do not sell it to anyone else until you have given me theopportunity of buying it.”

“All right,” said Cyril, “we won’t. But we don’twant to sell it. We want to make it do things.”

“I suppose you can play at that as well as at anything else,” saidthe gentleman; “but I’m afraid the days of magic are over.”

“They aren’t really,” said Anthea earnestly.“You’d see they aren’t if I could tell you about our lastsummer holidays. Only I mustn’t. Thank you very much. And can you readthe name?”

“Yes, I can read it.”

“Will you tell it us?”

“The name,” said the gentleman, “is Ur Hekau Setcheh.”

“Ur Hekau Setcheh,” repeated Cyril. “Thanks awfully. I dohope we haven’t taken up too much of your time.”

“Not at all,” said the gentleman. “And do let me entreat youto be very, very careful of that most valuable specimen.”

They said “Thank you” in all the different polite ways they couldthink of, and filed out of the door and down the stairs. Anthea was last.Half-way down to the first landing she turned and ran up again.

The door was still open, and the learned gentleman and the mummy-case werestanding opposite to each other, and both looked as though they had stood likethat for years.

The gentleman started when Anthea put her hand on his arm.

“I hope you won’t be cross and say it’s not mybusiness,” she said, “but do look at your chop! Don’t youthink you ought to eat it? Father forgets his dinner sometimes when he’swriting, and Mother always says I ought to remind him if she’s not athome to do it herself, because it’s so bad to miss your regular meals. SoI thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind my reminding you, because youdon’t seem to have anyone else to do it.”

She glanced at the mummy-case; itcertainly did not look as though itwould ever think of reminding people of their meals.

The learned gentleman looked at her for a moment before he said—

“Thank you, my dear. It was a kindly thought. No, I haven’t anyoneto remind me about things like that.”

He sighed, and looked at the chop.

“It looks very nasty,” said Anthea.

“Yes,” he said, “it does. I’ll eat it immediately,before I forget.”

As he ate it he sighed more than once. Perhaps because the chop was nasty,perhaps because he longed for the charm which the children did not want tosell, perhaps because it was so long since anyone cared whether he ate hischops or forgot them.

Anthea caught the others at the stair-foot. They woke the Psammead, and ittaught them exactly how to use the word of power, and to make the charm speak.I am not going to tell you how this is done, because you might try to do it.And for you any such trying would be almost sure to end in disappointment.Because in the first place it is a thousand million to one against your evergetting hold of the right sort of charm, and if you did, there would be hardlyany chance at all of your finding a learned gentleman clever enough and kindenough to read the word for you.

The children and the Psammead crouched in a circle on the floor—in thegirls’ bedroom, because in the parlour they might have been interruptedby old Nurse’s coming in to lay the cloth for tea—and the charm wasput in the middle of the circle.

The sun shone splendidly outside, and the room was very light. Through the openwindow came the hum and rattle of London, and in the street below they couldhear the voice of the milkman.

When all was ready, the Psammead signed to Anthea to say the word. And she saidit.

Instantly the whole light of all the world seemed to go out. The room was dark.The world outside was dark—darker than the darkest night that ever was.And all the sounds went out too, so that there was a silence deeper than anysilence you have ever even dreamed of imagining. It was like being suddenlydeaf and blind, only darker and quieter even than that.

But before the children had got over the sudden shock of it enough to befrightened, a faint, beautiful light began to show in the middle of the circle,and at the same moment a faint, beautiful voice began to speak. The light wastoo small for one to see anything by, and the voice was too small for you tohear what it said. You could just see the light and just hear the voice.

But the light grew stronger. It was greeny, like glow-worms’ lamps, andit grew and grew till it was as though thousands and thousands of glow-wormswere signalling to their winged sweethearts from the middle of the circle. Andthe voice grew, not so much in loudness as in sweetness (though it grew louder,too), till it was so sweet that you wanted to cry with pleasure just at thesound of it. It was like nightingales, and the sea, and the fiddle, and thevoice of your mother when you have been a long time away, and she meets you atthe door when you get home.

And the voice said—

“Speak. What is it that you would hear?”

I cannot tell you what language the voice used. I only know that everyonepresent understood it perfectly. If you come to think of it, there must be somelanguage that everyone could understand, if we only knew what it was. Nor can Itell you how the charm spoke, nor whether it was the charm that spoke, or somepresence in the charm. The children could not have told you either. Indeed,they could not look at the charm while it was speaking, because the light wastoo bright. They looked instead at the green radiance on the fadedKidderminster carpet at the edge of the circle. They all felt very quiet, andnot inclined to ask questions or fidget with their feet. For this was not likethe things that had happened in the country when the Psammead had given themtheir wishes. That had been funny somehow, and this was not. It was somethinglike Arabian Nightsmagic, and something like being in church. No onecared to speak.

It was Cyril who said at last—

“Please we want to know where the other half of the charm is.”

“The part of the Amulet which is lost,” said the beautiful voice,“was broken and ground into the dust of the shrine that held it. It andthe pin that joined the two halves are themselves dust, and the dust isscattered over many lands and sunk in many seas.”

“Oh, I say!” murmured Robert, and a blank silence fell.

“Then it’s all up?” said Cyril at last; “it’s nouse our looking for a thing that’s smashed into dust, and the dustscattered all over the place.”

“If you would find it,” said the voice, “You must seek itwhere it still is, perfect as ever.”

“I don’t understand,” said Cyril.

“In the Past you may find it,” said the voice.

“I wish we mayfind it,” said Cyril.

The Psammead whispered crossly, “Don’t you understand? The thingexisted in the Past. If you were in the Past, too, you could find it.It’s very difficult to make you understand things. Time and space areonly forms of thought.”

“I see,” said Cyril.

“No, you don’t,” said the Psammead, “and itdoesn’t matter if you don’t, either. What I mean is that if youwere only made the right way, you could see everything happening in the sameplace at the same time. Now do you see?”

“I’m afraid Idon’t,” said Anthea;“I’m sorry I’m so stupid.”

“Well, at any rate, you see this. That lost half of the Amulet is in thePast. Therefore it’s in the Past we must look for it. I mustn’tspeak to the charm myself. Ask it things! Find out!”

“Where can we find the other part of you?” asked Cyril obediently.

“In the Past,” said the voice.

“What part of the Past?”

“I may not tell you. If you will choose a time, I will take you to theplace that then held it. You yourselves must find it.”

“When did you see it last?” asked Anthea—“I mean, whenwas it taken away from you?”

The beautiful voice answered—

“That was thousands of years ago. The Amulet was perfect then, and lay ina shrine, the last of many shrines, and I worked wonders. Then came strange menwith strange weapons and destroyed my shrine, and the Amulet they bore awaywith many captives. But of these, one, my priest, knew the word of power, andspoke it for me, so that the Amulet became invisible, and thus returned to myshrine, but the shrine was broken down, and ere any magic could rebuild it onespoke a word before which my power bowed down and was still. And the Amulet laythere, still perfect, but enslaved. Then one coming with stones to rebuild theshrine, dropped a hewn stone on the Amulet as it lay, and one half was sunderedfrom the other. I had no power to seek for that which was lost. And there beingnone to speak the word of power, I could not rejoin it. So the Amulet lay inthe dust of the desert many thousand years, and at last came a small man, aconqueror with an army, and after him a crowd of men who sought to seem wise,and one of these found half the Amulet and brought it to this land. But nonecould read the name. So I lay still. And this man dying and his son after him,the Amulet was sold by those who came after to a merchant, and from him youbought it, and it is here, and now, the name of power having been spoken, Ialso am here.”

This is what the voice said. I think it must have meant Napoleon by the smallman, the conqueror. Because I know I have been told that he took an army toEgypt, and that afterwards a lot of wise people went grubbing in the sand, andfished up all sorts of wonderful things, older than you would think possible.And of these I believe this charm to have been one, and the most wonderful oneof all.

Everyone listened: and everyone tried to think. It is not easy to do thisclearly when you have been listening to the kind of talk I have told you about.

At last Robert said—

“Can you take us into the Past—to the shrine where you and theother thing were together. If you could take us there, we might find the otherpart still there after all these thousands of years.”

“Still there? silly!” said Cyril. “Don’t you see, if wego back into the Past it won’t be thousands of years ago. It will benowfor us—won’t it?” He appealed to the Psammead, whosaid—

“You’re not so far off the idea as you usually are!”

“Well,” said Anthea, “will you take us back to when there wasa shrine and you were safe in it—all of you?”

“Yes,” said the voice. “You must hold me up, and speak theword of power, and one by one, beginning with the first-born, you shall passthrough me into the Past. But let the last that passes be the one that holdsme, and let him not lose his hold, lest you lose me, and so remain in the Pastfor ever.”

“That’s a nasty idea,” said Robert.

“When you desire to return,” the beautiful voice went on,“hold me up towards the East, and speak the word. Then, passing throughme, you shall return to this time and it shall be the present to you.”

“But how—”

A bell rang loudly.

“Oh crikey!” exclaimed Robert, “that’s tea! Will youplease make it proper daylight again so that we can go down. And thank you somuch for all your kindness.”

“We’ve enjoyed ourselves very much indeed, thank you!” addedAnthea politely.

The beautiful light faded slowly. The great darkness and silence came and thesesuddenly changed to the dazzlement of day and the great soft, rustling sound ofLondon, that is like some vast beast turning over in its sleep.

The children rubbed their eyes, the Psammead ran quickly to its sandy bath, andthe others went down to tea. And until the cups were actually filled tea seemedless real than the beautiful voice and the greeny light.

After tea Anthea persuaded the others to allow her to hang the charm round herneck with a piece of string.

“It would be so awful if it got lost,” she said: “it mightget lost anywhere, you know, and it would be rather beastly for us to have tostay in the Past for ever and ever, wouldn’t it?”

CHAPTER IV.
EIGHT THOUSAND YEARS AGO

Next morning Anthea got old Nurse to allow her to take up the “poorlearned gentleman’s” breakfast. He did not recognize her at first,but when he did he was vaguely pleased to see her.

“You see I’m wearing the charm round my neck,” she said;“I’m taking care of it—like you told us to.”

“That’s right,” said he; “did you have a good game lastnight?”

“You will eat your breakfast before it’s cold, won’tyou?” said Anthea. “Yes, we had a splendid time. The charm made itall dark, and then greeny light, and then it spoke. Oh! I wish you could haveheard it—it was such a darling voice—and it told us the other halfof it was lost in the Past, so of course we shall have to look for itthere!”

The learned gentleman rubbed his hair with both hands and looked anxiously atAnthea.

“I suppose it’s natural—youthful imagination and soforth,” he said. “Yet someone must have... Who told you that somepart of the charm was missing?”

“I can’t tell you,” she said. “I know it seems mostawfully rude, especially after being so kind about telling us the name ofpower, and all that, but really, I’m not allowed to tell anybody anythingabout the—the—the person who told me. You won’t forget yourbreakfast, will you?”

The learned gentleman smiled feebly and then frowned—not a cross-frown,but a puzzle-frown.

“Thank you,” he said, “I shall always be pleased ifyou’ll look in—any time you’re passing you know—atleast...”

“I will,” she said; “goodbye. I’ll always tell youanything I maytell.”

He had not had many adventures with children in them, and he wondered whetherall children were like these. He spent quite five minutes in wondering beforehe settled down to the fifty-second chapter of his great book on The SecretRites of the Priests of Amen Rā.

It is no use to pretend that the children did not feel a good deal of agitationat the thought of going through the charm into the Past. That idea, thatperhaps they might stay in the Past and never get back again, was anything butpleasing. Yet no one would have dared to suggest that the charm should not beused; and though each was in its heart very frightened indeed, they would allhave joined in jeering at the cowardice of any one of them who should haveuttered the timid but natural suggestion, “Don’tlet’s!”

It seemed necessary to make arrangements for being out all day, for there wasno reason to suppose that the sound of the dinner-bell would be able to reachback into the Past, and it seemed unwise to excite old Nurse’s curiositywhen nothing they could say—not even the truth—could in any waysatisfy it. They were all very proud to think how well they had understood whatthe charm and the Psammead had said about Time and Space and things like that,and they were perfectly certain that it would be quite impossible to make oldNurse understand a single word of it. So they merely asked her to let them taketheir dinner out into Regent’s Park—and this, with the implied coldmutton and tomatoes, was readily granted.

“You can get yourselves some buns or sponge-cakes, or whatever youfancy-like,” said old Nurse, giving Cyril a shilling. “Don’tgo getting jam-tarts, now—so messy at the best of times, and withoutforks and plates ruination to your clothes, besides your not being able to washyour hands and faces afterwards.”

So Cyril took the shilling, and they all started off. They went round by theTottenham Court Road to buy a piece of waterproof sheeting to put over thePsammead in case it should be raining in the Past when they got there. For itis almost certain death to a Psammead to get wet.

The sun was shining very brightly, and even London looked pretty. Women wereselling roses from big baskets-full, and Anthea bought four roses, one each,for herself and the others. They were red roses and smelt of summer—thekind of roses you always want so desperately at about Christmas-time when youcan only get mistletoe, which is pale right through to its very scent, andholly which pricks your nose if you try to smell it. So now everyone had a rosein its buttonhole, and soon everyone was sitting on the grass in Regent’sPark under trees whose leaves would have been clean, clear green in thecountry, but here were dusty and yellowish, and brown at the edges.

“We’ve got to go on with it,” said Anthea, “and as theeldest has to go first, you’ll have to be last, Jane. You quiteunderstand about holding on to the charm as you go through, don’t you,Pussy?”

“I wish I hadn’t got to be last,” said Jane.

“You shall carry the Psammead if you like,” said Anthea.“That is,” she added, remembering the beast’s queer temper,“if it’ll let you.”

The Psammead, however, was unexpectedly amiable.

“Idon’t mind,” it said, “who carries me, solong as it doesn’t drop me. I can’t bear being dropped.”

Jane with trembling hands took the Psammead and its fish-basket under one arm.The charm’s long string was hung round her neck. Then they all stood up.Jane held out the charm at arm’s length, and Cyril solemnly pronouncedthe word of power.

As he spoke it the charm grew tall and broad, and he saw that Jane was justholding on to the edge of a great red arch of very curious shape. The openingof the arch was small, but Cyril saw that he could go through it. All round andbeyond the arch were the faded trees and trampled grass of Regent’s Park,where the little ragged children were playing Ring-o’-Roses. But throughthe opening of it shone a blaze of blue and yellow and red. Cyril drew a longbreath and stiffened his legs so that the others should not see that his kneeswere trembling and almost knocking together. “Here goes!” he said,and, stepping up through the arch, disappeared. Then followed Anthea. Robert,coming next, held fast, at Anthea’s suggestion, to the sleeve of Jane,who was thus dragged safely through the arch. And as soon as they were on theother side of the arch there was no more arch at all and no more Regent’sPark either, only the charm in Jane’s hand, and it was its proper sizeagain. They were now in a light so bright that they winked and blinked andrubbed their eyes. During this dazzling interval Anthea felt for the charm andpushed it inside Jane’s frock, so that it might be quite safe. When theireyes got used to the new wonderful light the children looked around them. Thesky was very, very blue, and it sparkled and glittered and dazzled like the seaat home when the sun shines on it.

They were standing on a little clearing in a thick, low forest; there weretrees and shrubs and a close, thorny, tangly undergrowth. In front of themstretched a bank of strange black mud, then came the browny-yellowy shiningribbon of a river. Then more dry, caked mud and more greeny-browny jungle. Theonly things that told that human people had been there were the clearing, apath that led to it, and an odd arrangement of cut reeds in the river.

They looked at each other.

“Well!” said Robert, “this isa change of air!”

It was. The air was hotter than they could have imagined, even in London inAugust.

“I wish I knew where we were,” said Cyril.

“Here’s a river, now—I wonder whether it’s the Amazonor the Tiber, or what.”

“It’s the Nile,” said the Psammead, looking out of thefish-bag.

“Then this is Egypt,” said Robert, who had once taken a geographyprize.

“I don’t see any crocodiles,” Cyril objected. His prize hadbeen for natural history.

The Psammead reached out a hairy arm from its basket and pointed to a heap ofmud at the edge of the water.

“What do you call that?” it said; and as it spoke the heap of mudslid into the river just as a slab of damp mixed mortar will slip from abricklayer’s trowel.

“Oh!” said everybody.

There was a crashing among the reeds on the other side of the water.

“And there’s a river-horse!” said the Psammead, as a greatbeast like an enormous slaty-blue slug showed itself against the black bank onthe far side of the stream.

“It’s a hippopotamus,” said Cyril; “it seems much morereal somehow than the one at the Zoo, doesn’t it?”

“I’m glad it’s being real on the other side of theriver,” said Jane.

And now there was a crackling of reeds and twigs behind them. This washorrible. Of course it might be another hippopotamus, or a crocodile, or alion—or, in fact, almost anything.

“Keep your hand on the charm, Jane,” said Robert hastily. “Weought to have a means of escape handy. I’m dead certain this is the sortof place where simply anything mighthappen to us.”

“I believe a hippopotamus is going to happen to us,” saidJane—“a very, very big one.”

They had all turned to face the danger.

“Don’t be silly little duffers,” said the Psammead in itsfriendly, informal way; “it’s not a river-horse. It’s ahuman.”

It was. It was a girl—of about Anthea’s age. Her hair was short andfair, and though her skin was tanned by the sun, you could see that it wouldhave been fair too if it had had a chance. She had every chance of beingtanned, for she had no clothes to speak of, and the four English children,carefully dressed in frocks, hats, shoes, stockings, coats, collars, and allthe rest of it, envied her more than any words of theirs or of mine couldpossibly say. There was no doubt that here was the right costume for thatclimate.

She carried a pot on her head, of red and black earthenware. She did not seethe children, who shrank back against the edge of the jungle, and she wentforward to the brink of the river to fill her pitcher. As she went she made astrange sort of droning, humming, melancholy noise all on two notes. Antheacould not help thinking that perhaps the girl thought this noise was singing.

The girl filled the pitcher and set it down by the river bank. Then she wadedinto the water and stooped over the circle of cut reeds. She pulled half adozen fine fish out of the water within the reeds, killing each as she took itout, and threading it on a long osier that she carried. Then she knotted theosier, hung it on her arm, picked up the pitcher, and turned to come back. Andas she turned she saw the four children. The white dresses of Jane and Antheastood out like snow against the dark forest background. She screamed and thepitcher fell, and the water was spilled out over the hard mud surface and overthe fish, which had fallen too. Then the water slowly trickled away into thedeep cracks.

“Don’t be frightened,” Anthea cried, “we won’thurt you.”

“Who are you?” said the girl.

Now, once for all, I am not going to be bothered to tell you how it was thatthe girl could understand Anthea and Anthea could understand the girl.You, at any rate, would not understand me, if I tried to explainit, any more than you can understand about time and space being only forms ofthought. You may think what you like. Perhaps the children had found out theuniversal language which everyone can understand, and which wise men so farhave not found. You will have noticed long ago that they were singularly luckychildren, and they may have had this piece of luck as well as others. Or it mayhave been that... but why pursue the question further? The fact remains that inall their adventures the muddle-headed inventions which we call foreignlanguages never bothered them in the least. They could always understand and beunderstood. If you can explain this, please do. I daresay I could understandyour explanation, though you could never understand mine.

So when the girl said, “Who are you?” everyone understood at once,and Anthea replied—

“We are children—just like you. Don’t be frightened.Won’t you show us where you live?”

Jane put her face right into the Psammead’s basket, and burrowed hermouth into its fur to whisper—

“Is it safe? Won’t they eat us? Are they cannibals?”

The Psammead shrugged its fur.

“Don’t make your voice buzz like that, it tickles my ears,”it said rather crossly. “You can always get back to Regent’s Parkin time if you keep fast hold of the charm,” it said.

The strange girl was trembling with fright.

Anthea had a bangle on her arm. It was a sevenpenny-halfpenny trumpery thingthat pretended to be silver; it had a glass heart of turquoise blue hangingfrom it, and it was the gift of the maid-of-all-work at the Fitzroy Streethouse.

“Here,” said Anthea, “this is for you. That is to show wewill not hurt you. And if you take it I shall know that you won’t hurtus.”

The girl held out her hand. Anthea slid the bangle over it, and thegirl’s face lighted up with the joy of possession.

“Come,” she said, looking lovingly at the bangle; “it ispeace between your house and mine.”

She picked up her fish and pitcher and led the way up the narrow path by whichshe had come and the others followed.

“This is something like!” said Cyril, trying to be brave.

“Yes!” said Robert, also assuming a boldness he was far fromfeeling, “this really and truly isan adventure! Its being in thePast makes it quite different from the Phœnix and Carpet happenings.”

The belt of thick-growing acacia trees and shrubs—mostly prickly andunpleasant-looking—seemed about half a mile across. The path was narrowand the wood dark. At last, ahead, daylight shone through the boughs andleaves.

The whole party suddenly came out of the wood’s shadow into the glare ofthe sunlight that shone on a great stretch of yellow sand, dotted with heaps ofgrey rocks where spiky cactus plants showed gaudy crimson and pink flowersamong their shabby, sand-peppered leaves. Away to the right was something thatlooked like a grey-brown hedge, and from beyond it blue smoke went up to thebluer sky. And over all the sun shone till you could hardly bear your clothes.

“That is where I live,” said the girl pointing.

“I won’t go,” whispered Jane into the basket, “unlessyou say it’s all right.”

The Psammead ought to have been touched by this proof of confidence. Perhaps,however, it looked upon it as a proof of doubt, for it merely snarled—

“If you don’t go now I’ll never help you again.”

“Oh,” whispered Anthea, “dear Jane, don’t! Thinkof Father and Mother and all of us getting our heart’s desire. And we cango back any minute. Come on!”

“Besides,” said Cyril, in a low voice, “the Psammead mustknow there’s no danger or it wouldn’t go. It’s not so overand above brave itself. Come on!”

This Jane at last consented to do.

As they got nearer to the browny fence they saw that it was a great hedge abouteight feet high, made of piled-up thorn bushes.

“What’s that for?” asked Cyril.

“To keep out foes and wild beasts,” said the girl.

“I should think it ought to, too,” said he. “Why, some of thethorns are as long as my foot.”

There was an opening in the hedge, and they followed the girl through it. Alittle way further on was another hedge, not so high, also of dry thorn bushes,very prickly and spiteful-looking, and within this was a sort of village ofhuts.

There were no gardens and no roads. Just huts built of wood and twigs and clay,and roofed with great palm-leaves, dumped down anywhere. The doors of thesehouses were very low, like the doors of dog-kennels. The ground between themwas not paths or streets, but just yellow sand trampled very hard and smooth.

In the middle of the village there was a hedge that enclosed what seemed to bea piece of ground about as big as their own garden in Camden Town.

No sooner were the children well within the inner thorn hedge than dozens ofmen and women and children came crowding round from behind and inside the huts.

The girl stood protectingly in front of the four children, and said—

“They are wonder-children from beyond the desert. They bring marvellousgifts, and I have said that it is peace between us and them.”

She held out her arm with the Lowther Arcade bangle on it.

The children from London, where nothing now surprises anyone, had never beforeseen so many people look so astonished.

They crowded round the children, touching their clothes, their shoes, thebuttons on the boys’ jackets, and the coral of the girls’necklaces.

“Do say something,” whispered Anthea.

“We come,” said Cyril, with some dim remembrance of a dreadful daywhen he had had to wait in an outer office while his father interviewed asolicitor, and there had been nothing to read but the DailyTelegraph—“we come from the world where the sun never sets. Andpeace with honour is what we want. We are the great Anglo-Saxon or conqueringrace. Not that we want to conquer you,” he added hastily.“We only want to look at your houses and your—well, at allyou’ve got here, and then we shall return to our own place, and tell ofall that we have seen so that your name may be famed.”

Cyril’s speech didn’t keep the crowd from pressing round andlooking as eagerly as ever at the clothing of the children. Anthea had an ideathat these people had never seen woven stuff before, and she saw how wonderfuland strange it must seem to people who had never had any clothes but the skinsof beasts. The sewing, too, of modern clothes seemed to astonish them verymuch. They must have been able to sew themselves, by the way, for men whoseemed to be the chiefs wore knickerbockers of goat-skin or deer-skin, fastenedround the waist with twisted strips of hide. And the women wore long skimpyskirts of animals’ skins. The people were not very tall, their hair wasfair, and men and women both had it short. Their eyes were blue, and thatseemed odd in Egypt. Most of them were tattooed like sailors, only moreroughly.

“What is this? What is this?” they kept asking touching thechildren’s clothes curiously.

Anthea hastily took off Jane’s frilly lace collar and handed it to thewoman who seemed most friendly.

“Take this,” she said, “and look at it. And leave us alone.We want to talk among ourselves.”

She spoke in the tone of authority which she had always found successful whenshe had not time to coax her baby brother to do as he was told. The tone wasjust as successful now. The children were left together and the crowdretreated. It paused a dozen yards away to look at the lace collar and to go ontalking as hard as it could.

The children will never know what those people said, though they knew wellenough that they, the four strangers, were the subject of the talk. They triedto comfort themselves by remembering the girl’s promise of friendliness,but of course the thought of the charm was more comfortable than anything else.They sat down on the sand in the shadow of the hedged-round place in the middleof the village, and now for the first time they were able to look about themand to see something more than a crowd of eager, curious faces.

They here noticed that the women wore necklaces made of beads of differentcoloured stone, and from these hung pendants of odd, strange shapes, and someof them had bracelets of ivory and flint.

“I say,” said Robert, “what a lot we could teach them if westayed here!”

“I expect they could teach us something too,” said Cyril.“Did you notice that flint bracelet the woman had that Anthea gave thecollar to? That must have taken some making. Look here, they’ll getsuspicious if we talk among ourselves, and I do want to know about how they dothings. Let’s get the girl to show us round, and we can be thinking abouthow to get the Amulet at the same time. Only mind, we must keeptogether.”

Anthea beckoned to the girl, who was standing a little way off lookingwistfully at them, and she came gladly.

“Tell us how you make the bracelets, the stone ones,” said Cyril.

“With other stones,” said the girl; “the men make them; wehave men of special skill in such work.”

“Haven’t you any iron tools?”

“Iron,” said the girl, “I don’t know what youmean.” It was the first word she had not understood.

“Are all your tools of flint?” asked Cyril.

“Of course,” said the girl, opening her eyes wide.

I wish I had time to tell you of that talk. The English children wanted to hearall about this new place, but they also wanted to tell of their own country. Itwas like when you come back from your holidays and you want to hear and to telleverything at the same time. As the talk went on there were more and more wordsthat the girl could not understand, and the children soon gave up the attemptto explain to her what their own country was like, when they began to see howvery few of the things they had always thought they could not do without werereally not at all necessary to life.

The girl showed them how the huts were made—indeed, as one was being madethat very day she took them to look at it. The way of building was verydifferent from ours. The men stuck long pieces of wood into a piece of groundthe size of the hut they wanted to make. These were about eight inches apart;then they put in another row about eight inches away from the first, and then athird row still further out. Then all the space between was filled up withsmall branches and twigs, and then daubed over with black mud worked with thefeet till it was soft and sticky like putty.

The girl told them how the men went hunting with flint spears and arrows, andhow they made boats with reeds and clay. Then she explained the reed thing inthe river that she had taken the fish out of. It was a fish-trap—just aring of reeds set up in the water with only one little opening in it, and inthis opening, just below the water, were stuck reeds slanting the way of theriver’s flow, so that the fish, when they had swum sillily in, sillilycouldn’t get out again. She showed them the clay pots and jars andplatters, some of them ornamented with black and red patterns, and the mostwonderful things made of flint and different sorts of stone, beads, andornaments, and tools and weapons of all sorts and kinds.

“It is really wonderful,” said Cyril patronizingly, “when youconsider that it’s all eight thousand years ago—”

“I don’t understand you,” said the girl.

“It isn’teight thousand years ago,” whispered Jane.“It’s now—and that’s just what I don’tlike about it. I say, dolet’s get home again before anything morehappens. You can see for yourselves the charm isn’t here.”

“What’s in that place in the middle?” asked Anthea, struck bya sudden thought, and pointing to the fence.

“That’s the secret sacred place,” said the girl in a whisper.“No one knows what is there. There are many walls, and inside theinsidest one Itis, but no one knows what Itis except theheadsmen.”

“I believe youknow,” said Cyril, looking at her very hard.

“I’ll give you this if you’ll tell me,” said Antheataking off a bead-ring which had already been much admired.

“Yes,” said the girl, catching eagerly at the ring. “Myfather is one of the heads, and I know a water charm to make him talk in hissleep. And he has spoken. I will tell you. But if they know I have told youthey will kill me. In the insidest inside there is a stone box, and in it thereis the Amulet. None knows whence it came. It came from very far away.”

“Have you seen it?” asked Anthea.

The girl nodded.

“Is it anything like this?” asked Jane, rashly producing the charm.

The girl’s face turned a sickly greenish-white.

“Hide it, hide it,” she whispered. “You must put it back. Ifthey see it they will kill us all. You for taking it, and me for knowing thatthere was such a thing. Oh, woe—woe! why did you ever come here?”

“Don’t be frightened,” said Cyril. “They shan’tknow. Jane, don’t you be such a little jack-ape again—that’sall. You see what will happen if you do. Now, tell me—” He turnedto the girl, but before he had time to speak the question there was a loudshout, and a man bounded in through the opening in the thorn-hedge.

“Many foes are upon us!” he cried. “Make ready thedefences!”

His breath only served for that, and he lay panting on the ground.

“Oh, dolet’s go home!” said Jane. “Lookhere—I don’t care—I will!”

She held up the charm. Fortunately all the strange, fair people were too busyto notice her. She held up the charm. And nothing happened.

“You haven’t said the word of power,” said Anthea.

Jane hastily said it—and still nothing happened.

“Hold it up towards the East, you silly!” said Robert.

“Which isthe East?” said Jane, dancing about in her agonyof terror.

Nobody knew. So they opened the fish-bag to ask the Psammead.

And the bag had only a waterproof sheet in it.

The Psammead was gone.

“Hide the sacred thing! Hide it! Hide it!” whispered the girl.

Cyril shrugged his shoulders, and tried to look as brave as he knew he ought tofeel.

“Hide it up, Pussy,” he said. “We are in for it now.We’ve just got to stay and see it out.”

CHAPTER V.
THE FIGHT IN THE VILLAGE

Here was a horrible position! Four English children, whose proper date was A.D.1905, and whose proper address was London, set down in Egypt in the year 6000B.C. with no means whatever of getting back into their own time and place. Theycould not find the East, and the sun was of no use at the moment, because someofficious person had once explained to Cyril that the sun did not really set inthe West at all—nor rise in the East either, for the matter of that.

The Psammead had crept out of the bass-bag when they were not looking and hadbasely deserted them.

An enemy was approaching. There would be a fight. People get killed in fights,and the idea of taking part in a fight was one that did not appeal to thechildren.

The man who had brought the news of the enemy still lay panting on the sand.His tongue was hanging out, long and red, like a dog’s. The people of thevillage were hurriedly filling the gaps in the fence with thorn-bushes from theheap that seemed to have been piled there ready for just such a need. Theylifted 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 theothers, bit the ends of the stalks, and set them in a pot of water that stoodin the shadow by a hut door. She was always rather silly about flowers.

“Look here!” she said. “I think perhaps the Psammead isreally arranging something for us. I don’t believe it would go away andleave 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 andears open. Look! That runner chap’s getting his wind. Let’s go andhear what he’s got to say.”

The runner had risen to his knees and was sitting back on his heels. Now hestood up and spoke. He began by some respectful remarks addressed to the headsof 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 anhour’s journey. Then I set my snares and waited. And I heard the sound ofmany wings, and looking up, saw many herons circling in the air. And I saw thatthey were afraid; so I took thought. A beast may scare one heron, coming uponit suddenly, but no beast will scare a whole flock of herons. And still theyflew and circled, and would not light. So then I knew that what scared theherons must be men, and men who knew not our ways of going softly so as to takethe birds and beasts unawares. By this I knew they were not of our race or ofour place. So, leaving my raft, I crept along the river bank, and at last cameupon the strangers. They are many as the sands of the desert, and theirspear-heads shine red like the sun. They are a terrible people, and their marchis towards us. Having seen this, I ran, and did not stay till I was beforeyou.”

“These are yourfolk,” said the headman, turning suddenlyand angrily on Cyril, “you came as spies for them.”

“We did not,” said Cyril indignantly. “Wewouldn’t be spies for anything. I’m certain these peoplearen’t a bit like us. Are they now?” he asked the runner.

“No,” was the answer. “These men’s faces were darkened,and their hair black as night. Yet these strange children, maybe, are theirgods, who have come before to make ready the way for them.”

A murmur ran through the crowd.

“No, no,” said Cyril again. “We are on your side. Wewill help you to guard your sacred things.”

The headman seemed impressed by the fact that Cyril knew that there weresacred things to be guarded. He stood a moment gazing at the children. Then hesaid—

“It is well. And now let all make offering, that we may be strong inbattle.”

The crowd dispersed, and nine men, wearing antelope-skins, grouped themselvesin front of the opening in the hedge in the middle of the village. Andpresently, one by one, the men brought all sorts of things—hippopotamusflesh, ostrich-feathers, the fruit of the date palms, red chalk, green chalk,fish from the river, and ibex from the mountains; and the headman receivedthese gifts. There was another hedge inside the first, about a yard from it, sothat there was a lane inside between the hedges. And every now and then one ofthe headmen would disappear along this lane with full hands and come back withhands empty.

“They’re making offerings to their Amulet,” said Anthea.“We’d better give something too.”

The pockets of the party, hastily explored, yielded a piece of pink tape, a bitof sealing-wax, and part of the Waterbury watch that Robert had not been ableto help taking to pieces at Christmas and had never had time to rearrange. Mostboys have a watch in this condition.

They presented their offerings, and Anthea added the red roses.

The headman who took the things looked at them with awe, especially at the redroses and the Waterbury-watch fragment.

“This is a day of very wondrous happenings,” he said. “I haveno more room in me to be astonished. Our maiden said there was peace betweenyou and us. But for this coming of a foe we should have made sure.”

The children shuddered.

“Now speak. Are you upon our side?”

“Yes. Don’t I keep telling you we are?” Robert said.“Look here. I will give you a sign. You see this.” He held out thetoy pistol. “I shall speak to it, and if it answers me you will know thatI and the others are come to guard your sacred thing—that we’vejust made the offerings to.”

“Will that god whose image you hold in your hand speak to you alone, orshall I also hear it?” asked the man cautiously.

“You’ll be surprised when you dohear it,” saidRobert. “Now, then.” He looked at the pistol and said—

“If we are to guard the sacred treasure within”—he pointed tothe hedged-in space—“speak with thy loud voice, and we shallobey.”

He pulled the trigger, and the cap went off. The noise was loud, for it was atwo-shilling pistol, and the caps were excellent.

Every man, woman, and child in the village fell on its face on the sand.

The headman who had accepted the test rose first.

“The voice has spoken,” he said. “Lead them into theante-room of the sacred thing.”

So now the four children were led in through the opening of the hedge and roundthe lane till they came to an opening in the inner hedge, and they went throughan opening in that, and so passed into another lane.

The thing was built something like this, and all the hedges were of brushwoodand thorns:

“It’s like the maze at Hampton Court,” whispered Anthea.

The lanes were all open to the sky, but the little hut in the middle of themaze was round-roofed, and a curtain of skins hung over the doorway.

“Here you may wait,” said their guide, “but do not dare topass the curtain.” He himself passed it and disappeared.

“But look here,” whispered Cyril, “some of us ought to beoutside in case the Psammead turns up.”

“Don’t let’s get separated from each other, whatever wedo,” said Anthea. “It’s quite bad enough to be separated fromthe Psammead. We can’t do anything while that man is in there.Let’s all go out into the village again. We can come back later now weknow the way in. That man’ll have to fight like the rest, most likely, ifit comes to fighting. If we find the Psammead we’ll go straight home. Itmust be getting late, and I don’t much like this mazy place.”

They went out and told the headman that they would protect the treasure whenthe fighting began. And now they looked about them and were able to see exactlyhow a first-class worker in flint flakes and notches an arrow-head or the edgeof an axe—an advantage which no other person now alive has ever enjoyed.The boys found the weapons most interesting. The arrow-heads were not on arrowssuch as you shoot from a bow, but on javelins, for throwing from the hand. Thechief weapon was a stone fastened to a rather short stick something like thethings gentlemen used to carry about and call life-preservers in the days ofthe garrotters. Then there were long things like spears or lances, with flintknives—horribly sharp—and flint battle-axes.

Everyone in the village was so busy that the place was like an ant-heap whenyou have walked into it by accident. The women were busy and even the children.

Quite suddenly all the air seemed to glow and grow red—it was like thesudden opening of a furnace door, such as you may see at Woolwich Arsenal ifyou ever have the luck to be taken there—and then almost as suddenly itwas as though the furnace doors had been shut. For the sun had set, and it wasnight.

The sun had that abrupt way of setting in Egypt eight thousand years ago, and Ibelieve it has never been able to break itself of the habit, and sets inexactly the same manner to the present day. The girl brought the skins of wilddeer and led the children to a heap of dry sedge.

“My father says they will not attack yet. Sleep!” she said, and itreally seemed a good idea. You may think that in the midst of all these dangersthe children would not have been able to sleep—but somehow, though theywere rather frightened now and then, the feeling was growing in them—deepdown and almost hidden away, but still growing—that the Psammead was tobe trusted, and that they were really and truly safe. This did not preventtheir being quite as much frightened as they could bear to be without beingperfectly miserable.

“I suppose we’d better go to sleep,” said Robert. “Idon’t know what on earth poor old Nurse will do with us out all night;set the police on our tracks, I expect. I only wish they could find us! A dozenpolicemen would be rather welcome just now. But it’s no use getting intoa stew over it,” he added soothingly. “Good night.”

And they all fell asleep.

They were awakened by long, loud, terrible sounds that seemed to come fromeverywhere at once—horrible threatening shouts and shrieks and howls thatsounded, as Cyril said later, like the voices of men thirsting for theirenemies’ blood.

“It is the voice of the strange men,” said the girl, coming to themtrembling through the dark. “They have attacked the walls, and the thornshave driven them back. My father says they will not try again till daylight.But they are shouting to frighten us. As though we were savages! Dwellers inthe swamps!” she cried indignantly.

All night the terrible noise went on, but when the sun rose, as abruptly as hehad set, the sound suddenly ceased.

The children had hardly time to be glad of this before a shower of javelinscame hurtling over the great thorn-hedge, and everyone sheltered behind thehuts. But next moment another shower of weapons came from the opposite side,and the crowd rushed to other shelter. Cyril pulled out a javelin that hadstuck in the roof of the hut beside him. Its head was of brightly burnishedcopper.

Then the sound of shouting arose again and the crackle of dried thorns. Theenemy was breaking down the hedge. All the villagers swarmed to the pointwhence the crackling and the shouting came; they hurled stones over the hedges,and short arrows with flint heads. The children had never before seen men withthe fighting light in their eyes. It was very strange and terrible, and gaveyou a queer thick feeling in your throat; it was quite different from thepictures of fights in the illustrated papers at home.

It seemed that the shower of stones had driven back the besiegers. The besiegeddrew breath, but at that moment the shouting and the crackling arose on theopposite side of the village and the crowd hastened to defend that point, andso the fight swayed to and fro across the village, for the besieged had not thesense to divide their forces as their enemies had done.

Cyril noticed that every now and then certain of the fighting-men would enterthe maze, and come out with brighter faces, a braver aspect, and a more uprightcarriage.

“I believe they go and touch the Amulet,” he said. “You knowthe Psammead said it could make people brave.”

They crept through the maze, and watching they saw that Cyril was right. Aheadman was standing in front of the skin curtain, and as the warriors camebefore him he murmured a word they could not hear, and touched their foreheadswith something that they could not see. And this something he held in hishands. And through his fingers they saw the gleam of a red stone that theyknew.

The fight raged across the thorn-hedge outside. Suddenly there was a loud andbitter cry.

“They’re in! They’re in! The hedge is down!”

The headman disappeared behind the deer-skin curtain.

“He’s gone to hide it,” said Anthea. “Oh, Psammeaddear, how could you leave us!”

Suddenly there was a shriek from inside the hut, and the headman staggered outwhite with fear and fled out through the maze. The children were as white ashe.

“Oh! What is it? What is it?” moaned Anthea. “Oh, Psammead,how could you! How could you!”

And the sound of the fight sank breathlessly, and swelled fiercely all around.It was like the rising and falling of the waves of the sea.

Anthea shuddered and said again, “Oh, Psammead, Psammead!”

“Well?” said a brisk voice, and the curtain of skins was lifted atone corner by a furry hand, and out peeped the bat’s ears andsnail’s eyes of the Psammead.

Anthea caught it in her arms and a sigh of desperate relief was breathed byeach of the four.

“Oh! which isthe East!” Anthea said, and she spokehurriedly, for the noise of wild fighting drew nearer and nearer.

“Don’t choke me,” said the Psammead, “comeinside.”

The inside of the hut was pitch dark.

“I’ve got a match,” said Cyril, and struck it. The floor ofthe hut was of soft, loose sand.

“I’ve been asleep here,” said the Psammead; “mostcomfortable it’s been, the best sand I’ve had for a month.It’s all right. Everything’s all right. I knew your only chancewould be while the fight was going on. That man won’t come back. I bithim, and he thinks I’m an Evil Spirit. Now you’ve only got to takethe thing and go.”

The hut was hung with skins. Heaped in the middle were the offerings that hadbeen given the night before, Anthea’s roses fading on the top of theheap. At one side of the hut stood a large square stone block, and on it anoblong box of earthenware with strange figures of men and beasts on it.

“Is the thing in there?” asked Cyril, as the Psammead pointed askinny finger at it.

“You must judge of that,” said the Psammead. “The man wasjust going to bury the box in the sand when I jumped out at him and bithim.”

“Light another match, Robert,” said Anthea. “Now, then quick!which is the East?”

“Why, where the sun rises, of course!”

“But someone told us—”

“Oh! they’ll tell you anything!” said the Psammeadimpatiently, getting into its bass-bag and wrapping itself in its waterproofsheet.

“But we can’t see the sun in here, and it isn’t risinganyhow,” said Jane.

“How you do waste time!” the Psammead said. “Why, theEast’s where the shrine is, of course. There!”

It pointed to the great stone.

And still the shouting and the clash of stone on metal sounded nearer andnearer. The children could hear that the headmen had surrounded the hut toprotect their treasure as long as might be from the enemy. But none dare tocome in after the Psammead’s sudden fierce biting of the headman.

“Now, Jane,” said Cyril, very quickly. “I’ll take theAmulet, you stand ready to hold up the charm, and be sure you don’t letit go as you come through.”

He made a step forward, but at that instant a great crackling overhead ended ina blaze of sunlight. The roof had been broken in at one side, and great slabsof it were being lifted off by two spears. As the children trembled and winkedin the new light, large dark hands tore down the wall, and a dark face, with ablobby fat nose, looked over the gap. Even at that awful moment Anthea had timeto think that it was very like the face of Mr Jacob Absalom, who had sold themthe charm in the shop near Charing Cross.

“Here is their Amulet,” cried a harsh, strange voice; “it isthis that makes them strong to fight and brave to die. And what else have wehere—gods or demons?”

He glared fiercely at the children, and the whites of his eyes were very whiteindeed. He had a wet, red copper knife in his teeth. There was not a moment tolose.

“Jane, Jane, QUICK!” cried everyone passionately.

Jane with trembling hands held up the charm towards the East, and Cyril spokethe word of power. The Amulet grew to a great arch. Out beyond it was theglaring Egyptian sky, the broken wall, the cruel, dark, big-nosed face with thered, wet knife in its gleaming teeth. Within the arch was the dull, faint,greeny-brown of London grass and trees.

“Hold tight, Jane!” Cyril cried, and he dashed through the arch,dragging Anthea and the Psammead after him. Robert followed, clutching Jane.And in the ears of each, as they passed through the arch of the charm, thesound and fury of battle died out suddenly and utterly, and they heard only thelow, dull, discontented hum of vast London, and the peeking and patting of thesparrows on the gravel and the voices of the ragged baby children playingRing-o’-Roses on the yellow trampled grass. And the charm was a littlecharm again in Jane’s hand, and there was the basket with their dinnerand the bathbuns lying just where they had left it.

“My hat!” said Cyril, drawing a long breath; “that wassomething like an adventure.”

“It was rather like one, certainly,” said the Psammead.

They all lay still, breathing in the safe, quiet air of Regent’s Park.

“We’d better go home at once,” said Anthea presently.“Old Nurse will be most frightfully anxious. The sun looks about the sameas it did when we started yesterday. We’ve been away twenty-fourhours.”

“The buns are quite soft still,” said Cyril, feeling one; “Isuppose the dew kept them fresh.”

They were not hungry, curiously enough.

They picked up the dinner-basket and the Psammead-basket, and went straighthome.

Old Nurse met them with amazement.

“Well, if ever I did!” she said. “What’s gone wrong?You’ve soon tired of your picnic.”

The children took this to be bitter irony, which means saying the exactopposite of what you mean in order to make yourself disagreeable; as when youhappen to have a dirty face, and someone says, “How nice and clean youlook!”

“We’re very sorry,” began Anthea, but old Nurse said—

“Oh, bless me, child, I don’t care! Please yourselves andyou’ll please me. Come in and get your dinners comf’table.I’ve got a potato on a-boiling.”

When she had gone to attend to the potatoes the children looked at each other.Could it be that old Nurse had so changed that she no longer cared that theyshould have been away from home for twenty-four hours—all night infact—without any explanation whatever?

But the Psammead put its head out of its basket and said—

“What’s the matter? Don’t you understand? You come backthrough the charm-arch at the same time as you go through it. This isn’ttomorrow!”

“Is it still yesterday?” asked Jane.

“No, it’s today. The same as it’s always been. Itwouldn’t do to go mixing up the present and the Past, and cutting bitsout of one to fit into the other.”

“Then all that adventure took no time at all?”

“You can call it that if you like,” said the Psammead. “Ittook none of the modern time, anyhow.”

That evening Anthea carried up a steak for the learned gentleman’sdinner. She persuaded Beatrice, the maid-of-all-work, who had given her thebangle with the blue stone, to let her do it. And she stayed and talked to him,by special invitation, while he ate the dinner.

She told him the whole adventure, beginning with—

“This afternoon we found ourselves on the bank of the River Nile,”and ending up with, “And then we remembered how to get back, and there wewere in Regent’s Park, and it hadn’t taken any time at all.”

She did not tell anything about the charm or the Psammead, because that wasforbidden, but the story was quite wonderful enough even as it was to entrancethe learned gentleman.

“You are a most unusual little girl,” he said. “Who tells youall these things?”

“No one,” said Anthea, “they just happen.”

“Make-believe,” he said slowly, as one who recalls and pronounces along-forgotten word.

He sat long after she had left him. At last he roused himself with a start.

“I really must take a holiday,” he said; “my nerves must beall out of order. I actually have a perfectly distinct impression that thelittle girl from the rooms below came in and gave me a coherent and graphicpicture of life as I conceive it to have been in pre-dynastic Egypt. Strangewhat tricks the mind will play! I shall have to be more careful.”

He finished his bread conscientiously, and actually went for a mile walk beforehe went back to his work.

CHAPTER VI.
THE WAY TO BABYLON

“How many miles to Babylon?
    Three score and ten!
Can I get there by candle light?
    Yes, and back again!”

Jane was singing to her doll, rocking it to and fro in the house which she hadmade for herself and it. The roof of the house was the dining-table, and thewalls were tablecloths and antimacassars hanging all round, and kept in theirplaces by books laid on their top ends at the table edge.

The others were tasting the fearful joys of domestic tobogganing. You know howit is done—with the largest and best tea-tray and the surface of thestair carpet. It is best to do it on the days when the stair rods are beingcleaned, and the carpet is only held by the nails at the top. Of course, it isone of the five or six thoroughly tip-top games that grown-up people are sounjust to—and old Nurse, though a brick in many respects, was quiteenough of a standard grown-up to put her foot down on the tobogganing longbefore any of the performers had had half enough of it. The tea-tray was takenaway, and the baffled party entered the sitting-room, in exactly the mood notto be pleased if they could help it.

So Cyril said, “What a beastly mess!”

And Robert added, “Do shut up, Jane!”

Even Anthea, who was almost always kind, advised Jane to try another song.“I’m sick to death of that,” said she.

It was a wet day, so none of the plans for seeing all the sights of London thatcan be seen for nothing could be carried out. Everyone had been thinking allthe morning about the wonderful adventures of the day before, when Jane hadheld up the charm and it had turned into an arch, through which they had walkedstraight out of the present time and the Regent’s Park into the land ofEgypt eight thousand years ago. The memory of yesterday’s happenings wasstill extremely fresh and frightening, so that everyone hoped that no one wouldsuggest another excursion into the past, for it seemed to all thatyesterday’s adventures were quite enough to last for at least a week. Yeteach felt a little anxious that the others should not think it was afraid, andpresently Cyril, who really was not a coward, began to see that it would not beat all nice if he should have to think himself one. So he said—

“I say—about that charm—Jane—come out. We ought to talkabout it, anyhow.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” said Robert.

Jane obediently wriggled to the front of her house and sat there. She felt forthe charm, to make sure that it was still round her neck.

“It isn’tall,” said Cyril, saying much more than hemeant because he thought Robert’s tone had been rude—as indeed ithad. “We ought to go and look for that Amulet. What’s the good ofhaving a first-class charm and keeping it idle, just eating its head off in thestable.”

“I’mgame for anything, of course,” said Robert; buthe added, with a fine air of chivalry, “only I don’t think thegirls are keen today somehow.”

“Oh, yes; I am,” said Anthea hurriedly. “If you thinkI’m afraid, I’m not.”

“I am though,” said Jane heavily; “I didn’t like it,and I won’t go there again—not for anything I won’t.”

“We shouldn’t go thereagain, silly,” said Cyril;“it would be some other place.”

“I daresay; a place with lions and tigers in it as likely as not.”

Seeing Jane so frightened, made the others feel quite brave. They said theywere certain they ought to go.

“It’s so ungrateful to the Psammead not to,” Anthea added, alittle primly.

Jane stood up. She was desperate.

“I won’t!” she cried; “I won’t, I won’t, Iwon’t! If you make me I’ll scream and I’ll scream, andI’ll tell old Nurse, and I’ll get her to burn the charm in thekitchen fire. So now, then!”

You can imagine how furious everyone was with Jane for feeling what each ofthem had felt all the morning. In each breast the same thought arose, “Noone can say it’s ourfault.” And they at once began to showJane how angry they all felt that all the fault was hers. This made them feelquite brave.

“Tell-tale tit, its tongue shall be split,
And all the dogs in our town shall have a little bit,”

sang Robert.

“It’s always the way if you have girls in anything.” Cyrilspoke in a cold displeasure that was worse than Robert’s cruel quotation,and even Anthea said, “Well, I’mnot afraid if I amagirl,” which of course, was the most cutting thing of all.

Jane picked up her doll and faced the others with what is sometimes called thecourage of despair.

“I don’t care,” she said; “I won’t, sothere! It’s just silly going to places when you don’t want to, andwhen you don’t know what they’re going to be like! You can laugh atme as much as you like. You’re beasts—and I hate you all!”

With these awful words she went out and banged the door.

Then the others would not look at each other, and they did not feel so brave asthey had done.

Cyril took up a book, but it was not interesting to read. Robert kicked achair-leg absently. His feet were always eloquent in moments of emotion. Antheastood pleating the end of the tablecloth into folds—she seemed earnestlyanxious to get all the pleats the same size. The sound of Jane’s sobs haddied away.

Suddenly Anthea said, “Oh! let it be ‘pax’—poor littlePussy—you know she’s the youngest.”

“She called us beasts,” said Robert, kicking the chair suddenly.

“Well,” said Cyril, who was subject to passing fits of justice,“we began, you know. At least you did.” Cyril’s justice wasalways uncompromising.

“I’m not going to say I’m sorry if you mean that,” saidRobert, and the chair-leg cracked to the kick he gave as he said it.

“Oh, do let’s,” said Anthea, “we’re three to one,and Mother does so hate it if we row. Come on. I’ll say I’m sorryfirst, though I didn’t say anything, hardly.”

“All right, let’s get it over,” said Cyril, opening thedoor.“Hi—you—Pussy!”

Far away up the stairs a voice could be heard singing brokenly, but stilldefiantly—

“How many miles (sniff) to Babylon?
    Three score and ten! (sniff)
Can I get there by candle light?
    Yes (sniff), and back again!”

It was trying, for this was plainly meant to annoy. But Anthea would not giveherself time to think this. She led the way up the stairs, taking three at atime, and bounded to the level of Jane, who sat on the top step of all,thumping her doll to the tune of the song she was trying to sing.

“I say, Pussy, let it be pax! We’re sorry if you are—”

It was enough. The kiss of peace was given by all. Jane being the youngest wasentitled to this ceremonial.

Anthea added a special apology of her own.

“I’m sorry if I was a pig, Pussy dear,” shesaid—“especially because in my really and truly inside mindI’ve been feeling a little as if I’d rather not go into the Pastagain either. But then, do think. If we don’t go we shan’t get theAmulet, and oh, Pussy, think if we could only get Father and Mother and TheLamb safe back! We mustgo, but we’ll wait a day or two if youlike and then perhaps you’ll feel braver.”

“Raw meat makes you brave, however cowardly you are,” said Robert,to show that there was now no ill-feeling, “andcranberries—that’s what Tartars eat, and they’re so braveit’s simply awful. I suppose cranberries are only for Christmas time, butI’ll ask old Nurse to let you have your chop very raw if you like.”

“I think I could be brave without that,” said Jane hastily; shehated underdone meat. “I’ll try.”

At this moment the door of the learned gentleman’s room opened, and helooked out.

“Excuse me,” he said, in that gentle, polite weary voice of his,“but was I mistaken in thinking that I caught a familiar word just now?Were you not singing some old ballad of Babylon?”

“No,” said Robert, “at least Jane was singing ‘How manymiles,’ but I shouldn’t have thought you could have heard the wordsfor—”

He would have said, “for the sniffing,” but Anthea pinched him justin time.

“I did not hear allthe words,” said the learned gentleman.“I wonder would you recite them to me?”

So they all said together—

“How many miles to Babylon?
    Three score and ten!
Can I get there by candle light?
    Yes, and back again!”

“I wish one could,” the learned gentleman said with a sigh.

“Can’t you?” asked Jane.

“Babylon has fallen,” he answered with a sigh. “You know itwas once a great and beautiful city, and the centre of learning and Art, andnow it is only ruins, and so covered up with earth that people are not evenagreed as to where it once stood.”

He was leaning on the banisters, and his eyes had a far-away look in them, asthough he could see through the staircase window the splendour and glory ofancient Babylon.

“I say,” Cyril remarked abruptly. “You know that charm weshowed you, and you told us how to say the name that’s on it?”

“Yes!”

“Well, do you think that charm was ever in Babylon?”

“It’s quite possible,” the learned gentleman replied.“Such charms have been found in very early Egyptian tombs, yet theirorigin has not been accurately determined as Egyptian. They may have beenbrought from Asia. Or, supposing the charm to have been fashioned in Egypt, itmight very well have been carried to Babylon by some friendly embassy, orbrought back by the Babylonish army from some Egyptian campaign as part of thespoils of war. The inscription may be much later than the charm. Oh yes! it isa pleasant fancy, that that splendid specimen of yours was once used amidBabylonish surroundings.”

The others looked at each other, but it was Jane who spoke.

“Were the Babylon people savages, were they always fighting and throwingthings about?” For she had read the thoughts of the others by theunerring light of her own fears.

“The Babylonians were certainly more gentle than the Assyrians,”said the learned gentleman. “And they were not savages by any means. Avery high level of culture,” he looked doubtfully at his audience andwent on, “I mean that they made beautiful statues and jewellery, andbuilt splendid palaces. And they were very learned—they had gloriouslibraries and high towers for the purpose of astrological and astronomicalobservation.”

“Er?” said Robert.

“I mean for—star-gazing and fortune-telling,” said thelearned gentleman, “and there were temples and beautiful hanginggardens—”

“I’ll go to Babylon if you like,” said Jane abruptly, and theothers hastened to say “Done!” before she should have time tochange her mind.

“Ah,” said the learned gentleman, smiling rather sadly, “onecan go so far in dreams, when one is young.” He sighed again, and thenadding with a laboured briskness, “I hope you’ll havea—a—jolly game,” he went into his room and shut the door.

“He said ‘jolly’ as if it was a foreign language,” saidCyril. “Come on, let’s get the Psammead and go now. I think Babylonseems a most frightfully jolly place to go to.”

So they woke the Psammead and put it in its bass-bag with the waterproof sheet,in case of inclement weather in Babylon. It was very cross, but it said itwould as soon go to Babylon as anywhere else. “The sand is goodthereabouts,” it added.

Then Jane held up the charm, and Cyril said—

“We want to go to Babylon to look for the part of you that was lost. Willyou please let us go there through you?”

“Please put us down just outside,” said Jane hastily; “andthen if we don’t like it we needn’t go inside.”

“Don’t be all day,” said the Psammead.

So Anthea hastily uttered the word of power, without which the charm could donothing.

“Ur—Hekau—Setcheh!” she said softly, and as she spokethe charm grew into an arch so tall that the top of it was close against thebedroom ceiling. Outside the arch was the bedroom painted chest-of-drawers andthe Kidderminster carpet, and the washhand-stand with the rivetedwillow-pattern jug, and the faded curtains, and the dull light of indoors on awet day. Through the arch showed the gleam of soft green leaves and whiteblossoms. They stepped forward quite happily. Even Jane felt that this did notlook like lions, and her hand hardly trembled at all as she held the charm forthe others to go through, and last, slipped through herself, and hung thecharm, now grown small again, round her neck.

The children found themselves under a white-blossomed, green-leafed fruit-tree,in what seemed to be an orchard of such trees, all white-flowered andgreen-foliaged. Among the long green grass under their feet grew crocuses andlilies, and strange blue flowers. In the branches overhead thrushes andblackbirds were singing, and the coo of a pigeon came softly to them in thegreen quietness of the orchard.

“Oh, how perfectly lovely!” cried Anthea.

“Why, it’s like home exactly—I mean England—onlyeverything’s bluer, and whiter, and greener, and the flowers arebigger.”

The boys owned that it certainly was fairly decent, and even Jane admitted thatit was all very pretty.

“I’m certain there’s nothing to be frightened of here,”said Anthea.

“I don’t know,” said Jane. “I suppose the fruit-treesgo on just the same even when people are killing each other. I didn’thalf like what the learned gentleman said about the hanging gardens. I supposethey have gardens on purpose to hang people in. I do hope this isn’tone.”

“Of course it isn’t,” said Cyril. “The hanging gardensare just gardens hung up—Ithink on chains between houses,don’t you know, like trays. Come on; let’s get somewhere.”

They began to walk through the cool grass. As far as they could see was nothingbut trees, and trees and more trees. At the end of their orchard was anotherone, only separated from theirs by a little stream of clear water. They jumpedthis, and went on. Cyril, who was fond of gardening—which meant that heliked to watch the gardener at work—was able to command the respect ofthe others by telling them the names of a good many trees. There were nut-treesand almond-trees, and apricots, and fig-trees with their big five-fingeredleaves. And every now and then the children had to cross another brook.

“It’s like between the squares in Through theLooking-glass,” said Anthea.

At last they came to an orchard which was quite different from the otherorchards. It had a low building in one corner.

“These are vines,” said Cyril superiorly, “and I know this isa vineyard. I shouldn’t wonder if there was a wine-press inside thatplace over there.”

At last they got out of the orchards and on to a sort of road, very rough, andnot at all like the roads you are used to. It had cypress trees and acaciatrees along it, and a sort of hedge of tamarisks, like those you see on theroad between Nice and Cannes, or near Littlehampton, if you’ve only beenas far as that.

And now in front of them they could see a great mass of buildings. There werescattered houses of wood and stone here and there among green orchards, andbeyond these a great wall that shone red in the early morning sun. The wall wasenormously high—more than half the height of St Paul’s—and inthe wall were set enormous gates that shone like gold as the rising sun beat onthem. Each gate had a solid square tower on each side of it that stood out fromthe wall and rose above it. Beyond the wall were more towers and houses,gleaming with gold and bright colours. Away to the left ran the steel-blueswirl of a great river. And the children could see, through a gap in the trees,that the river flowed out from the town under a great arch in the wall.

“Those feathery things along by the water are palms,” said Cyrilinstructively.

“Oh, yes; you know everything,” Robert replied. “What’sall that grey-green stuff you see away over there, where it’s all flatand sandy?”

“All right,” said Cyril loftily, “Idon’t wantto tell you anything. I only thought you’d like to know a palm-tree whenyou saw it again.”

“Look!” cried Anthea; “they’re opening thegates.”

And indeed the great gates swung back with a brazen clang, and instantly alittle crowd of a dozen or more people came out and along the road towardsthem.

The children, with one accord, crouched behind the tamarisk hedge.

“I don’t like the sound of those gates,” said Jane.“Fancy being inside when they shut. You’d never get out.”

“You’ve got an arch of your own to go out by,” the Psammeadput its head out of the basket to remind her. “Don’t behave so likea girl. If I were you I should just march right into the town and ask to seethe king.”

There was something at once simple and grand about this idea, and it pleasedeveryone.

So when the work-people had passed (they werework-people, the childrenfelt sure, because they were dressed so plainly—just one long blue shirtthing—of blue or yellow) the four children marched boldly up to thebrazen gate between the towers. The arch above the gate was quite a tunnel, thewalls were so thick.

“Courage,” said Cyril. “Step out. It’s no use trying tosneak past. Be bold!”

Robert answered this appeal by unexpectedly bursting into “The BritishGrenadiers”, and to its quick-step they approached the gates of Babylon.

“Some talk of Alexander,
    And some of Hercules,
Of Hector and Lysander,
    And such great names as these.
But of all the gallant heroes...”

This brought them to the threshold of the gate, and two men in bright armoursuddenly barred their way with crossed spears.

“Who goes there?” they said.

(I think I must have explained to you before how it was that the children werealways able to understand the language of any place they might happen to be in,and to be themselves understood. If not, I have no time to explain it now.)

“We come from very far,” said Cyril mechanically. “From theEmpire where the sun never sets, and we want to see your King.”

“If it’s quite convenient,” amended Anthea.

“The King (may he live for ever!),” said the gatekeeper, “isgone to fetch home his fourteenth wife. Where on earth have you come from notto know that?”

“The Queen then,” said Anthea hurriedly, and not taking any noticeof the question as to where they had come from.

“The Queen,” said the gatekeeper, “(may she live for ever!)gives audience today three hours after sunrising.”

“But what are we to do till the end of the three hours?” askedCyril.

The gatekeeper seemed neither to know nor to care. He appeared less interestedin them than they could have thought possible. But the man who had crossedspears with him to bar the children’s way was more human.

“Let them go in and look about them,” he said. “I’llwager my best sword they’ve never seen anything to come near ourlittle—village.”

He said it in the tone people use for when they call the Atlantic Ocean the“herring pond”.

The gatekeeper hesitated.

“They’re only children, after all,” said the other, who hadchildren of his own. “Let me off for a few minutes, Captain, andI’ll take them to my place and see if my good woman can’t fit themup in something a little less outlandish than their present rig. Then they canhave a look round without being mobbed. May I go?”

“Oh yes, if you like,” said the Captain, “but don’t beall day.”

The man led them through the dark arch into the town. And it was very differentfrom London. For one thing, everything in London seems to be patched up out ofodds and ends, but these houses seemed to have been built by people who likedthe same sort of things. Not that they were all alike, for though all weresquarish, they were of different sizes, and decorated in all sorts of differentways, some with paintings in bright colours, some with black and silverdesigns. There were terraces, and gardens, and balconies, and open spaces withtrees. Their guide took them to a little house in a back street, where akind-faced woman sat spinning at the door of a very dark room.

“Here,” he said, “just lend these children a mantle each, sothat they can go about and see the place till the Queen’s audiencebegins. You leave that wool for a bit, and show them round if you like. I mustbe off now.”

The woman did as she was told, and the four children, wrapped in fringedmantles, went with her all about the town, and oh! how I wish I had time totell you all that they saw. It was all so wonderfully different from anythingyou have ever seen. For one thing, all the houses were dazzlingly bright, andmany of them covered with pictures. Some had great creatures carved in stone ateach side of the door. Then the people—there were no black frock-coatsand tall hats; no dingy coats and skirts of good, useful, ugly stuffs warrantedto wear. Everyone’s clothes were bright and beautiful with blue andscarlet and green and gold.

The market was brighter than you would think anything could be. There werestalls for everything you could possibly want—and for a great many thingsthat if you wanted here and now, want would be your master. There werepineapples and peaches in heaps—and stalls of crockery and glass things,beautiful shapes and glorious colours, there were stalls for necklaces, andclasps, and bracelets, and brooches, for woven stuffs, and furs, andembroidered linen. The children had never seen half so many beautiful thingstogether, even at Liberty’s.

It seemed no time at all before the woman said—

“It’s nearly time now. We ought to be getting on towards thepalace. It’s as well to be early.”

So they went to the palace, and when they got there it was more splendid thananything they had seen yet.

For it was glowing with colours, and with gold and silver and black andwhite—like some magnificent embroidery. Flight after flight of broadmarble steps led up to it, and at the edges of the stairs stood great images,twenty times as big as a man—images of men with wings like chain armour,and hawks’ heads, and winged men with the heads of dogs. And there werethe statues of great kings.

Between the flights of steps were terraces where fountains played, and theQueen’s Guard in white and scarlet, and armour that shone like gold,stood by twos lining the way up the stairs; and a great body of them was massedby the vast door of the palace itself, where it stood glittering like animpossibly radiant peacock in the noon-day sun.

All sorts of people were passing up the steps to seek audience of the Queen.Ladies in richly-embroidered dresses with fringy flounces, poor folks in plainand simple clothes, dandies with beards oiled and curled.

And Cyril, Robert, Anthea and Jane, went with the crowd.

At the gate of the palace the Psammead put one eye cautiously out of the basketand whispered—

“I can’t be bothered with queens. I’ll go home with thislady. I’m sure she’ll get me some sand if you ask her to.”

“Oh! don’t leave us,” said Jane. The woman was giving somelast instructions in Court etiquette to Anthea, and did not hear Jane.

“Don’t be a little muff,” said the Psammead quite fiercely.“It’s not a bit of good your having a charm. You never use it. Ifyou want me you’ve only got to say the name of power and ask the charm tobring me to you.”

“I’d rather go with you,” said Jane. And it was the mostsurprising thing she had ever said in her life.

Everyone opened its mouth without thinking of manners, and Anthea, who waspeeping into the Psammead’s basket, saw that its mouth opened wider thananybody’s.

“You needn’t gawp like that,” Jane went on. “I’mnot going to be bothered with queens any more than IT is. And I know, whereverit is, it’ll take jolly good care that it’s safe.”

“She’s right there,” said everyone, for they had observedthat the Psammead had a way of knowing which side its bread was buttered.

She turned to the woman and said, “You’ll take me home with you,won’t you? And let me play with your little girls till the others havedone with the Queen.”

“Surely I will, little heart!” said the woman.

And then Anthea hurriedly stroked the Psammead and embraced Jane, who took thewoman’s hand, and trotted contentedly away with the Psammead’s bagunder the other arm.

The others stood looking after her till she, the woman, and the basket werelost in the many-coloured crowd. Then Anthea turned once more to thepalace’s magnificent doorway and said—

“Let’s ask the porter to take care of our Babylonianovercoats.”

So they took off the garments that the woman had lent them and stood amid thejostling petitioners of the Queen in their own English frocks and coats andhats and boots.

“We want to see the Queen,” said Cyril; “we come from the farEmpire where the sun never sets!”

A murmur of surprise and a thrill of excitement ran through the crowd. Thedoor-porter spoke to a black man, he spoke to someone else. There was awhispering, waiting pause. Then a big man, with a cleanly-shaven face, beckonedthem from the top of a flight of red marble steps.

They went up; the boots of Robert clattering more than usual because he was sonervous. A door swung open, a curtain was drawn back. A double line of bowingforms in gorgeous raiment formed a lane that led to the steps of the throne,and as the children advanced hurriedly there came from the throne a voice verysweet and kind.

“Three children from the land where the sun never sets! Let them drawhither without fear.”

In another minute they were kneeling at the throne’s foot, saying,“O Queen, live for ever!” exactly as the woman had taught them. Anda splendid dream-lady, all gold and silver and jewels and snowy drift of veils,was raising Anthea, and saying—

“Don’t be frightened, I really am soglad you came! The landwhere the sun never sets! I am delighted to see you! I was getting quite toodreadfully bored for anything!”

And behind Anthea the kneeling Cyril whispered in the ears of the respectfulRobert—

“Bobs, don’t say anything to Panther. It’s no use upsettingher, but we didn’t ask for Jane’s address, and the Psammead’swith her.”

“Well,” whispered Robert, “the charm can bring them to us atany moment. Itsaid so.”

“Oh, yes,” whispered Cyril, in miserable derision,“we’reall right, of course. So we are! Oh, yes! Ifwe’d only gotthe charm.”

Then Robert saw, and he murmured, “Crikey!” at the foot of thethrone of Babylon; while Cyril hoarsely whispered the plain English fact—

“Jane’s got the charm round her neck, you silly cuckoo.”

“Crikey!” Robert repeated in heart-broken undertones.

CHAPTER VII.
“THE DEEPEST DUNGEON BELOW THE CASTLE MOAT”

The Queen threw three of the red and gold embroidered cushions off the throneon to the marble steps that led up to it.

“Just make yourselves comfortable there,” she said.“I’m simply dying to talk to you, and to hear all about yourwonderful country and how you got here, and everything, but I have to dojustice every morning. Such a bore, isn’t it? Do you do justice in yourown country?”

“No,” said Cyril; “at least of course we try to, but not inthis public sort of way, only in private.”

“Ah, yes,” said the Queen, “I should much prefer a privateaudience myself—much easier to manage. But public opinion has to beconsidered. Doing justice is very hard work, even when you’re brought upto it.”

“We don’t do justice, but we have to do scales, Jane and me,”said Anthea, “twenty minutes a day. It’s simply horrid.”

“What are scales?” asked the Queen, “and what is Jane?”

“Jane is my little sister. One of the guards-at-the-gate’s wife istaking care of her. And scales are music.”

“I never heard of the instrument,” said the Queen. “Do yousing?”

“Oh, yes. We can sing in parts,” said Anthea.

“That ismagic,” said the Queen. “How many parts areyou each cut into before you do it?”

“We aren’t cut at all,” said Robert hastily. “Wecouldn’t sing if we were. We’ll show you afterwards.”

“So you shall, and now sit quiet like dear children and hear me dojustice. The way I do it has always been admired. I oughtn’t to say that,ought I? Sounds so conceited. But I don’t mind with you, dears. Somehow Ifeel as though I’d known you quite a long time already.”

The Queen settled herself on her throne and made a signal to her attendants.The children, whispering together among the cushions on the steps of thethrone, decided that she was very beautiful and very kind, but perhaps just theleast bit flighty.

The first person who came to ask for justice was a woman whose brother hadtaken the money the father had left for her. The brother said it was the unclewho had the money. There was a good deal of talk and the children were growingrather bored, when the Queen suddenly clapped her hands, and said—

“Put both the men in prison till one of them owns up that the other isinnocent.”

“But suppose they both did it?” Cyril could not help interrupting.

“Then prison’s the best place for them,” said the Queen.

“But suppose neither did it.”

“That’s impossible,” said the Queen; “a thing’snot done unless someone does it. And you mustn’t interrupt.”

Then came a woman, in tears, with a torn veil and real ashes on herhead—at least Anthea thought so, but it may have been only road-dust. Shecomplained that her husband was in prison.

“What for?” said the Queen.

“They saidit was for speaking evil of your Majesty,” saidthe woman, “but it wasn’t. Someone had a spite against him. Thatwas what it was.”

“How do you know he hadn’t spoken evil of me?” said theQueen.

“No one could,” said the woman simply, “when they’donce seen your beautiful face.”

“Let the man out,” said the Queen, smiling. “Nextcase.”

The next case was that of a boy who had stolen a fox. “Like the Spartanboy,” whispered Robert. But the Queen ruled that nobody could have anypossible reason for owning a fox, and still less for stealing one. And she didnot believe that there were any foxes in Babylon; she, at any rate, had neverseen one. So the boy was released.

The people came to the Queen about all sorts of family quarrels and neighbourlymisunderstandings—from a fight between brothers over the division of aninheritance, to the dishonest and unfriendly conduct of a woman who hadborrowed a cooking-pot at the last New Year’s festival, and not returnedit yet.

And the Queen decided everything, very, very decidedly indeed. At last sheclapped her hands quite suddenly and with extreme loudness, and said—

“The audience is over for today.”

Everyone said, “May the Queen live for ever!” and went out.

And the children were left alone in the justice-hall with the Queen of Babylonand her ladies.

“There!” said the Queen, with a long sigh of relief.“That’sover! I couldn’t have done another stitch ofjustice if you’d offered me the crown of Egypt! Now come into the garden,and we’ll have a nice, long, cosy talk.”

She led them through long, narrow corridors whose walls they somehow felt, werevery, very thick, into a sort of garden courtyard. There were thick shrubsclosely planted, and roses were trained over trellises, and made a pleasantshade—needed, indeed, for already the sun was as hot as it is in Englandin August at the seaside.

Slaves spread cushions on a low, marble terrace, and a big man with a smoothface served cool drink in cups of gold studded with beryls. He drank a littlefrom the Queen’s cup before handing it to her.

“That’s rather a nasty trick,” whispered Robert, who had beencarefully taught never to drink out of one of the nice, shiny, metal cups thatare chained to the London drinking fountains without first rinsing it outthoroughly.

The Queen overheard him.

“Not at all,” said she. “Ritti-Marduk is a very clean man.And one has to have someoneas taster, you know, because ofpoison.”

The word made the children feel rather creepy; but Ritti-Marduk had tasted allthe cups, so they felt pretty safe. The drink was delicious—very cold,and tasting like lemonade and partly like penny ices.

“Leave us,” said the Queen. And all the Court ladies, in theirbeautiful, many-folded, many-coloured, fringed dresses, filed out slowly, andthe children were left alone with the Queen.

“Now,” she said, “tell me all about yourselves.”

They looked at each other.

“You, Bobs,” said Cyril.

“No—Anthea,” said Robert.

“No—you—Cyril,” said Anthea. “Don’t youremember how pleased the Queen of India was when you told her all aboutus?”

Cyril muttered that it was all very well, and so it was. For when he had toldthe tale of the Phœnix and the Carpet to the Ranee, it had been only thetruth—and all the truth that he had to tell. But now it was not easy totell a convincing story without mentioning the Amulet—which, of course,it wouldn’t have done to mention—and without owning that they werereally living in London, about 2,500 years later than the time they weretalking in.

Cyril took refuge in the tale of the Psammead and its wonderful power of makingwishes come true. The children had never been able to tell anyone before, andCyril was surprised to find that the spell which kept them silent in London didnot work here. “Something to do with our being in the Past, Isuppose,” he said to himself.

“This is mostinteresting,” said the Queen. “We musthave this Psammead for the banquet tonight. Its performance will be one of themost popular turns in the whole programme. Where is it?”

Anthea explained that they did not know; also why it was that they did notknow.

“Oh, that’squite simple,” said the Queen, andeveryone breathed a deep sigh of relief as she said it. “Ritti-Mardukshall run down to the gates and find out which guard your sister went homewith.”

“Might he”—Anthea’s voice wastremulous—“might he—would it interfere with his meal-times,or anything like that, if he went now?”

“Of course he shall go now. He may think himself lucky if he gets hismeals at any time,” said the Queen heartily, and clapped her hands.

“May I send a letter?” asked Cyril, pulling out a red-backed pennyaccount-book, and feeling in his pockets for a stump of pencil that heknewwas in one of them.

“By all means. I’ll call my scribe.”

“Oh, I can scribe right enough, thanks,” said Cyril, finding thepencil and licking its point. He even had to bite the wood a little, for it wasvery blunt.

“Oh, you clever, clever boy!” said the Queen. “doletme watch you do it!”

Cyril wrote on a leaf of the book—it was of rough, woolly paper, withhairs that stuck out and would have got in his pen if he had been using one,and ruled for accounts.

“Hide IT most carefully before you come here,” he wrote, “anddon’t mention it—and destroy this letter. Everything is going A1.The Queen is a fair treat. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“What curious characters, and what a strange flat surface!” saidthe Queen. “What have you inscribed?”

“I’ve “scribed,” replied Cyril cautiously, “thatyou are fair, and a—and like a—like a festival; and that she neednot be afraid, and that she is to come at once.”

Ritti-Marduk, who had come in and had stood waiting while Cyril wrote, hisBabylonish eyes nearly starting out of his Babylonish head, now took theletter, with some reluctance.

“O Queen, live for ever! Is it a charm?” he timidly asked. “Astrong charm, most great lady?”

“Yes,” said Robert, unexpectedly, “it isacharm, but it won’t hurt anyone until you’ve given it to Jane. Andthen she’ll destroy it, so that it can’thurt anyone.It’s most awful strong!—as strong as—Peppermint!” heended abruptly.

“I know not the god,” said Ritti-Marduk, bending timorously.

“She’ll tear it up directly she gets it,” said Robert,“That’ll end the charm. You needn’t be afraid if you gonow.”

Ritti-Marduk went, seeming only partly satisfied; and then the Queen began toadmire the penny account-book and the bit of pencil in so marked andsignificant a way that Cyril felt he could not do less than press them upon heras a gift. She ruffled the leaves delightedly.

“What a wonderful substance!” she said. “And with this styleyou make charms? Make a charm for me! Do you know,” her voice sank to awhisper, “the names of the great ones of your own far country?”

“Rather!” said Cyril, and hastily wrote the names of Alfred theGreat, Shakespeare, Nelson, Gordon, Lord Beaconsfield, Mr Rudyard Kipling, andMr Sherlock Holmes, while the Queen watched him with “unbaitedbreath”, as Anthea said afterwards.

She took the book and hid it reverently among the bright folds of her gown.

“You shall teach me later to say the great names,” she said.“And the names of their Ministers—perhaps the great Nisroch is oneof them?”

“I don’t think so,” said Cyril. “Mr CampbellBannerman’s Prime Minister and Mr Burns a Minister, and so is theArchbishop of Canterbury, I think, but I’m not sure—and Dr Parkerwas one, I know, and—”

“No more,” said the Queen, putting her hands to her ears. “Myhead’s going round with all those great names. You shall teach them to melater—because of course you’ll make us a nice long visit now youhave come, won’t you? Now tell me—but no, I am quite tired out withyour being so clever. Besides, I’m sure you’d like metotell yousomething, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Anthea. “I want to know how it is that the Kinghas gone—”

“Excuse me, but you should say ‘the Kingmay-he-live-for-ever’,” said the Queen gently.

“I beg your pardon,” Anthea hastened to say—“the Kingmay-he-live-for-ever has gone to fetch home his fourteenth wife? I don’tthink even Bluebeard had as many as that. And, besides, he hasn’t killedyouat any rate.”

The Queen looked bewildered.

“She means,” explained Robert, “that English kings only haveone wife—at least, Henry the Eighth had seven or eight, but not all atonce.”

“In our country,” said the Queen scornfully, “a king wouldnot reign a day who had only one wife. No one would respect him, and quiteright too.”

“Then are all the other thirteen alive?” asked Anthea.

“Of course they are—poor mean-spirited things! I don’tassociate with them, of course, I am the Queen: they’re only thewives.”

“I see,” said Anthea, gasping.

“But oh, my dears,” the Queen went on, “such a to-do asthere’s been about this last wife! You never did! It really wastoofunny. We wanted an Egyptian princess. The King may-he-live-for-everhas got a wife from most of the important nations, and he had set his heart onan Egyptian one to complete his collection. Well, of course, to begin with, wesent a handsome present of gold. The Egyptian king sent back somehorses—quite a few; he’s fearfully stingy!—and he said heliked the gold very much, but what they were really short of was lapis lazuli,so of course we sent him some. But by that time he’d begun to use thegold to cover the beams of the roof of the Temple of the Sun-God, and hehadn’t nearly enough to finish the job, so we sent some more. And so itwent on, oh, for years. You see each journey takes at least six months. And atlast we asked the hand of his daughter in marriage.”

“Yes, and then?” said Anthea, who wanted to get to the princesspart of the story.

“Well, then,” said the Queen, “when he’d got everythingout of us that he could, and only given the meanest presents in return, he sentto say he would esteem the honour of an alliance very highly, onlyunfortunately he hadn’t any daughter, but he hoped one would be bornsoon, and if so, she should certainly be reserved for the King ofBabylon!”

“What a trick!” said Cyril.

“Yes, wasn’t it? So then we said his sister would do, and thenthere were more gifts and more journeys; and now at last the tiresome,black-haired thing is coming, and the King may-he-live-for-ever has gone sevendays’ journey to meet her at Carchemish. And he’s gone in his bestchariot, the one inlaid with lapis lazuli and gold, with the gold-plated wheelsand onyx-studded hubs—much too great an honour in my opinion.She’ll be here tonight; there’ll be a grand banquet to celebrateher arrival. Shewon’t be present, of course. She’ll behaving her baths and her anointings, and all that sort of thing. We alwaysclean our foreign brides very carefully. It takes two or three weeks. Nowit’s dinnertime, and you shall eat with me, for I can see that you are ofhigh rank.”

She led them into a dark, cool hall, with many cushions on the floor. On thesethey sat and low tables were brought—beautiful tables of smooth, bluestone mounted in gold. On these, golden trays were placed; but there were noknives, or forks, or spoons. The children expected the Queen to call for them;but no. She just ate with her fingers, and as the first dish was a great trayof boiled corn, and meat and raisins all mixed up together, and melted fatpoured all over the tray, it was found difficult to follow her example withanything like what we are used to think of as good table manners. There werestewed quinces afterwards, and dates in syrup, and thick yellowy cream. It wasthe kind of dinner you hardly ever get in Fitzroy Street.

After dinner everybody went to sleep, even the children.

The Queen awoke with a start.

“Good gracious!” she cried, “what a time we’ve slept! Imust rush off and dress for the banquet. I shan’t have much more thantime.”

“Hasn’t Ritti-Marduk got back with our sister and the Psammeadyet?” Anthea asked.

“I quiteforgot to ask. I’m sorry,” said the Queen.“And of course they wouldn’t announce her unless I told them to,except during justice hours. I expect she’s waiting outside. I’llsee.”

Ritti-Marduk came in a moment later.

“I regret,” he said, “that I have been unable to find yoursister. The beast she bears with her in a basket has bitten the child of theguard, and your sister and the beast set out to come to you. The police saythey have a clue. No doubt we shall have news of her in a few weeks.” Hebowed and withdrew.

The horror of this threefold loss—Jane, the Psammead, and theAmulet—gave the children something to talk about while the Queen wasdressing. I shall not report their conversation; it was very gloomy. Everyonerepeated himself several times, and the discussion ended in each of themblaming the other two for having let Jane go. You know the sort of talk it was,don’t you? At last Cyril said—

“After all, she’s with the Psammead, so she’sallright. The Psammead is jolly careful of itself too. And it isn’t as if wewere in any danger. Let’s try to buck up and enjoy the banquet.”

They did enjoy the banquet. They had a beautiful bath, which was delicious,were heavily oiled all over, including their hair, and that was mostunpleasant. Then, they dressed again and were presented to the King, who wasmost affable. The banquet was long; there were all sorts of nice things to eat,and everybody seemed to eat and drink a good deal. Everyone lay on cushions andcouches, ladies on one side and gentlemen on the other; and after the eatingwas done each lady went and sat by some gentleman, who seemed to be hersweetheart or her husband, for they were very affectionate to each other. TheCourt dresses had gold threads woven in them, very bright and beautiful.

The middle of the room was left clear, and different people came and didamusing things. There were conjurers and jugglers and snake-charmers, whichlast Anthea did not like at all.

When it got dark torches were lighted. Cedar splinters dipped in oil blazed incopper dishes set high on poles.

Then there was a dancer, who hardly danced at all, only just struck attitudes.She had hardly any clothes, and was not at all pretty. The children were ratherbored by her, but everyone else was delighted, including the King.

“By the beard of Nimrod!” he cried, “ask what you like girl,and you shall have it!”

“I want nothing,” said the dancer; “the honour of havingpleased the King may-he-live-for-ever is reward enough for me.”

And the King was so pleased with this modest and sensible reply that he gaveher the gold collar off his own neck.

“I say!” said Cyril, awed by the magnificence of the gift.

“It’s all right,” whispered the Queen, “it’s nothis best collar by any means. We always keep a stock of cheap jewellery forthese occasions. And now—you promised to sing us something. Would youlike my minstrels to accompany you?”

“No, thank you,” said Anthea quickly. The minstrels had beenplaying off and on all the time, and their music reminded Anthea of the bandshe and the others had once had on the fifth of November—with pennyhorns, a tin whistle, a tea-tray, the tongs, a policeman’s rattle, and atoy drum. They had enjoyed this band very much at the time. But it was quitedifferent when someone else was making the same kind of music. Antheaunderstood now that Father had not been really heartless and unreasonable whenhe had told them to stop that infuriating din.

“What shall we sing?” Cyril was asking.

“Sweet and low?” suggested Anthea.

“Too soft—I vote for ‘Who will o’er the downs’.Now then—one, two, three.

“Oh, who will o’er the downs so free,
    Oh, who will with me ride,
Oh, who will up and follow me,
    To win a blooming bride?

Her father he has locked the door,
    Her mother keeps the key;
But neither bolt nor bar shall keep
    My own true love from me.”

Jane, the alto, was missing, and Robert, unlike the mother of the lady in thesong, never could “keep the key”, but the song, even so, wassufficiently unlike anything any of them had ever heard to rouse the BabylonianCourt to the wildest enthusiasm.

“More, more,” cried the King; “by my beard, this savage musicis a new thing. Sing again!”

So they sang:

“I saw her bower at twilight gray,
    ’Twas guarded safe and sure.
I saw her bower at break of day,
    ’Twas guarded then no more.

The varlets they were all asleep,
    And there was none to see
The greeting fair that passed there
    Between my love and me.”

Shouts of applause greeted the ending of the verse, and the King would not besatisfied till they had sung all their part-songs (they only knew three) twiceover, and ended up with “Men of Harlech” in unison. Then the Kingstood up in his royal robes with his high, narrow crown on his head andshouted—

“By the beak of Nisroch, ask what you will, strangers from the land wherethe sun never sets!”

“We ought to say it’s enough honour, like the dancer did,”whispered Anthea.

“No, let’s ask for It,” said Robert.

“No, no, I’m sure the other’s manners,” said Anthea.But Robert, who was excited by the music, and the flaring torches, and theapplause and the opportunity, spoke up before the others could stop him.

“Give us the half of the Amulet that has on it the name URHEKAUSETCHEH,” he said, adding as anafterthought, “O King, live-for-ever.”

As he spoke the great name those in the pillared hall fell on their faces, andlay still. All but the Queen who crouched amid her cushions with her head inher hands, and the King, who stood upright, perfectly still, like the statue ofa king in stone. It was only for a moment though. Then his great voicethundered out—

“Guard, seize them!”

Instantly, from nowhere as it seemed, sprang eight soldiers in bright armourinlaid with gold, and tunics of red and white. Very splendid they were, andvery alarming.

“Impious and sacrilegious wretches!” shouted the King. “Tothe dungeons with them! We will find a way, tomorrow, to make them speak. Forwithout doubt they can tell us where to find the lost half of It.”

A wall of scarlet and white and steel and gold closed up round the children andhurried them away among the many pillars of the great hall. As they went theyheard the voices of the courtiers loud in horror.

“You’ve done it this time,” said Cyril with extremebitterness.

“Oh, it will come right. It must. It always does,” saidAnthea desperately.

They could not see where they were going, because the guard surrounded them soclosely, but the ground under their feet, smooth marble at first, grew rougherlike stone, then it was loose earth and sand, and they felt the night air. Thenthere was more stone, and steps down.

“It’s my belief we really aregoing to the deepest dungeonbelow the castle moat this time,” said Cyril.

And they were. At least it was not below a moat, but below the river Euphrates,which was just as bad if not worse. In a most unpleasant place it was. Dark,very, very damp, and with an odd, musty smell rather like the shells ofoysters. There was a torch—that is to say, a copper basket on a highstick with oiled wood burning in it. By its light the children saw that thewalls were green, and that trickles of water ran down them and dripped from theroof. There were things on the floor that looked like newts, and in the darkcorners creepy, shiny things moved sluggishly, uneasily, horribly.

Robert’s heart sank right into those really reliable boots of his. Antheaand Cyril each had a private struggle with that inside disagreeableness whichis part of all of us, and which is sometimes called the Old Adam—and bothwere victors. Neither of them said to Robert (and both tried hard not even tothink it), “This is yourdoing.” Anthea had the additionaltemptation to add, “I told you so.” And she resisted itsuccessfully.

“Sacrilege, and impious cheek,” said the captain of the guard tothe gaoler. “To be kept during the King’s pleasure. I expect hemeans to get some pleasure out of them tomorrow! He’ll tickle themup!”

“Poor little kids,” said the gaoler.

“Oh, yes,” said the captain. “I’ve got kids of my owntoo. But it doesn’t do to let domestic sentiment interfere withone’s public duties. Good night.”

The soldiers tramped heavily off in their white and red and steel and gold. Thegaoler, with a bunch of big keys in his hand, stood looking pityingly at thechildren. He shook his head twice and went out.

“Courage!” said Anthea. “I know it will be all right.It’s only a dream really, you know. It mustbe! Idon’t believe about time being only a something or other of thought. Itisa dream, and we’re bound to wake up all right and safe.”

“Humph,” said Cyril bitterly. And Robert suddenly said—

“It’s all my doing. If it really is all up do please not keep adown on me about it, and tell Father—Oh, I forgot.”

What he had forgotten was that his father was 3,000 miles and 5,000 or moreyears away from him.

“All right, Bobs, old man,” said Cyril; and Anthea got hold ofRobert’s hand and squeezed it.

Then the gaoler came back with a platter of hard, flat cakes made of coarsegrain, very different from the cream-and-juicy-date feasts of the palace; alsoa pitcher of water.

“There,” he said.

“Oh, thank you so very much. You arekind,” said Antheafeverishly.

“Go to sleep,” said the gaoler, pointing to a heap of straw in acorner; “tomorrow comes soon enough.”

“Oh, dear Mr Gaoler,” said Anthea, “whatever will they do tous tomorrow?”

“They’ll try to make you tell things,” said the gaolergrimly, “and my advice is if you’ve nothing to tell, make upsomething. Then perhaps they’ll sell you to the Northern nations. Regularsavages theyare. Good night.”

“Good night,” said three trembling voices, which their ownersstrove in vain to render firm. Then he went out, and the three were left alonein the damp, dim vault.

“I know the light won’t last long,” said Cyril, looking atthe flickering brazier.

“Is it any good, do you think, calling on the name when we haven’tgot the charm?” suggested Anthea.

“I shouldn’t think so. But we might try.”

So they tried. But the blank silence of the damp dungeon remained unchanged.

“What was the name the Queen said?” asked Cyril suddenly.“Nisbeth—Nesbit—something? You know, the slave of the greatnames?”

“Wait a sec,” said Robert, “though I don’t know why youwant it. Nusroch—Nisrock—Nisroch—that’s it.”

Then Anthea pulled herself together. All her muscles tightened, and the musclesof her mind and soul, if you can call them that, tightened too.

“URHEKAUSETCHEH,”she cried in a fervent voice. “Oh, Nisroch, servant of the Great Ones,come and help us!”

There was a waiting silence. Then a cold, blue light awoke in the corner wherethe straw was—and in the light they saw coming towards them a strange andterrible figure. I won’t try to describe it, because the drawing showsit, exactly as it was, and exactly as the old Babylonians carved it on theirstones, so that you can see it in our own British Museum at this day. I willjust say that it had eagle’s wings and an eagle’s head and the bodyof a man.

It came towards them, strong and unspeakably horrible.

“Oh, go away,” cried Anthea; but Cyril cried, “No;stay!”

The creature hesitated, then bowed low before them on the damp floor of thedungeon.

“Speak,” it said, in a harsh, grating voice like large rusty keysbeing turned in locks. “The servant of the Great Ones is yourservant. What is your need that you call on the name of Nisroch?”

“We want to go home,” said Robert.

“No, no,” cried Anthea; “we want to be where Jane is.”

Nisroch raised his great arm and pointed at the wall of the dungeon. And, as hepointed, the wall disappeared, and instead of the damp, green, rocky surface,there shone and glowed a room with rich hangings of red silk embroidered withgolden water-lilies, with cushioned couches and great mirrors of polishedsteel; and in it was the Queen, and before her, on a red pillow, sat thePsammead, its fur hunched up in an irritated, discontented way. On ablue-covered couch lay Jane fast asleep.

“Walk forward without fear,” said Nisroch. “Is there aughtelse that the Servant of the great Name can do for those who speak thatname?”

“No—oh, no,” said Cyril. “It’s all rightnow. Thanks ever so.”

“You are a dear,” cried Anthea, not in the least knowing what shewas saying. “Oh, thank you thank you. But dogo now!”

She caught the hand of the creature, and it was cold and hard in hers, like ahand of stone.

“Go forward,” said Nisroch. And they went.

“Oh, my good gracious,” said the Queen as they stood before her.“How did you get here? I knewyou were magic. I meant to let youout the first thing in the morning, if I could slip away—but thanks be toDagon, you’ve managed it for yourselves. You must get away. I’llwake my chief lady and she shall call Ritti-Marduk, and he’ll let you outthe back way, and—”

“Don’t rouse anybody for goodness’ sake,” said Anthea,“except Jane, and I’ll rouse her.”

She shook Jane with energy, and Jane slowly awoke.

“Ritti-Marduk brought them in hours ago, really,” said the Queen,“but I wanted to have the Psammead all to myself for a bit. You’llexcuse the little natural deception?—it’s part of the Babylonishcharacter, don’t you know? But I don’t want anything to happen toyou. Do let me rouse someone.”

“No, no, no,” said Anthea with desperate earnestness. She thoughtshe knew enough of what the Babylonians were like when they were roused.“We can go by our own magic. And you will tell the King it wasn’tthe gaoler’s fault. It was Nisroch.”

“Nisroch!” echoed the Queen. “You are indeedmagicians.”

Jane sat up, blinking stupidly.

“Hold Itup, and say the word,” cried Cyril, catching up thePsammead, which mechanically bit him, but only very slightly.

“Which is the East?” asked Jane.

“Behind me,” said the Queen. “Why?”

“Ur Hekau Setcheh,” said Jane sleepily, and held up the charm.

And there they all were in the dining-room at 300, Fitzroy Street.

“Jane,” cried Cyril with great presence of mind, “go and getthe plate of sand down for the Psammead.”

Jane went.

“Look here!” he said quickly, as the sound of her boots grew lessloud on the stairs, “don’t let’s tell her about the dungeonand all that. It’ll only frighten her so that she’ll never want togo anywhere else.”

“Righto!” said Cyril; but Anthea felt that she could not have saida word to save her life.

“Why did you want to come back in such a hurry?” asked Jane,returning with the plate of sand. “It was awfully jolly in Babylon, Ithink! I liked it no end.”

“Oh, yes,” said Cyril carelessly. “It was jolly enough, ofcourse, but I thought we’d been there long enough. Mother always says yououghtn’t to wear out your welcome!”

CHAPTER VIII.
THE QUEEN IN LONDON

“Now tell us what happened to you,” said Cyril to Jane, when he andthe others had told her all about the Queen’s talk and the banquet, andthe variety entertainment, carefully stopping short before the beginning of thedungeon part of the story.

“It wasn’t much good going,” said Jane, “if youdidn’t even try to get the Amulet.”

“We found out it was no go,” said Cyril; “it’s not tobe got in Babylon. It was lost before that. We’ll go to some other jollyfriendly place, where everyone is kind and pleasant, and look for it there. Nowtell us about your part.”

“Oh,” said Jane, “the Queen’s man with the smoothface—what was his name?”

“Ritti-Marduk,” said Cyril.

“Yes,” said Jane, “Ritti-Marduk, he came for me just afterthe Psammead had bitten the guard-of-the-gate’s wife’s little boy,and he took me to the Palace. And we had supper with the new little Queen fromEgypt. She is a dear—not much older than you. She told me heaps aboutEgypt. And we played ball after supper. And then the Babylon Queen sent for me.I like her too. And she talked to the Psammead and I went to sleep. And thenyou woke me up. That’s all.”

The Psammead, roused from its sound sleep, told the same story.

“But,” it added, “what possessed you to tell that Queen thatI could give wishes? I sometimes think you were born without even the mostrudimentary imitation of brains.”

The children did not know the meaning of rudimentary, but it sounded a rude,insulting word.

“I don’t see that we did any harm,” said Cyril sulkily.

“Oh, no,” said the Psammead with withering irony, “not atall! Of course not! Quite the contrary! Exactly so! Only she happened to wishthat she might soon find herself in your country. And soon may mean anymoment.”

“Then it’s your fault,” said Robert, “because you mightjust as well have made ‘soon’ mean some moment next year or nextcentury.”

“That’s where you, as so often happens, make the mistake,”rejoined the Sand-fairy. “Icouldn’t mean anything but whatshemeant by ‘soon’. It wasn’t my wish. And what shemeant was the next time the King happens to go out lion hunting. Soshe’ll have a whole day, and perhaps two, to do as she wishes with. Shedoesn’t know about time only being a mode of thought.”

“Well,” said Cyril, with a sigh of resignation, “we must dowhat we can to give her a good time. She was jolly decent to us. I say, supposewe were to go to St James’s Park after dinner and feed those ducks thatwe never did feed. After all that Babylon and all those years ago, I feel as ifI should like to see something real, and now. You’ll come,Psammead?”

“Where’s my priceless woven basket of sacred rushes?” askedthe Psammead morosely. “I can’t go out with nothing on. And Iwon’t, what’s more.”

And then everybody remembered with pain that the bass bag had, in the hurry ofdeparture from Babylon, not been remembered.

“But it’s not so extra precious,” said Robert hastily.“You can get them given to you for nothing if you buy fish in FarringdonMarket.”

“Oh,” said the Psammead very crossly indeed, “so you presumeon my sublime indifference to the things of this disgusting modern world, tofob me off with a travelling equipage that costs you nothing. Very well, Ishall go to sand. Please don’t wake me.”

And it went then and there to sand, which, as you know, meant to bed. The boyswent to St James’s Park to feed the ducks, but they went alone.

Anthea and Jane sat sewing all the afternoon. They cut off half a yard fromeach of their best green Liberty sashes. A towel cut in two formed a lining;and they sat and sewed and sewed and sewed. What they were making was a bag forthe Psammead. Each worked at a half of the bag. Jane’s half hadfour-leaved shamrocks embroidered on it. They were the only things she could do(because she had been taught how at school, and, fortunately, some of the silkshe had been taught with was left over). And even so, Anthea had to draw thepattern for her. Anthea’s side of the bag had letters on it—workedhastily but affectionately in chain stitch. They were something like this:

She would have put “travelling carriage”, but she made the letterstoo big, so there was no room. The bag was made intoa bag with oldNurse’s sewing machine, and the strings of it were Anthea’s andJane’s best red hair ribbons.

At tea-time, when the boys had come home with a most unfavourable report of theSt James’s Park ducks, Anthea ventured to awaken the Psammead, and toshow it its new travelling bag.

“Humph,” it said, sniffing a little contemptuously, yet at the sametime affectionately, “it’s not so dusty.”

The Psammead seemed to pick up very easily the kind of things that people saidnowadays. For a creature that had in its time associated with Megatheriums andPterodactyls, its quickness was really wonderful.

“It’s more worthy of me,” it said, “than the kind ofbag that’s given away with a pound of plaice. When do you propose to takeme out in it?”

“I should like a rest from taking you or us anywhere,” said Cyril.But Jane said—

“I want to go to Egypt. I did like that Egyptian Princess that came tomarry the King in Babylon. She told me about the larks they have in Egypt. Andthe cats. Do let’s go there. And I told her what the bird things on theAmulet were like. And she said it was Egyptian writing.”

The others exchanged looks of silent rejoicing at the thought of theircleverness in having concealed from Jane the terrors they had suffered in thedungeon below the Euphrates.

“Egypt’s so nice too,” Jane went on, “because of DoctorBrewer’s Scripture History. I would like to go there when Joseph wasdreaming those curious dreams, or when Moses was doing wonderful things withsnakes and sticks.”

“I don’t care about snakes,” said Anthea shuddering.

“Well, we needn’t be in at that part, but Babylon was lovely! Wehad cream and sweet, sticky stuff. And I expect Egypt’s the same.”

There was a good deal of discussion, but it all ended in everybody’sagreeing to Jane’s idea. And next morning directly after breakfast (whichwas kippers and very nice) the Psammead was invited to get into his travellingcarriage.

The moment after it had done so, with stiff, furry reluctance, like that of acat when you want to nurse it, and its ideas are not the same as yours, oldNurse came in.

“Well, chickies,” she said, “are you feeling verydull?”

“Oh, no, Nurse dear,” said Anthea; “we’re having alovely time. We’re just going off to see some old ancient relics.”

“Ah,” said old Nurse, “the Royal Academy, I suppose?Don’t go wasting your money too reckless, that’s all.”

She cleared away the kipper bones and the tea-things, and when she had swept upthe crumbs and removed the cloth, the Amulet was held up and the ordergiven—just as Duchesses (and other people) give it to their coachmen.

“To Egypt, please!” said Anthea, when Cyril had uttered thewonderful Name of Power.

“When Moses was there,” added Jane.

And there, in the dingy Fitzroy Street dining-room, the Amulet grew big, and itwas an arch, and through it they saw a blue, blue sky and a running river.

“No, stop!” said Cyril, and pulled down Jane’s hand with theAmulet in it.

“What silly cuckoos we all are,” he said. “Of course wecan’t go. We daren’t leave home for a single minute now, for fearthat minute should be theminute.”

“What minute be whatminute?” asked Jane impatiently, tryingto get her hand away from Cyril.

“The minute when the Queen of Babylon comes,” said Cyril. And theneveryone saw it.

For some days life flowed in a very slow, dusty, uneventful stream. Thechildren could never go out all at once, because they never knew when the Kingof Babylon would go out lion hunting and leave his Queen free to pay them thatsurprise visit to which she was, without doubt, eagerly looking forward.

So they took it in turns, two and two, to go out and to stay in.

The stay-at-homes would have been much duller than they were but for the newinterest taken in them by the learned gentleman.

He called Anthea in one day to show her a beautiful necklace of purple and goldbeads.

“I saw one like that,” she said, “in—”

“In the British Museum, perhaps?”

“I like to call the place where I saw it Babylon,” said Antheacautiously.

“A pretty fancy,” said the learned gentleman, “and quitecorrect too, because, as a matter of fact, these beads did come fromBabylon.”

The other three were all out that day. The boys had been going to the Zoo, andJane had said so plaintively, “I’m sure I am fonder of rhinocerosesthan either of you are,” that Anthea had told her to run along then. Andshe had run, catching the boys before that part of the road where FitzroyStreet suddenly becomes Fitzroy Square.

“I think Babylon is most frightfully interesting,” said Anthea.“I do have such interesting dreams about it—at least, not dreamsexactly, but quite as wonderful.”

“Do sit down and tell me,” said he. So she sat down and told. Andhe asked her a lot of questions, and she answered them as well as she could.

“Wonderful—wonderful!” he said at last. “One’sheard of thought-transference, but I never thought Ihad any power ofthat sort. Yet it must be that, and very bad for you, I should think.Doesn’t your head ache very much?”

He suddenly put a cold, thin hand on her forehead.

“No thank you, not at all,” said she.

“I assure you it is not done intentionally,” he went on. “Ofcourse I know a good deal about Babylon, and I unconsciously communicate it toyou; you’ve heard of thought-reading, but some of the things you say, Idon’t understand; they never enter my head, and yet they’re soastoundingly probable.”

“It’s all right,” said Anthea reassuringly. “Iunderstand. And don’t worry. It’s all quite simple really.”

It was not quite so simple when Anthea, having heard the others come in, wentdown, and before she had had time to ask how they had liked the Zoo, heard anoise outside, compared to which the wild beasts’ noises were gentle assinging birds.

“Good gracious!” cried Anthea, “what’s that?”

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

“’Ere’s a guy!”

“This ain’t November. That ain’t no guy. It’s a balletlady, 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, werethe beautiful face and bright veil of the Babylonian Queen.

“Jimminy!” cried Robert, and ran down the steps, “here sheis!”

“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 withmarrows 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 getwishes.”

“Iwish you’d come in a different dress, if you hadto come,” said Robert; “but it’s no use my wishinganything.”

“No,” said the Queen. “I wish I was dressed—no, Idon’t—I wish theywere dressed properly, then theywouldn’t be so silly.”

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

“Lawky me!” said the marrow-selling woman, “whatever coulda-took me to come out this figure?” and she wheeled her cart away veryquickly indeed.

“Someone’s made a pretty guy of you—talk of guys,” saida man who sold bootlaces.

“Well, don’t you talk,” said the man next to him. “Lookat your own silly legs; and where’s your boots?”

“I never come out like this, I’ll take my sacred,” said thebootlace-seller. “I wasn’t quite myself last night, I’ll own,but not to dress up like a circus.”

The crowd was all talking at once, and getting rather angry. But no one seemedto think of blaming the Queen.

Anthea bounded down the steps and pulled her up; the others followed, and thedoor was shut.

“Blowed if I can make it out!” they heard. “I’m offhome, I am.”

And the crowd, coming slowly to the same mind, dispersed, followed by anothercrowd of persons who were not dressed in what the Queen thought was the properway.

“We shall have the police here directly,” said Anthea in the tonesof despair. “Oh, why did you come dressed like that?”

The Queen leaned against the arm of the horse-hair sofa.

“How else can a queen dress I should like to know?” she questioned.

“Our Queen wears things like other people,” said Cyril.

“Well, I don’t. And I must say,” she remarked in an injuredtone, “that you don’t seem very glad to see me now I havecome. But perhaps it’s the surprise that makes you behave like this. Yetyou ought to be used to surprises. The way you vanished! I shall never forgetit. The best magic I’ve ever seen. How did you do it?”

“Oh, never mind about that now,” said Robert. “You seeyou’ve gone and upset all those people, and I expect they’ll fetchthe police. And we don’t want to see you collared and put inprison.”

“You can’t put queens in prison,” she said loftily.

“Oh, can’t you?” said Cyril. “We cut off a king’shead here once.”

“In this miserable room? How frightfully interesting.”

“No, no, not in this room; in history.”

“Oh, in that,” said the Queen disparagingly. “Ithought you’d done it with your own hands.”

The girls shuddered.

“What a hideous city yours is,” the Queen went on pleasantly,“and what horrid, ignorant people. Do you know they actually can’tunderstand a single word I say.”

“Can you understand them?” asked Jane.

“Of course not; they speak some vulgar, Northern dialect. I canunderstand youquite well.”

I really am not going to explain againhow it was that the childrencould understand other languages than their own so thoroughly, and talk them,too, so that it felt and sounded (to them) just as though they were talkingEnglish.

“Well,” said Cyril bluntly, “now you’ve seen just howhorrid it is, don’t you think you might as well go home again?”

“Why, I’ve seen simply nothing yet,” said the Queen,arranging her starry veil. “I wished to be at your door, and I was. Now Imust go and see your King and Queen.”

“Nobody’s allowed to,” said Anthea in haste; “but lookhere, we’ll take you and show you anything you’d like tosee—anything you cansee,” she added kindly, because sheremembered how nice the Queen had been to them in Babylon, even if she had beena little deceitful in the matter of Jane and Psammead.

“There’s the Museum,” said Cyril hopefully; “there arelots of things from your country there. If only we could disguise you alittle.”

“I know,” said Anthea suddenly. “Mother’s old theatrecloak, and there are a lot of her old hats in the big box.”

The blue silk, lace-trimmed cloak did indeed hide some of the Queen’sstartling splendours, but the hat fitted very badly. It had pink roses in it;and there was something about the coat or the hat or the Queen, that made herlook somehow not very respectable.

“Oh, never mind,” said Anthea, when Cyril whispered this.“The thing is to get her out before Nurse has finished her forty winks. Ishould think she’s about got to the thirty-ninth wink by now.”

“Come on then,” said Robert. “You know how dangerous it is.Let’s make haste into the Museum. If any of those people you made guys ofdo fetch the police, they won’t think of looking for you there.”

The blue silk coat and the pink-rosed hat attracted almost as much attention asthe royal costume had done; and the children were uncommonly glad to get out ofthe noisy streets into the grey quiet of the Museum.

“Parcels and umbrellas to be left here,” said a man at the counter.

The party had no umbrellas, and the only parcel was the bag containing thePsammead, which the Queen had insisted should be brought.

“I’mnot going to be left,” said the Psammead softly,“so don’t you think it.”

“I’ll wait outside with you,” said Anthea hastily, and wentto sit on the seat near the drinking fountain.

“Don’t sit so near that nasty fountain,” said the creaturecrossly; “I might get splashed.”

Anthea obediently moved to another seat and waited. Indeed she waited, andwaited, and waited, and waited, and waited. The Psammead dropped into an uneasyslumber. Anthea had long ceased to watch the swing-door that always let out thewrong person, and she was herself almost asleep, and still the others did notcome back.

It was quite a start when Anthea suddenly realized that they hadcomeback, and that they were not alone. Behind them was quite a crowd of men inuniform, and several gentlemen were there. Everyone seemed very angry.

“Now go,” said the nicest of the angry gentlemen. “Take thepoor, demented thing home and tell your parents she ought to be properly lookedafter.”

“If you can’t get her to go we must send for the police,”said the nastiest gentleman.

“But we don’t wish to use harsh measures,” added the niceone, who was really very nice indeed, and seemed to be over all the others.

“May I speak to my sister a moment first?” asked Robert.

The nicest gentleman nodded, and the officials stood round the Queen, theothers forming a sort of guard while Robert crossed over to Anthea.

“Everything you can think of,” he replied to Anthea’s glanceof inquiry. “Kicked up the most frightful shine in there. Said thosenecklaces and earrings and things in the glass cases were all hers—wouldhave them out of the cases. Tried to break the glass—she did break onebit! Everybody in the place has been at her. No good. I only got her out bytelling her that was the place where they cut queens’ heads off.”

“Oh, Bobs, what a whacker!”

“You’d have told a whackinger one to get her out. Besides, itwasn’t. I meant mummyqueens. How do you know they don’t cutoff mummies’ heads to see how the embalming is done? What I want to sayis, can’t you get her to go with you quietly?”

“I’ll try,” said Anthea, and went up to the Queen.

“Do come home,” she said; “the learned gentleman in our househas a much nicer necklace than anything they’ve got here. Come and seeit.”

The Queen nodded.

“You see,” said the nastiest gentleman, “she does understandEnglish.”

“I was talking Babylonian, I think,” said Anthea bashfully.

“My good child,” said the nice gentleman, “what you’retalking is not Babylonian, but nonsense. You just go home at once, andtell your parents exactly what has happened.”

Anthea took the Queen’s hand and gently pulled her away. The otherchildren followed, and the black crowd of angry gentlemen stood on the stepswatching them. It was when the little party of disgraced children, with theQueen who had disgraced them, had reached the middle of the courtyard that hereyes fell on the bag where the Psammead was. She stopped short.

“I wish,” she said, very loud and clear, “that all thoseBabylonian things would come out to me here—slowly, so that those dogsand slaves can see the working of the great Queen’s magic.”

“Oh, you area tiresome woman,” said the Psammead in itsbag, but it puffed itself out.

Next moment there was a crash. The glass swing doors and all their frameworkwere smashed suddenly and completely. The crowd of angry gentlemen sprang asidewhen they saw what had done this. But the nastiest of them was not quickenough, and he was roughly pushed out of the way by an enormous stone bull thatwas floating steadily through the door. It came and stood beside the Queen inthe middle of the courtyard.

It was followed by more stone images, by great slabs of carved stone, bricks,helmets, tools, weapons, fetters, wine-jars, bowls, bottles, vases, jugs,saucers, seals, and the round long things, something like rolling pins withmarks on them like the print of little bird-feet, necklaces, collars, rings,armlets, earrings—heaps and heaps and heaps of things, far more thananyone had time to count, or even to see distinctly.

All the angry gentlemen had abruptly sat down on the Museum steps except thenice one. He stood with his hands in his pockets just as though he was quiteused to seeing great stone bulls and all sorts of small Babylonish objectsfloat out into the Museum yard. But he sent a man to close the big iron gates.

A journalist, who was just leaving the museum, spoke to Robert as he passed.

“Theosophy, I suppose?” he said. “Is she Mrs Besant?”

“Yes,” said Robert recklessly.

The journalist passed through the gates just before they were shut. He rushedoff to Fleet Street, and his paper got out a new edition within half an hour.

MRS BESANT AND THEOSOPHY

IMPERTINENT MIRACLE AT THE
BRITISH MUSEUM.

People saw it in fat, black letters on the boards carried by the sellers ofnewspapers. Some few people who had nothing better to do went down to theMuseum on the tops of omnibuses. But by the time they got there there wasnothing to be seen. For the Babylonian Queen had suddenly seen the closedgates, had felt the threat of them, and had said—

“I wish we were in your house.”

And, of course, instantly they were.

The Psammead was furious.

“Look here,” it said, “they’ll come after you, andthey’ll find me. There’ll be a National Cage built for me atWestminster, and I shall have to work at politics. Why wouldn’t you leavethe things in their places?”

“What a temper you have, haven’t you?” said the Queenserenely. “I wish all the things were back in their places. Willthatdo for you?”

The Psammead swelled and shrank and spoke very angrily.

“I can’t refuse to give your wishes,” it said, “but Ican Bite. And I will if this goes on. Now then.”

“Ah, don’t,” whispered Anthea close to its bristling ear;“it’s dreadful for us too. Don’t youdesert us.Perhaps she’ll wish herself at home again soon.”

“Not she,” said the Psammead a little less crossly.

“Take me to see your City,” said the Queen.

The children looked at each other.

“If we had some money we could take her about in a cab. Peoplewouldn’t notice her so much then. But we haven’t.”

“Sell this,” said the Queen, taking a ring from her finger.

“They’d only think we’d stolen it,” said Cyrilbitterly, “and put us in prison.”

“All roads lead to prison with you, it seems,” said the Queen.

“The learned gentleman!” said Anthea, and ran up to him with thering in her hand.

“Look here,” she said, “will you buy this for a pound?”

“Oh!” he said in tones of joy and amazement, and took the ring intohis hand.

“It’s my very own,” said Anthea; “it was given to me tosell.”

“I’ll lend you a pound,” said the learned gentleman,“with pleasure; and I’ll take care of the ring for you. Who did yousay gave it to you?”

“We call her,” said Anthea carefully, “the Queen ofBabylon.”

“Is it a game?” he asked hopefully.

“It’ll be a pretty game if I don’t get the money to pay forcabs for her,” said Anthea.

“I sometimes think,” he said slowly, “that I am becominginsane, or that—”

“Or that I am; but I’m not, and you’re not, and she’snot.”

“Does she saythat she’s the Queen of Babylon?” heuneasily asked.

“Yes,” said Anthea recklessly.

“This thought-transference is more far-reaching than I imagined,”he said. “I suppose I have unconsciously influenced her, too. Inever thought my Babylonish studies would bear fruit like this. Horrible! Thereare more things in heaven and earth—”

“Yes,” said Anthea, “heaps more. And the pound is the thingIwant more than anything on earth.”

He ran his fingers through his thin hair.

“This thought-transference!” he said. “It’s undoubtedlya Babylonian ring—or it seems so to me. But perhaps I have hypnotizedmyself. I will see a doctor the moment I have corrected the last proofs of mybook.”

“Yes, do!” said Anthea, “and thank you so very much.”

She took the sovereign and ran down to the others.

And now from the window of a four-wheeled cab the Queen of Babylon beheld thewonders of London. Buckingham Palace she thought uninteresting; WestminsterAbbey and the Houses of Parliament little better. But she liked the Tower, andthe River, and the ships filled her with wonder and delight.

“But how badly you keep your slaves. How wretched and poor and neglectedthey seem,” she said, as the cab rattled along the Mile End Road.

“They aren’t slaves; they’re working-people,” saidJane.

“Of course they’re working. That’s what slaves are.Don’t you tell me. Do you suppose I don’t know a slave’s facewhen I see it? Why don’t their masters see that they’re better fedand better clothed? Tell me in three words.”

No one answered. The wage-system of modern England is a little difficult toexplain in three words even if you understand it—which the childrendidn’t.

“You’ll have a revolt of your slaves if you’re notcareful,” said the Queen.

“Oh, no,” said Cyril; “you see they have votes—thatmakes them safe not to revolt. It makes all the difference. Father told meso.”

“What is this vote?” asked the Queen. “Is it a charm? What dothey do with it?”

“I don’t know,” said the harassed Cyril; “it’sjust a vote, that’s all! They don’t do anything particular withit.”

“I see,” said the Queen; “a sort of plaything. Well, I wishthat all these slaves may have in their hands this moment their fill of theirfavourite meat and drink.”

Instantly all the people in the Mile End Road, and in all the other streetswhere poor people live, found their hands full of things to eat and drink. Fromthe cab window could be seen persons carrying every kind of food, and bottlesand cans as well. Roast meat, fowls, red lobsters, great yellowy crabs, friedfish, boiled pork, beef-steak puddings, baked onions, mutton pies; most of theyoung people had oranges and sweets and cake. It made an enormous change in thelook of the Mile End Road—brightened it up, so to speak, and brightenedup, more than you can possibly imagine, the faces of the people.

“Makes a difference, doesn’t it?” said the Queen.

“That’s the best wish you’ve had yet,” said Jane withcordial approval.

Just by the Bank the cabman stopped.

“I ain’t agoin’ to drive you no further,” he said.“Out you gets.”

They got out rather unwillingly.

“I wants my tea,” he said; and they saw that on the box of the cabwas a mound of cabbage, with pork chops and apple sauce, a duck, and a spottedcurrant pudding. Also a large can.

“You pay me my fare,” he said threateningly, and looked down at themound, muttering again about his tea.

“We’ll take another cab,” said Cyril with dignity.“Give me change for a sovereign, if you please.”

But the cabman, as it turned out, was not at all a nice character. He took thesovereign, whipped up his horse, and disappeared in the stream of cabs andomnibuses and wagons, without giving them any change at all.

Already a little crowd was collecting round the party.

“Come on,” said Robert, leading the wrong way.

The crowd round them thickened. They were in a narrow street where manygentlemen in black coats and without hats were standing about on the pavementtalking very loudly.

“How ugly their clothes are,” said the Queen of Babylon.“They’d be rather fine men, some of them, if they were dresseddecently, especially the ones with the beautiful long, curved noses. I wishthey were dressed like the Babylonians of my court.”

And of course, it was so.

The moment the almost fainting Psammead had blown itself out every man inThrogmorton Street appeared abruptly in Babylonian full dress.

All were carefully powdered, their hair and beards were scented and curled,their garments richly embroidered. They wore rings and armlets, flat goldcollars and swords, and impossible-looking head-dresses.

A stupefied silence fell on them.

“I say,” a youth who had always been fair-haired broke thatsilence, “it’s only fancy of course—something wrong with myeyes—but you chaps do look so rum.”

“Rum,” said his friend. “Look at you. You in a sash!My hat! And your hair’s gone black and you’ve got a beard.It’s my belief we’ve been poisoned. You do look a jackape.”

“Old Levinstein don’t look so bad. But how was itdone—that’s what I want to know. How wasit done? Isit conjuring, or what?”

“I think it is chust a ver’ bad tream,” said old Levinsteinto his clerk; “all along Bishopsgate I haf seen the gommon people havetheir hants full of food—gootfood. Oh yes, without doubt a verybad tream!”

“Then I’m dreaming too, sir,” said the clerk, looking down athis legs with an expression of loathing. “I see my feet in beastlysandals as plain as plain.”

“All that goot food wasted,” said old Mr Levinstein. A badtream—a bad tream.”

The Members of the Stock Exchange are said to be at all times a noisy lot. Butthe noise they made now to express their disgust at the costumes of ancientBabylon was far louder than their ordinary row. One had to shout before onecould hear oneself speak.

“I only wish,” said the clerk who thought it was conjuring—hewas quite close to the children and they trembled, because they knew thatwhatever he wished would come true. “I only wish we knew who’d doneit.”

And, of course, instantly they did know, and they pressed round the Queen.

“Scandalous! Shameful! Ought to be put down by law. Give her in charge.Fetch the police,” two or three voices shouted at once.

The Queen recoiled.

“What is it?” she asked. “They sound like cagedlions—lions by the thousand. What is it that they say?”

“They say ‘Police!’,” said Cyril briefly. “I knewthey would sooner or later. And I don’t blame them, mind you.”

“I wish my guards were here!” cried the Queen. The exhaustedPsammead was panting and trembling, but the Queen’s guards in red andgreen garments, and brass and iron gear, choked Throgmorton Street, and baredweapons flashed round the Queen.

“I’m mad,” said a Mr Rosenbaum; “dat’s what itis—mad!”

“It’s a judgement on you, Rosy,” said his partner. “Ialways said you were too hard in that matter of Flowerdew. It’s ajudgement, and I’m in it too.”

The members of the Stock Exchange had edged carefully away from the gleamingblades, the mailed figures, the hard, cruel Eastern faces. But ThrogmortonStreet is narrow, and the crowd was too thick for them to get away as quicklyas they wished.

“Kill them,” cried the Queen. “Kill the dogs!”

The guards obeyed.

“It isall a dream,” cried Mr Levinstein, cowering in adoorway behind his clerk.

“It isn’t,” said the clerk. “It isn’t. Oh, mygood gracious! those foreign brutes are killing everybody. Henry Hirsh is downnow, and Prentice is cut in two—oh, Lord! and Huth, and there goes LionelCohen with his head off, and Guy Nickalls has lost his head now. A dream? Iwish to goodness it was all a dream.”

And, of course, instantly it was! The entire Stock Exchange rubbed its eyes andwent back to close, to over, and either side of seven-eights, and Trunks, andKaffirs, and Steel Common, and Contangoes, and Backwardations, Double Options,and all the interesting subjects concerning which they talk in the Streetwithout ceasing.

No one said a word about it to anyone else. I think I have explained beforethat business men do not like it to be known that they have been dreaming inbusiness hours. Especially mad dreams including such dreadful things as hungrypeople getting dinners, and the destruction of the Stock Exchange.

The children were in the dining-room at 300, Fitzroy Street, pale andtrembling. The Psammead crawled out of the embroidered bag, and lay flat on thetable, its leg stretched out, looking more like a dead hare than anything else.

“Thank Goodness that’s over,” said Anthea, drawing a deepbreath.

“She won’t come back, will she?” asked Jane tremulously.

“No,” said Cyril. “She’s thousands of years ago. But wespent a whole precious pound on her. It’ll take all our pocket-money forages to pay that back.”

“Not if it was alla dream,” said Robert. “The wishsaid alla dream, you know, Panther; you cut up and ask if he lent youanything.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Anthea politely, following the sound ofher knock into the presence of the learned gentleman, “I’msosorry to trouble you, but didyou lend me a poundtoday?”

“No,” said he, looking kindly at her through his spectacles.“But it’s extraordinary that you should ask me, for I dozed for afew moments this afternoon, a thing I very rarely do, and I dreamed quitedistinctly that you brought me a ring that you said belonged to the Queen ofBabylon, and that I lent you a sovereign and that you left one of theQueen’s rings here. The ring was a magnificent specimen.” Hesighed. “I wish it hadn’t been a dream,” he said smiling. Hewas really learning to smile quite nicely.

Anthea could not be too thankful that the Psammead was not there to grant hiswish.

CHAPTER IX.
ATLANTIS

You will understand that the adventure of the Babylonian queen in London wasthe only one that had occupied any time at all. But the children’s timewas very fully taken up by talking over all the wonderful things seen and donein the Past, where, by the power of the Amulet, they seemed to spend hours andhours, only to find when they got back to London that the whole thing had beenbriefer than a lightning flash.

They talked of the Past at their meals, in their walks, in the dining-room, inthe first-floor drawing-room, but most of all on the stairs. It was an oldhouse; it had once been a fashionable one, and was a fine one still. Thebanister rails of the stairs were excellent for sliding down, and in thecorners of the landings were big alcoves that had once held graceful statues,and now quite often held the graceful forms of Cyril, Robert, Anthea, and Jane.

One day Cyril and Robert in tight white underclothing had spent a pleasant hourin reproducing the attitudes of statues seen either in the British Museum, orin Father’s big photograph book. But the show ended abruptly becauseRobert wanted to be the Venus of Milo, and for this purpose pulled at the sheetwhich served for drapery at the very moment when Cyril, looking really quitelike the Discobolos—with a gold and white saucer for the disc—wasstanding on one foot, and under that one foot was the sheet.

Of course the Discobolos and his disc and the would-be Venus came downtogether, and everyone was a good deal hurt, especially the saucer, which wouldnever be the same again, however neatly one might join its uneven bits withSeccotine or the white of an egg.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” said Cyril, holding his head wherea large lump was rising.

“Quite, thanks,” said Robert bitterly. His thumb had caught in thebanisters and bent itself back almost to breaking point.

“I amso sorry, poor, dear Squirrel,” said Anthea;“and you were looking so lovely. I’ll get a wet rag. Bobs, go andhold your hand under the hot-water tap. It’s what ballet girls do withtheir legs when they hurt them. I saw it in a book.”

“What book?” said Robert disagreeably. But he went.

When he came back Cyril’s head had been bandaged by his sisters, and hehad been brought to the state of mind where he was able reluctantly to admitthat he supposed Robert hadn’t done it on purpose.

Robert replying with equal suavity, Anthea hastened to lead the talk away fromthe accident.

“I suppose you don’t feel like going anywhere through theAmulet,” she said.

“Egypt!” said Jane promptly. “I want to see the pussycats.”

“Not me—too hot,” said Cyril. “It’s about as muchas I can stand here—let alone Egypt.” It was indeed, hot, even onthe second landing, which was the coolest place in the house.“Let’s go to the North Pole.”

“I don’t suppose the Amulet was ever there—and we might getour fingers frost-bitten so that we could never hold it up to get home again.No thanks,” said Robert.

“I say,” said Jane, “let’s get the Psammead and ask itsadvice. It will like us asking, even if we don’t take it.”

The Psammead was brought up in its green silk embroidered bag, but before itcould be asked anything the door of the learned gentleman’s room openedand the voice of the visitor who had been lunching with him was heard on thestairs. He seemed to be speaking with the door handle in his hand.

“You see a doctor, old boy,” he said; “all that aboutthought-transference is just simply twaddle. You’ve been over-working.Take a holiday. Go to Dieppe.”

“I’d rather go to Babylon,” said the learned gentleman.

“I wish you’d go to Atlantis some time, while we’re about it,so as to give me some tips for my Nineteenth Centuryarticle when youcome home.”

“I wish I could,” said the voice of the learned gentleman.

“Goodbye. Take care of yourself.”

The door was banged, and the visitor came smiling down the stairs—astout, prosperous, big man. The children had to get up to let him pass.

“Hullo, Kiddies,” he said, glancing at the bandages on the head ofCyril and the hand of Robert, “been in the wars?”

“It’s all right,” said Cyril. “I say, what was thatAtlantic place you wanted him to go to? We couldn’t help hearing youtalk.”

“You talk so veryloud, you see,” said Jane soothingly.

“Atlantis,” said the visitor, “the lost Atlantis, garden ofthe Hesperides. Great continent—disappeared in the sea. You can readabout it in Plato.”

“Thank you,” said Cyril doubtfully.

“Were there any Amulets there?” asked Anthea, made anxious by asudden thought.

“Hundreds, I should think. So he’sbeen talking toyou?”

“Yes, often. He’s very kind to us. We like him awfully.”

“Well, what he wants is a holiday; you persuade him to take one. What hewants is a change of scene. You see, his head is crusted so thickly inside withknowledge about Egypt and Assyria and things that you can’t hammeranything into it unless you keep hard at it all day long for days and days. AndI haven’t time. But you live in the house. You can hammer almostincessantly. Just try your hands, will you? Right. So long!”

He went down the stairs three at a time, and Jane remarked that he was a niceman, and she thought he had little girls of his own.

“I should like to have them to play with,” she added pensively.

The three elder ones exchanged glances. Cyril nodded.

“All right. Let’sgo to Atlantis,” he said.

“Let’s go to Atlantis and take the learned gentleman withus,” said Anthea; “he’ll think it’s a dream,afterwards, but it’ll certainly be a change of scene.”

“Why not take him to nice Egypt?” asked Jane.

“Too hot,” said Cyril shortly.

“Or Babylon, where he wants to go?”

“I’ve had enough of Babylon,” said Robert, “at leastfor the present. And so have the others. I don’t know why,” headded, forestalling the question on Jane’s lips, “but somehow wehave. Squirrel, let’s take off these beastly bandages and get intoflannels. We can’t go in our unders.”

“He wishedto go to Atlantis, so he’s got to go some time;and he might as well go with us,” said Anthea.

This was how it was that the learned gentleman, permitting himself a fewmoments of relaxation in his chair, after the fatigue of listening to opinions(about Atlantis and many other things) with which he did not at all agree,opened his eyes to find his four young friends standing in front of him in arow.

“Will you come,” said Anthea, “to Atlantis with us?”

“To know that you are dreaming shows that the dream is nearly at anend,” he told himself; “or perhaps it’s only a game, like‘How many miles to Babylon?’”

So he said aloud: “Thank you very much, but I have only a quarter of anhour to spare.”

“It doesn’t take any time,” said Cyril; “time is only amode of thought, you know, and you’ve got to go some time, so why notwith us?”

“Very well,” said the learned gentleman, now quite certain that hewas dreaming.

Anthea held out her soft, pink hand. He took it. She pulled him gently to hisfeet. Jane held up the Amulet.

“To just outside Atlantis,” said Cyril, and Jane said the Name ofPower.

“You owl!” said Robert, “it’s an island. Outside anisland’s all water.”

“I won’t go. I won’t,” said the Psammead,kicking and struggling in its bag.

But already the Amulet had grown to a great arch. Cyril pushed the learnedgentleman, as undoubtedly the first-born, through the arch—not intowater, but on to a wooden floor, out of doors. The others followed. The Amuletgrew smaller again, and there they all were, standing on the deck of a shipwhose sailors were busy making her fast with chains to rings on a whitequay-side. The rings and the chains were of a metal that shone red-yellow likegold.

Everyone on the ship seemed too busy at first to notice the group of newcomersfrom Fitzroy Street. Those who seemed to be officers were shouting orders tothe men.

They stood and looked across the wide quay to the town that rose beyond it.What they saw was the most beautiful sight any of them had ever seen—orever dreamed of.

The blue sea sparkled in soft sunlight; little white-capped waves broke softlyagainst the marble breakwaters that guarded the shipping of a great city fromthe wilderness of winter winds and seas. The quay was of marble, white andsparkling with a veining bright as gold. The city was of marble, red and white.The greater buildings that seemed to be temples and palaces were roofed withwhat looked like gold and silver, but most of the roofs were of copper thatglowed golden-red on the houses on the hills among which the city stood, andshaded into marvellous tints of green and blue and purple where they had beentouched by the salt sea spray and the fumes of the dyeing and smelting works ofthe lower town.

Broad and magnificent flights of marble stairs led up from the quay to a sortof terrace that seemed to run along for miles, and beyond rose the town builton a hill.

The learned gentleman drew a long breath. “Wonderful!” he said,“wonderful!”

“I say, Mr—what’s your name,” said Robert.

“He means,” said Anthea, with gentle politeness, “that wenever can remember your name. I know it’s Mr De Something.”

“When I was your age I was called Jimmy,” he said timidly.“Would you mind? I should feel more at home in a dream like this ifI—Anything that made me seem more like one of you.”

“Thank you—Jimmy,” said Anthea with an effort. It seemed sucha cheek to be saying Jimmy to a grown-up man. “Jimmy, dear,”she added, with no effort at all. Jimmy smiled and looked pleased.

But now the ship was made fast, and the Captain had time to notice otherthings. He came towards them, and he was dressed in the best of all possibledresses for the seafaring life.

“What are you doing here?” he asked rather fiercely. “Do youcome to bless or to curse?”

“To bless, of course,” said Cyril. “I’m sorry if itannoys you, but we’re here by magic. We come from the land of thesun-rising,” he went on explanatorily.

“I see,” said the Captain; no one had expected that he would.“I didn’t notice at first, but of course I hope you’re a goodomen. It’s needed. And this,” he pointed to the learned gentleman,“your slave, I presume?”

“Not at all,” said Anthea; “he’s a very great man. Asage, don’t they call it? And we want to see all your beautiful city, andyour temples and things, and then we shall go back, and he will tell hisfriend, and his friend will write a book about it.”

“What,” asked the Captain, fingering a rope, “is abook?”

“A record—something written, or,” she added hastily,remembering the Babylonian writing, “or engraved.”

Some sudden impulse of confidence made Jane pluck the Amulet from the neck ofher frock.

“Like this,” she said.

The Captain looked at it curiously, but, the other three were relieved tonotice, without any of that overwhelming interest which the mere name of it hadroused in Egypt and Babylon.

“The stone is of our country,” he said; “and that which isengraved on it, it is like our writing, but I cannot read it. What is the nameof your sage?”

“Ji-jimmy,” said Anthea hesitatingly.

The Captain repeated, “Ji-jimmy. Will you land?” he added.“And shall I lead you to the Kings?”

“Look here,” said Robert, “does your King hatestrangers?”

“Our Kings are ten,” said the Captain, “and the Royal line,unbroken from Poseidon, the father of us all, has the noble tradition to dohonour to strangers if they come in peace.”

“Then lead on, please,” said Robert, “though I shouldlike to see all over your beautiful ship, and sail about in her.”

“That shall be later,” said the Captain; “just nowwe’re afraid of a storm—do you notice that odd rumbling?”

“That’s nothing, master,” said an old sailor who stood near;“it’s the pilchards coming in, that’s all.”

“Too loud,” said the Captain.

There was a rather anxious pause; then the Captain stepped on to the quay, andthe others followed him.

“Do talk to him—Jimmy,” said Anthea as they went; “youcan find out all sorts of things for your friend’s book.”

“Please excuse me,” he said earnestly. “If I talk I shallwake up; and besides, I can’t understand what he says.”

No one else could think of anything to say, so that it was in complete silencethat they followed the Captain up the marble steps and through the streets ofthe town. There were streets and shops and houses and markets.

“It’s just like Babylon,” whispered Jane, “onlyeverything’s perfectly different.”

“It’s a great comfort the ten Kings have been properly broughtup—to be kind to strangers,” Anthea whispered to Cyril.

“Yes,” he said, “no deepest dungeons here.”

There were no horses or chariots in the street, but there were handcarts andlow trolleys running on thick log-wheels, and porters carrying packets on theirheads, and a good many of the people were riding on what looked like elephants,only the great beasts were hairy, and they had not that mild expression we areaccustomed to meet on the faces of the elephants at the Zoo.

“Mammoths!” murmured the learned gentleman, and stumbled over aloose stone.

The people in the streets kept crowding round them as they went along, but theCaptain always dispersed the crowd before it grew uncomfortably thick bysaying—

“Children of the Sun God and their High Priest—come to bless theCity.”

And then the people would draw back with a low murmur that sounded like asuppressed cheer.

Many of the buildings were covered with gold, but the gold on the biggerbuildings was of a different colour, and they had sorts of steeples ofburnished silver rising above them.

“Are all these houses real gold?” asked Jane.

“The temples are covered with gold, of course,” answered theCaptain, “but the houses are only oricalchum. It’s not quite soexpensive.”

The learned gentleman, now very pale, stumbled along in a dazed way, repeating:

“Oricalchum—oricalchum.”

“Don’t be frightened,” said Anthea; “we can get home ina minute, just by holding up the charm. Would you rather go back now? We couldeasily come some other day without you.”

“Oh, no, no,” he pleaded fervently; “let the dream go on.Please, please do.”

“The High Ji-jimmy is perhaps weary with his magic journey,” saidthe Captain, noticing the blundering walk of the learned gentleman; “andwe are yet very far from the Great Temple, where today the Kings makesacrifice.”

He stopped at the gate of a great enclosure. It seemed to be a sort of park,for trees showed high above its brazen wall.

The party waited, and almost at once the Captain came back with one of thehairy elephants and begged them to mount.

This they did.

It was a glorious ride. The elephant at the Zoo—to ride on him is alsoglorious, but he goes such a very little way, and then he goes back again,which is always dull. But this great hairy beast went on and on and on alongstreets and through squares and gardens. It was a glorious city; almosteverything was built of marble, red, or white, or black. Every now and then theparty crossed a bridge.

It was not till they had climbed to the hill which is the centre of the townthat they saw that the whole city was divided into twenty circles, alternatelyland and water, and over each of the water circles were the bridges by whichthey had come.

And now they were in a great square. A vast building filled up one side of it;it was overlaid with gold, and had a dome of silver. The rest of the buildingsround the square were of oricalchum. And it looked more splendid than you canpossibly imagine, standing up bold and shining in the sunlight.

“You would like a bath,” said the Captain, as the hairy elephantwent clumsily down on his knees. “It’s customary, you know, beforeentering the Presence. We have baths for men, women, horses, and cattle. TheHigh Class Baths are here. Our Father Poseidon gave us a spring of hot waterand one of cold.”

The children had never before bathed in baths of gold.

“It feels very splendid,” said Cyril, splashing.

“At least, of course, it’s not gold; it’sor—what’s its name,” said Robert. “Hand over thattowel.”

The bathing hall had several great pools sunk below the level of the floor; onewent down to them by steps.

“Jimmy,” said Anthea timidly, when, very clean and boiled-looking,they all met in the flowery courtyard of the Public, “don’t youthink all this seems much more like nowthan Babylon or Egypt—?Oh, I forgot, you’ve never been there.”

“I know a little of those nations, however,” said he, “and Iquite agree with you. A most discerning remark—my dear,” he addedawkwardly; “this city certainly seems to indicate a far higher level ofcivilization than the Egyptian or Babylonish, and—”

“Follow me,” said the Captain. “Now, boys, get out of theway.” He pushed through a little crowd of boys who were playing withdried chestnuts fastened to a string.

“Ginger!” remarked Robert, “they’re playing conkers,just like the kids in Kentish Town Road!”

They could see now that three walls surrounded the island on which they were.The outermost wall was of brass, the Captain told them; the next, which lookedlike silver, was covered with tin; and the innermost one was of oricalchum.

And right in the middle was a wall of gold, with golden towers and gates.

“Behold the Temples of Poseidon,” said the Captain. “It isnot lawful for me to enter. I will await your return here.”

He told them what they ought to say, and the five people from Fitzroy Streettook hands and went forward. The golden gates slowly opened.

“We are the children of the Sun,” said Cyril, as he had been told,“and our High Priest, at least that’s what the Captain calls him.We have a different name for him at home.”

“What is his name?” asked a white-robed man who stood in thedoorway with his arms extended.

“Ji-jimmy,” replied Cyril, and he hesitated as Anthea had done. Itreally did seem to be taking a great liberty with so learned a gentleman.“And we have come to speak with your Kings in the Temple ofPoseidon—does that word sound right?” he whispered anxiously.

“Quite,” said the learned gentleman. “It’s very odd Ican understand what you say to them, but not what they say to you.”

“The Queen of Babylon found that too,” said Cyril;“it’s part of the magic.”

“Oh, what a dream!” said the learned gentleman.

The white-robed priest had been joined by others, and all were bowing low.

“Enter,” he said, “enter, Children of the Sun, with your HighJi-jimmy.”

In an inner courtyard stood the Temple—all of silver, with gold pinnaclesand doors, and twenty enormous statues in bright gold of men and women. Also animmense pillar of the other precious yellow metal.

They went through the doors, and the priest led them up a stair into a galleryfrom which they could look down on to the glorious place.

“The ten Kings are even now choosing the bull. It is not lawful for me tobehold,” said the priest, and fell face downward on the floor outside thegallery. The children looked down.

The roof was of ivory adorned with the three precious metals, and the wallswere lined with the favourite oricalchum.

At the far end of the Temple was a statue group, the like of which no oneliving has ever seen.

It was of gold, and the head of the chief figure reached to the roof. Thatfigure was Poseidon, the Father of the City. He stood in a great chariot drawnby six enormous horses, and round about it were a hundred mermaids riding ondolphins.

Ten men, splendidly dressed and armed only with sticks and ropes, were tryingto capture one of some fifteen bulls who ran this way and that about the floorof the Temple. The children held their breath, for the bulls looked dangerous,and the great horned heads were swinging more and more wildly.

Anthea did not like looking at the bulls. She looked about the gallery, andnoticed that another staircase led up from it to a still higher storey; alsothat a door led out into the open air, where there seemed to be a balcony.

So that when a shout went up and Robert whispered, “Got him,” andshe looked down and saw the herd of bulls being driven out of the Temple bywhips, and the ten Kings following, one of them spurring with his stick a blackbull that writhed and fought in the grip of a lasso, she answered theboy’s agitated, “Now we shan’t see anything more,”with—

“Yes we can, there’s an outside balcony.”

So they crowded out.

But very soon the girls crept back.

“I don’t like sacrifices,” Jane said. So she and Anthea wentand talked to the priest, who was no longer lying on his face, but sitting onthe top step mopping his forehead with his robe, for it was a hot day.

“It’s a special sacrifice,” he said; “usuallyit’s only done on the justice days every five years and six yearsalternately. And then they drink the cup of wine with some of the bull’sblood in it, and swear to judge truly. And they wear the sacred blue robe, andput out all the Temple fires. But this today is because the City’s soupset by the odd noises from the sea, and the god inside the big mountainspeaking with his thunder-voice. But all that’s happened so often before.If anything could make ME uneasy it wouldn’t be that.”

“What would it be?” asked Jane kindly.

“It would be the Lemmings.”

“Who are they—enemies?”

“They’re a sort of rat; and every year they come swimming over fromthe country that no man knows, and stay here awhile, and then swim away. Thisyear they haven’t come. You know rats won’t stay on a shipthat’s going to be wrecked. If anything horrible were going to happen tous, it’s my belief those Lemmings would know; and that may be whythey’ve fought shy of us.”

“What do you call this country?” asked the Psammead, suddenlyputting its head out of its bag.

“Atlantis,” said the priest.

“Then I advise you to get on to the highest ground you can find. Iremember hearing something about a flood here. Look here, you”—itturned to Anthea; “let’s get home. The prospect’s too wet formy whiskers.”

The girls obediently went to find their brothers, who were leaning on thebalcony railings.

“Where’s the learned gentleman?” asked Anthea.

“There he is—below,” said the priest, who had come with them.“Your High Ji-jimmy is with the Kings.”

The ten Kings were no longer alone. The learned gentleman—no one hadnoticed how he got there—stood with them on the steps of an altar, onwhich lay the dead body of the black bull. All the rest of the courtyard wasthick with people, seemingly of all classes, and all were shouting, “Thesea—the sea!”

“Be calm,” said the most kingly of the Kings, he who had lassoedthe bull. “Our town is strong against the thunders of the sea and of thesky!”

“I want to go home,” whined the Psammead.

“We can’t go without him,” said Anthea firmly.

“Jimmy,” she called, “Jimmy!” and waved to him. Heheard her, and began to come towards her through the crowd.

They could see from the balcony the sea-captain edging his way out from amongthe people. And his face was dead white, like paper.

“To the hills!” he cried in a loud and terrible voice. And abovehis voice came another voice, louder, more terrible—the voice of the sea.

The girls looked seaward.

Across the smooth distance of the sea something huge and black rolled towardsthe town. It was a wave, but a wave a hundred feet in height, a wave thatlooked like a mountain—a wave rising higher and higher till suddenly itseemed to break in two—one half of it rushed out to sea again; theother—

“Oh!” cried Anthea, “the town—the poor people!”

“It’s all thousands of years ago, really,” said Robert buthis voice trembled. They hid their eyes for a moment. They could not bear tolook down, for the wave had broken on the face of the town, sweeping over thequays and docks, overwhelming the great storehouses and factories, tearinggigantic stones from forts and bridges, and using them as battering ramsagainst the temples. Great ships were swept over the roofs of the houses anddashed down halfway up the hill among ruined gardens and broken buildings. Thewater ground brown fishing-boats to powder on the golden roofs of Palaces.

Then the wave swept back towards the sea.

“I want to go home,” cried the Psammead fiercely.

“Oh, yes, yes!” said Jane, and the boys were ready—but thelearned gentleman had not come.

Then suddenly they heard him dash up to the inner gallery, crying—

“I mustsee the end of the dream.” He rushed up the higherflight. The others followed him. They found themselves in a sort ofturret—roofed, but open to the air at the sides.

The learned gentleman was leaning on the parapet, and as they rejoined him thevast wave rushed back on the town. This time it rose higher—destroyedmore.

“Come home,” cried the Psammead; “that’sthelast, I know it is! That’s the last—over there.” Itpointed with a claw that trembled.

“Oh, come!” cried Jane, holding up the Amulet.

“I will seethe end of the dream,” cried the learnedgentleman.

“You’ll never see anything else if you do,” said Cyril.

“Oh, Jimmy!” appealed Anthea. “I’ll neverbring you out again!”

“You’ll never have the chance if you don’t go soon,”said the Psammead.

“I willsee the end of the dream,” said the learnedgentleman obstinately.

The hills around were black with people fleeing from the villages to themountains. And even as they fled thin smoke broke from the great white peak,and then a faint flash of flame. Then the volcano began to throw up itsmysterious fiery inside parts. The earth trembled; ashes and sulphur showereddown; a rain of fine pumice-stone fell like snow on all the dry land. Theelephants from the forest rushed up towards the peaks; great lizards thirtyyards long broke from the mountain pools and rushed down towards the sea. Thesnows melted and rushed down, first in avalanches, then in roaring torrents.Great rocks cast up by the volcano fell splashing in the sea miles away.

“Oh, this is horrible!” cried Anthea. “Come home, comehome!”

“The end of the dream,” gasped the learned gentleman.

“Hold up the Amulet,” cried the Psammead suddenly. The place wherethey stood was now crowded with men and women, and the children were strainedtight against the parapet. The turret rocked and swayed; the wave had reachedthe golden wall.

Jane held up the Amulet.

“Now,” cried the Psammead, “say the word!”

And as Jane said it the Psammead leaped from its bag and bit the hand of thelearned gentleman.

At the same moment the boys pushed him through the arch and all followed him.

He turned to look back, and through the arch he saw nothing but a waste ofwaters, with above it the peak of the terrible mountain with fire raging fromit.

He staggered back to his chair.

“What a ghastly dream!” he gasped. “Oh, you’re here,my—er—dears. Can I do anything for you?”

“You’ve hurt your hand,” said Anthea gently; “let mebind it up.”

The hand was indeed bleeding rather badly.

The Psammead had crept back to its bag. All the children were very white.

“Never again,” said the Psammead later on, “will I go intothe Past with a grown-up person! I will say for you four, you do do asyou’re told.”

“We didn’t even find the Amulet,” said Anthea later still.

“Of course you didn’t; it wasn’t there. Only the stone it wasmade of was there. It fell on to a ship miles away that managed to escape andgot to Egypt. Icould have told you that.”

“I wish you had,” said Anthea, and her voice was still rathershaky. “Why didn’t you?”

“You never asked me,” said the Psammead very sulkily.“I’m not the sort of chap to go shoving my oar in where it’snot wanted.”

“Mr Ji-jimmy’s friend will have something worth having to put inhis article now,” said Cyril very much later indeed.

“Not he,” said Robert sleepily. “The learned Ji-jimmy willthink it’s a dream, and it’s ten to one he never tells the otherchap a word about it at all.”

Robert was quite right on both points. The learned gentleman did. And he neverdid.

CHAPTER X.
THE LITTLE BLACK GIRL AND JULIUS CAESAR

A great city swept away by the sea, a beautiful country devastated by an activevolcano—these are not the sort of things you see every day of the week.And when you do see them, no matter how many other wonders you may have seen inyour time, such sights are rather apt to take your breath away. Atlantis hadcertainly this effect on the breaths of Cyril, Robert, Anthea, and Jane.

They remained in a breathless state for some days. The learned gentleman seemedas breathless as anyone; he spent a good deal of what little breath he had intelling Anthea about a wonderful dream he had. “You would hardlybelieve,” he said, “that anyone couldhave such a detailedvision.”

But Anthea could believe it, she said, quite easily.

He had ceased to talk about thought-transference. He had now seen too manywonders to believe that.

In consequence of their breathless condition none of the children suggested anynew excursions through the Amulet. Robert voiced the mood of the others when hesaid that they were “fed up” with Amulet for a bit. Theyundoubtedly were.

As for the Psammead, it went to sand and stayed there, worn out by the terrorof the flood and the violent exercise it had had to take in obedience to theinconsiderate wishes of the learned gentleman and the Babylonian queen.

The children let it sleep. The danger of taking it about among strange peoplewho might at any moment utter undesirable wishes was becoming more and moreplain.

And there are pleasant things to be done in London without any aid from Amuletsor Psammeads. You can, for instance visit the Tower of London, the Houses ofParliament, the National Gallery, the Zoological Gardens, the various Parks,the Museums at South Kensington, Madame Tussaud’s Exhibition of Waxworks,or the Botanical Gardens at Kew. You can go to Kew by river steamer—andthis is the way that the children would have gone if they had gone at all. Onlythey never did, because it was when they were discussing the arrangements forthe journey, and what they should take with them to eat and how much of it, andwhat the whole thing would cost, that the adventure of the Little Black Girlbegan to happen.

The children were sitting on a seat in St James’s Park. They had beenwatching the pelican repulsing with careful dignity the advances of theseagulls who are always so anxious to play games with it. The pelican thinks,very properly, that it hasn’t the figure for games, so it spends most ofits time pretending that that is not the reason why it won’t play.

The breathlessness caused by Atlantis was wearing off a little. Cyril, whoalways wanted to understand all about everything, was turning things over inhis mind.

“I’m not; I’m only thinking,” he answered when Robertasked him what he was so grumpy about. “I’ll tell you whenI’ve thought it all out.”

“If it’s about the Amulet I don’t want to hear it,”said Jane.

“Nobody asked you to,” retorted Cyril mildly, “and Ihaven’t finished my inside thinking about it yet. Let’s go to Kewin the meantime.”

“I’d rather go in a steamer,” said Robert; and the girlslaughed.

“That’s right,” said Cyril, “befunny. Iwould.”

“Well, he was, rather,” said Anthea.

“I wouldn’t think, Squirrel, if it hurts you so,” said Robertkindly.

“Oh, shut up,” said Cyril, “or else talk about Kew.”

“I want to see the palms there,” said Anthea hastily, “to seeif they’re anything like the ones on the island where we united the Cookand the Burglar by the Reverend Half-Curate.”

All disagreeableness was swept away in a pleasant tide of recollections, and“Do you remember...?” they said. “Have youforgotten...?”

“My hat!” remarked Cyril pensively, as the flood of reminiscenceebbed a little; “we have had some times.”

“We have that,” said Robert.

“Don’t let’s have any more,” said Jane anxiously.

“That’s what I was thinking about,” Cyril replied; and justthen they heard the Little Black Girl sniff. She was quite close to them.

She was not really a little black girl. She was shabby and not very clean, andshe had been crying so much that you could hardly see, through the narrow chinkbetween her swollen lids, how very blue her eyes were. It was her dress thatwas black, and it was too big and too long for her, and she wore a speckledblack-ribboned sailor hat that would have fitted a much bigger head than herlittle flaxen one. And she stood looking at the children and sniffing.

“Oh, dear!” said Anthea, jumping up. “Whatever is thematter?”

She put her hand on the little girl’s arm. It was rudely shaken off.

“You leave me be,” said the little girl. “I ain’t doingnothing to you.”

“But what is it?” Anthea asked. “Has someone been hurtingyou?”

“What’s that to you?” said the little girl fiercely.“You’reall right.”

“Come away,” said Robert, pulling at Anthea’s sleeve.“She’s a nasty, rude little kid.”

“Oh, no,” said Anthea. “She’s only dreadfully unhappy.What is it?” she asked again.

“Oh, you’reall right,” the child repeated;“youain’t agoin’ to the Union.”

“Can’t we take you home?” said Anthea; and Jane added,“Where does your mother live?”

“She don’t live nowheres—she’s dead—sonow!” said the little girl fiercely, in tones of miserable triumph. Thenshe opened her swollen eyes widely, stamped her foot in fury, and ran away. Sheran no further than to the next bench, flung herself down there and began tocry without even trying not to.

Anthea, quite at once, went to the little girl and put her arms as tight as shecould round the hunched-up black figure.

“Oh, don’t cry so, dear, don’t, don’t!” shewhispered under the brim of the large sailor hat, now very crooked indeed.“Tell Anthea all about it; Anthea’lll help you. There, there, dear,don’t cry.”

The others stood at a distance. One or two passers-by stared curiously.

The child was now only crying part of the time; the rest of the time she seemedto be talking to Anthea.

Presently Anthea beckoned Cyril.

“It’s horrible!” she said in a furious whisper, “herfather was a carpenter and he was a steady man, and never touched a drop excepton a Saturday, and he came up to London for work, and there wasn’t any,and then he died; and her name is Imogen, and she’s nine come nextNovember. And now her mother’s dead, and she’s to stay tonight withMrs Shrobsall—that’s a landlady that’s been kind—andtomorrow the Relieving Officer is coming for her, and she’s going intothe Union; that means the Workhouse. It’s too terrible. What can wedo?”

“Let’s ask the learned gentleman,” said Jane brightly.

And as no one else could think of anything better the whole party walked backto Fitzroy Street as fast as it could, the little girl holding tight toAnthea’s hand and now not crying any more, only sniffing gently.

The learned gentleman looked up from his writing with the smile that had grownmuch easier to him than it used to be. They were quite at home in his room now;it really seemed to welcome them. Even the mummy-case appeared to smile as ifin its distant superior ancient Egyptian way it were rather pleased to see themthan not.

Anthea sat on the stairs with Imogen, who was nine come next November, whilethe others went in and explained the difficulty.

The learned gentleman listened with grave attention.

“It really does seem rather rough luck,” Cyril concluded,“because I’ve often heard about rich people who wanted childrenmost awfully—though I know Inever should—but they do. Theremust be somebody who’d be glad to have her.”

“Gipsies are awfully fond of children,” Robert hopefully said.“They’re always stealing them. Perhaps they’d haveher.”

“She’s quite a nice little girl really,” Jane added;“she was only rude at first because we looked jolly and happy, and shewasn’t. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said he, absently fingering a little blue image from Egypt.“I understand that very well. As you say, there must be some home whereshe would be welcome.” He scowled thoughtfully at the little blue image.

Anthea outside thought the explanation was taking a very long time. She was sobusy trying to cheer and comfort the little black girl that she never noticedthe Psammead who, roused from sleep by her voice, had shaken itself free ofsand, and was coming crookedly up the stairs. It was close to her before shesaw it. She picked it up and settled it in her lap.

“What is it?” asked the black child. “Is it a cat or aorgan-monkey, or what?”

And then Anthea heard the learned gentleman say—

“Yes, I wish we could find a home where they would be glad to haveher,” and instantly she felt the Psammead begin to blow itself out as itsat on her lap.

She jumped up lifting the Psammead in her skirt, and holding Imogen by thehand, rushed into the learned gentleman’s room.

“At least let’s keep together,” she cried. “All holdhands—quick!”

The circle was like that formed for the Mulberry Bush or Ring-o’-Roses.And Anthea was only able to take part in it by holding in her teeth the hem ofher frock which, thus supported, formed a bag to hold the Psammead.

“Is it a game?” asked the learned gentleman feebly. No oneanswered.

There was a moment of suspense; then came that curious upside-down, inside-outsensation which one almost always feels when transported from one place toanother by magic. Also there was that dizzy dimness of sight which comes onthese occasions.

The mist cleared, the upside-down, inside-out sensation subsided, and therestood the six in a ring, as before, only their twelve feet, instead of standingon the carpet of the learned gentleman’s room, stood on green grass.Above them, instead of the dusky ceiling of the Fitzroy Street floor, was apale blue sky. And where the walls had been and the painted mummy-case, weretall dark green trees, oaks and ashes, and in between the trees and under themtangled bushes and creeping ivy. There were beech-trees too, but there wasnothing under them but their own dead red drifted leaves, and here and there adelicate green fern-frond.

And there they stood in a circle still holding hands, as though they wereplaying Ring-o’-Roses or the Mulberry Bush. Just six people hand in handin a wood. That sounds simple, but then you must remember that they did notknow wherethe wood was, and what’s more, they didn’t knowwhenthen wood was. There was a curious sort of feeling that made thelearned gentleman say—

“Another dream, dear me!” and made the children almost certain thatthey were in a time a very long while ago. As for little Imogen, she said,“Oh, my!” and kept her mouth very much open indeed.

“Where are we?” Cyril asked the Psammead.

“In Britain,” said the Psammead.

“But when?” asked Anthea anxiously.

“About the year fifty-five before the year you reckon time from,”said the Psammead crossly. “Is there anything else you want toknow?” it added, sticking its head out of the bag formed byAnthea’s blue linen frock, and turning its snail’s eyes to rightand left. “I’ve been here before—it’s very littlechanged.”

“Yes, but why here?” asked Anthea.

“Your inconsiderate friend,” the Psammead replied, “wished tofind some home where they would be glad to have that unattractive and immaturefemale human being whom you have picked up—gracious knows how. InMegatherium days properly brought-up children didn’t talk to shabbystrangers in parks. Your thoughtless friend wanted a place where someone wouldbe glad to have this undesirable stranger. And now here you are!”

“I see we are,” said Anthea patiently, looking round on the tallgloom of the forest. “But why here?Why now?”

“You don’t suppose anyone would want a child like that inyourtimes—in yourtowns?” said the Psammead inirritated tones. “You’ve got your country into such a mess thatthere’s no room for half your children—and no one to wantthem.”

“That’s not our doing, you know,” said Anthea gently.

“And bringing me here without any waterproof or anything,” said thePsammead still more crossly, “when everyone knows how damp and foggyAncient Britain was.”

“Here, take my coat,” said Robert, taking it off. Anthea spread thecoat on the ground and, putting the Psammead on it, folded it round so thatonly the eyes and furry ears showed.

“There,” she said comfortingly. “Now if it does begin to looklike rain, I can cover you up in a minute. Now what are we to do?”

The others who had stopped holding hands crowded round to hear the answer tothis question. Imogen whispered in an awed tone—

“Can’t the organ monkey talk neither! I thought it was onlyparrots!”

“Do?” replied the Psammead. “I don’t care what youdo!” And it drew head and ears into the tweed covering of Robert’scoat.

The others looked at each other.

“It’s only a dream,” said the learned gentleman hopefully;“something is sure to happen if we can prevent ourselves from wakingup.”

And sure enough, something did.

The brooding silence of the dark forest was broken by the laughter of childrenand the sound of voices.

“Let’s go and see,” said Cyril.

“It’s only a dream,” said the learned gentleman to Jane, whohung back; “if you don’t go with the tide of a dream—if youresist—you wake up, you know.”

There was a sort of break in the undergrowth that was like a sillyperson’s idea of a path. They went along this in Indian file, the learnedgentleman leading.

Quite soon they came to a large clearing in the forest. There were a number ofhouses—huts perhaps you would have called them—with a sort of mudand wood fence.

“It’s like the old Egyptian town,” whispered Anthea.

And it was, rather.

Some children, with no clothes on at all, were playing what looked likeRing-o’-Roses or Mulberry Bush. That is to say, they were dancing roundin a ring, holding hands. On a grassy bank several women, dressed in blue andwhite robes and tunics of beast-skins sat watching the playing children.

The children from Fitzroy Street stood on the fringe of the forest looking atthe games. One woman with long, fair braided hair sat a little apart from theothers, and there was a look in her eyes as she followed the play of thechildren that made Anthea feel sad and sorry.

“None of those little girls is her own little girl,” thoughtAnthea.

The little black-clad London child pulled at Anthea’s sleeve.

“Look,” she said, “that one there—she’s preciouslike mother; mother’s “air was somethink lovely, when she “adtime to comb it out. Mother wouldn’t never a-beat me if she’d lived’ere—I don’t suppose there’s e’er a public nearerthan Epping, do you, Miss?”

In her eagerness the child had stepped out of the shelter of the forest. Thesad-eyed woman saw her. She stood up, her thin face lighted up with a radiancelike sunrise, her long, lean arms stretched towards the London child.

“Imogen!” she cried—at least the word was more like that thanany other word—“Imogen!”

There was a moment of great silence; the naked children paused in their play,the women on the bank stared anxiously.

“Oh, it ismother—it is!” criedImogen-from-London, and rushed across the cleared space. She and her motherclung together—so closely, so strongly that they stood an instant like astatue carved in stone.

Then the women crowded round.

“It ismy Imogen!” cried the woman.

“Oh it is! And she wasn’t eaten by wolves. She’s come back tome. Tell me, my darling, how did you escape? Where have you been? Who has fedand clothed you?”

“I don’t know nothink,” said Imogen.

“Poor child!” whispered the women who crowded round, “theterror of the wolves has turned her brain.”

“But you know me?” said the fair-haired woman.

And Imogen, clinging with black-clothed arms to the bare neck, answered—

“Oh, yes, mother, I know youright ’nough.”

“What is it? What do they say?” the learned gentleman askedanxiously.

“You wished to come where someone wanted the child,” said thePsammead. “The child says this is her mother.”

“And the mother?”

“You can see,” said the Psammead.

“But is she really? Her child, I mean?”

“Who knows?” said the Psammead; “but each one fills the emptyplace in the other’s heart. It is enough.”

“Oh,” said the learned gentleman, “this is a good dream. Iwish the child might stay in the dream.”

The Psammead blew itself out and granted the wish. So Imogen’s future wasassured. She had found someone to want her.

“If only all the children that no one wants,” began the learnedgentleman—but the woman interrupted. She came towards them.

“Welcome, all!” she cried. “I am the Queen, and my childtells me that you have befriended her; and this I well believe, looking on yourfaces. Your garb is strange, but faces I can read. The child is bewitched, Isee that well, but in this she speaks truth. Is it not so?”

The children said it wasn’t worth mentioning.

I wish you could have seen all the honours and kindnesses lavished on thechildren and the learned gentleman by those ancient Britons. You would havethought, to see them, that a child was something to make a fuss about, not abit of rubbish to be hustled about the streets and hidden away in theWorkhouse. It wasn’t as grand as the entertainment at Babylon, butsomehow it was more satisfying.

“I think you children have some wonderful influence on me,” saidthe learned gentleman. “I never dreamed such dreams before I knewyou.”

It was when they were alone that night under the stars where the Britons hadspread a heap Of dried fern for them to sleep on, that Cyril spoke.

“Well,” he said, “we’ve made it all right for Imogen,and had a jolly good time. I vote we get home again before the fightingbegins.”

“What fighting?” asked Jane sleepily.

“Why, Julius Caesar, you little goat,” replied her kind brother.“Don’t you see that if this is the year fifty-five, Julius Caesarmay happen at any moment.”

“I thought you liked Caesar,” said Robert.

“So I do—in the history. But that’s different from beingkilled by his soldiers.”

“If we saw Caesar we might persuade him not to,” said Anthea.

“Youpersuade Caesar,” Robert laughed.

The learned gentleman, before anyone could stop him, said, “I only wishwe could see Caesar some time.”

And, of course, in just the little time the Psammead took to blow itself outfor wish-giving, the five, or six counting the Psammead, found themselves inCaesar’s camp, just outside Caesar’s tent. And they saw Caesar. ThePsammead must have taken advantage of the loose wording of the learnedgentleman’s wish, for it was not the same time of day as that on whichthe wish had been uttered among the dried ferns. It was sunset, and the greatman sat on a chair outside his tent gazing over the sea towardsBritain—everyone knew without being told that it was towards Britain. Twogolden eagles on the top of posts stood on each side of the tent, and on theflaps of the tent which was very gorgeous to look at were the letters S.P.Q.R.

The great man turned unchanged on the newcomers the august glance that he hadturned on the violet waters of the Channel. Though they had suddenly appearedout of nothing, Caesar never showed by the faintest movement of an eyelid, bythe least tightening of that firm mouth, that they were not some long expectedembassy. He waved a calm hand towards the sentinels, who sprang weapons in handtowards the newcomers.

“Back!” he said in a voice that thrilled like music. “Sincewhen has Caesar feared children and students?”

To the children he seemed to speak in the only language they knew; but thelearned gentleman heard—in rather a strange accent, but quiteintelligibly—the lips of Caesar speaking in the Latin tongue, and in thattongue, a little stiffly, he answered—

“It is a dream, O Caesar.”

“A dream?” repeated Caesar. “What is a dream?”

“This,” said the learned gentleman.

“Not it,” said Cyril, “it’s a sort of magic. We comeout of another time and another place.”

“And we want to ask you not to trouble about conquering Britain,”said Anthea; “it’s a poor little place, not worth botheringabout.”

“Are you from Britain?” the General asked. “Your clothes areuncouth, but well woven, and your hair is short as the hair of Roman citizens,not long like the hair of barbarians, yet such I deem you to be.”

“We’re not,” said Jane with angry eagerness;“we’re not barbarians at all. We come from the country where thesun never sets, and we’ve read about you in books; and ourcountry’s full of fine things—St Paul’s, and the Tower ofLondon, and Madame Tussaud’s Exhibition, and—”

Then the others stopped her.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Robert in a bitter undertone.

Caesar looked at the children a moment in silence. Then he called a soldier andspoke with him apart. Then he said aloud—

“You three elder children may go where you will within the camp. Fewchildren are privileged to see the camp of Caesar. The student and the smallergirl-child will remain here with me.”

Nobody liked this; but when Caesar said a thing that thing was so, and therewas an end to it. So the three went.

Left alone with Jane and the learned gentleman, the great Roman found it easyenough to turn them inside out. But it was not easy, even for him, to make heador tail of the insides of their minds when he had got at them.

The learned gentleman insisted that the whole thing was a dream, and refused totalk much, on the ground that if he did he would wake up.

Jane, closely questioned, was full of information about railways, electriclights, balloons, men-of-war, cannons, and dynamite.

“And do they fight with swords?” asked the General.

“Yes, swords and guns and cannons.”

Caesar wanted to know what guns were.

“You fire them,” said Jane, “and they go bang, and peoplefall down dead.”

“But what are guns like?”

Jane found them hard to describe.

“But Robert has a toy one in his pocket,” she said. So the otherswere recalled.

The boys explained the pistol to Caesar very fully, and he looked at it withthe greatest interest. It was a two-shilling pistol, the one that had done suchgood service in the old Egyptian village.

“I shall cause guns to be made,” said Caesar, “and you willbe detained till I know whether you have spoken the truth. I had just decidedthat Britain was not worth the bother of invading. But what you tell me decidesme that it is very much worth while.”

“But it’s all nonsense,” said Anthea. “Britain is justa savage sort of island—all fogs and trees and big rivers. But the peopleare kind. We know a little girl there named Imogen. And it’s no use yourmaking guns because you can’t fire them without gunpowder, and thatwon’t be invented for hundreds of years, and we don’t know how tomake it, and we can’t tell you. Do go straight home, dear Caesar, and letpoor little Britain alone.”

“But this other girl-child says—” said Caesar.

“All Jane’s been telling you is what it’s going to be,”Anthea interrupted, “hundreds and hundreds of years from now.”

“The little one is a prophetess, eh?” said Caesar, with a whimsicallook. “Rather young for the business, isn’t she?”

“You can call her a prophetess if you like,” said Cyril, “butwhat Anthea says is true.”

“Anthea?” said Caesar. “That’s a Greek name.”

“Very likely,” said Cyril, worriedly. “I say, I do wishyou’d give up this idea of conquering Britain. It’s not worthwhile, really it isn’t!”

“On the contrary,” said Caesar, “what you’ve told mehas decided me to go, if it’s only to find out what Britain is reallylike. Guards, detain these children.”

“Quick,” said Robert, “before the guards begin detaining. Wehad enough of that in Babylon.”

Jane held up the Amulet away from the sunset, and said the word. The learnedgentleman was pushed through and the others more quickly than ever beforepassed through the arch back into their own times and the quiet dustysitting-room of the learned gentleman.

It is a curious fact that when Caesar was encamped on the coast ofGaul—somewhere near Boulogne it was, I believe—he was sittingbefore his tent in the glow of the sunset, looking out over the violet watersof the English Channel. Suddenly he started, rubbed his eyes, and called hissecretary. The young man came quickly from within the tent.

“Marcus,” said Caesar. “I have dreamed a very wonderfuldream. Some of it I forget, but I remember enough to decide what was not beforedetermined. Tomorrow the ships that have been brought round from the Ligerisshall be provisioned. We shall sail for this three-cornered island. First, wewill take but two legions.

This, if what we have heard be true, should suffice. But if my dream be true,then a hundred legions will not suffice. For the dream I dreamed was the mostwonderful that ever tormented the brain even of Caesar. And Caesar has dreamedsome strange things in his time.”

“And if you hadn’t told Caesar all that about how things are now,he’d never have invaded Britain,” said Robert to Jane as they satdown to tea.

“Oh, nonsense,” said Anthea, pouring out; “it was all settledhundreds of years ago.”

“I don’t know,” said Cyril. “Jam, please. This abouttime being only a thingummy of thought is very confusing. If everything happensat the same time—”

“It can’t!” said Anthea stoutly, “thepresent’s the present and the past’s the past.”

“Not always,” said Cyril.

“When we were in the Past the present was the future. Now then!” headded triumphantly.

And Anthea could not deny it.

“I should have liked to see more of the camp,” said Robert.

“Yes, we didn’t get much for our money—but Imogen is happy,that’s one thing,” said Anthea. “We left her happy in thePast. I’ve often seen about people being happy in the Past, in poetrybooks. I see what it means now.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” said the Psammead sleepily, puttingits head out of its bag and taking it in again suddenly, “being left inthe Past.”

Everyone remembered this afterwards, when—

CHAPTER XI.
BEFORE PHARAOH

It was the day after the adventure of Julius Caesar and the Little Black Girlthat Cyril, bursting into the bathroom to wash his hands for dinner (you haveno idea how dirty they were, for he had been playing shipwrecked mariners allthe morning on the leads at the back of the house, where the water-cistern is),found Anthea leaning her elbows on the edge of the bath, and crying steadilyinto it.

“Hullo!” he said, with brotherly concern, “what’s upnow? Dinner’ll be cold before you’ve got enough salt-water for abath.”

“Go away,” said Anthea fiercely. “I hate you! I hateeverybody!”

There was a stricken pause.

“Ididn’t know,” said Cyril tamely.

“Nobody ever does know anything,” sobbed Anthea.

“I didn’t know you were waxy. I thought you’d just hurt yourfingers with the tap again like you did last week,” Cyril carefullyexplained.

“Oh—fingers!” sneered Anthea through her sniffs.

“Here, drop it, Panther,” he said uncomfortably. “Youhaven’t been having a row or anything?”

“No,” she said. “Wash your horrid hands, for goodness’sake, if that’s what you came for, or go.”

Anthea was so seldom cross that when she was cross the others were always moresurprised than angry.

Cyril edged along the side of the bath and stood beside her. He put his hand onher arm.

“Dry up, do,” he said, rather tenderly for him. And, finding thatthough she did not at once take his advice she did not seem to resent it, heput his arm awkwardly across her shoulders and rubbed his head against her ear.

“There!” he said, in the tone of one administering a priceless curefor all possible sorrows. “Now, what’s up?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I don’t feel laughish myself,” said Cyril, dismally.

“Well, then,” said Anthea, leaning her ear against his head,“it’s Mother.”

“What’s the matter with Mother?” asked Cyril, with apparentwant of sympathy. “She was all right in her letter this morning.”

“Yes; but I want her so.”

“You’re not the only one,” said Cyril briefly, and thebrevity of his tone admitted a good deal.

“Oh, yes,” said Anthea, “I know. We all want her all thetime. But I want her now most dreadfully, awfully much. I never wanted anythingso much. That Imogen child—the way the ancient British Queen cuddled herup! And Imogen wasn’t me, and the Queen was Mother. And then her letterthis morning! And about The Lamb liking the salt bathing! And she bathed him inthis very bath the night before she went away—oh, oh, oh!”

Cyril thumped her on the back.

“Cheer up,” he said. “You know my inside thinking that I wasdoing? Well, that was partly about Mother. We’ll soon get her back. Ifyou’ll chuck it, like a sensible kid, and wash your face, I’ll tellyou about it. That’s right. You let me get to the tap. Can’t youstop crying? Shall I put the door-key down your back?”

“That’s for noses,” said Anthea, “and I’m not akid any more than you are,” but she laughed a little, and her mouth beganto get back into its proper shape. You know what an odd shape your mouth getsinto when you cry in earnest.

“Look here,” said Cyril, working the soap round and round betweenhis hands in a thick slime of grey soapsuds. “I’ve been thinking.We’ve only just playedwith the Amulet so far. We’ve got toworkit now—work it for all it’s worth. And it isn’tonly Mother either. There’s Father out there all among the fighting. Idon’t howl about it, but I think—Oh, bother the soap!”The grey-lined soap had squirted out under the pressure of his fingers, and hadhit Anthea’s chin with as much force as though it had been shot from acatapult.

“There now,” she said regretfully, “now I shall have to washmy face.”

“You’d have had to do that anyway,” said Cyril withconviction. “Now, my idea’s this. You know missionaries?”

“Yes,” said Anthea, who did not know a single one.

“Well, they always take the savages beads and brandy, and stays, andhats, and braces, and really useful things—things the savageshaven’t got, and never heard about. And the savages love them for theirkind generousness, and give them pearls, and shells, and ivory, andcassowaries. And that’s the way—”

“Wait a sec,” said Anthea, splashing. “I can’t hearwhat you’re saying. Shells and—”

“Shells, and things like that. The great thing is to get people to loveyou by being generous. And that’s what we’ve got to do. Next timewe go into the Past we’ll regularly fit out the expedition. You rememberhow the Babylonian Queen froze on to that pocket-book? Well, we’ll takethings like that. And offer them in exchange for a sight of the Amulet.”

“A sight of it is not much good.”

“No, silly. But, don’t you see, when we’ve seen it we shallknow where it is, and we can go and take it in the night when everybody isasleep.”

“It wouldn’t be stealing, would it?” said Antheathoughtfully, “because it will be such an awfully long time ago when wedo it. Oh, there’s that bell again.”

As soon as dinner was eaten (it was tinned salmon and lettuce, and a jam tart),and the cloth cleared away, the idea was explained to the others, and thePsammead was aroused from sand, and asked what it thought would be goodmerchandise with which to buy the affection of say, the Ancient Egyptians, andwhether it thought the Amulet was likely to be found in the Court of Pharaoh.

But it shook its head, and shot out its snail’s eyes hopelessly.

“I’m not allowed to play in this game,” it said. “Ofcourse I couldfind out in a minute where the thing was, only Imayn’t. But I may go so far as to own that your idea of taking thingswith you isn’t a bad one. And I shouldn’t show them all at once.Take small things and conceal them craftily about your persons.”

This advice seemed good. Soon the table was littered over with things which thechildren thought likely to interest the Ancient Egyptians. Anthea broughtdolls, puzzle blocks, a wooden tea-service, a green leather case withNécessairewritten on it in gold letters. Aunt Emma had once given it toAnthea, and it had then contained scissors, penknife, bodkin, stiletto,thimble, corkscrew, and glove-buttoner. The scissors, knife, and thimble, andpenknife were, of course, lost, but the other things were there and as good asnew. Cyril contributed lead soldiers, a cannon, a catapult, a tin-opener, atie-clip, and a tennis ball, and a padlock—no key. Robert collected acandle (“I don’t suppose they ever saw a self-fitting paraffinone,” he said), a penny Japanese pin-tray, a rubber stamp with hisfather’s name and address on it, and a piece of putty.

Jane added a key-ring, the brass handle of a poker, a pot that had heldcold-cream, a smoked pearl button off her winter coat, and a key—no lock.

“We can’t take all this rubbish,” said Robert, with somescorn. “We must just each choose one thing.”

The afternoon passed very agreeably in the attempt to choose from the table thefour most suitable objects. But the four children could not agree what wassuitable, and at last Cyril said—

“Look here, let’s each be blindfolded and reach out, and the firstthing you touch you stick to.”

This was done.

Cyril touched the padlock.

Anthea got the Nécessaire.

Robert clutched the candle.

Jane picked up the tie-clip.

“It’s not much,” she said. “I don’t believeAncient Egyptians wore ties.”

“Never mind,” said Anthea. “I believe it’s luckier notto really choose. In the stories it’s always the thing thewood-cutter’s son picks up in the forest, and almost throws away becausehe thinks it’s no good, that turns out to be the magic thing in the end;or else someone’s lost it, and he is rewarded with the hand of theKing’s daughter in marriage.”

“I don’t want any hands in marriage, thank you.” said Cyrilfirmly.

“Nor yet me,” said Robert. “It’s always the end of theadventures when it comes to the marriage hands.”

“Arewe ready?” said Anthea.

“It isEgypt we’re going to, isn’t it?—niceEgypt?” said Jane. “I won’t go anywhere I don’t knowabout—like that dreadful big-wavy burning-mountain city,” sheinsisted.

Then the Psammead was coaxed into its bag.

“I say,” said Cyril suddenly, “I’m rather sick ofkings. And people notice you so in palaces. Besides the Amulet’s sure tobe in a Temple. Let’s just go among the common people, and try to workourselves up by degrees. We might get taken on as Temple assistants.”

“Like beadles,” said Anthea, “or vergers. They must havesplendid chances of stealing the Temple treasures.”

“Righto!” was the general rejoinder. The charm was held up. It grewbig once again, and once again the warm golden Eastern light glowed softlybeyond it.

As the children stepped through it loud and furious voices rang in their ears.They went suddenly from the quiet of Fitzroy Street dining-room into a veryangry Eastern crowd, a crowd much too angry to notice them. They edged throughit to the wall of a house and stood there. The crowd was of men, women, andchildren. They were of all sorts of complexions, and pictures of them mighthave been coloured by any child with a shilling paint-box. The colours thatchild would have used for complexions would have been yellow ochre, red ochre,light red, sepia, and indian ink. But their faces were paintedalready—black eyebrows and lashes, and some red lips. The women wore asort of pinafore with shoulder straps, and loose things wound round their headsand shoulders. The men wore very little clothing—for they were theworking people—and the Egyptian boys and girls wore nothing at all,unless you count the little ornaments hung on chains round their necks andwaists. The children saw all this before they could hear anything distinctly.Everyone was shouting so.

But a voice sounded above the other voices, and presently it was speaking in asilence.

“Comrades and fellow workers,” it said, and it was the voice of atall, coppery-coloured man who had climbed into a chariot that had been stoppedby the crowd. Its owner had bolted, muttering something about calling theGuards, and now the man spoke from it. “Comrades and fellow workers, howlong are we to endure the tyranny of our masters, who live in idleness andluxury on the fruit of our toil? They only give us a bare subsistence wage, andthey live on the fat of the land. We labour all our lives to keep them inwanton luxury. Let us make an end of it!”

A roar of applause answered him.

“How are you going to do it?” cried a voice.

“You look out,” cried another, “or you’ll get yourselfinto trouble.”

“I’ve heard almost every single word of that,” whisperedRobert, “in Hyde Park last Sunday!”

“Let us strike for more bread and onions and beer, and a longer mid-dayrest,” the speaker went on. “You are tired, you are hungry, you arethirsty. You are poor, your wives and children are pining for food. The barnsof the rich are full to bursting with the corn we want, the corn our labour hasgrown. To the granaries!”

“To the granaries!” cried half the crowd; but another voice shoutedclear above the tumult, “To Pharaoh! To the King! Let’s present apetition to the King! He will listen to the voice of the oppressed!”

For a moment the crowd swayed one way and another—first towards thegranaries and then towards the palace. Then, with a rush like that of animprisoned torrent suddenly set free, it surged along the street towards thepalace, and the children were carried with it. Anthea found it difficult tokeep the Psammead from being squeezed very uncomfortably.

The crowd swept through the streets of dull-looking houses with few windows,very high up, across the market where people were not buying but exchanginggoods. In a momentary pause Robert saw a basket of onions exchanged for a haircomb and five fish for a string of beads. The people in the market seemedbetter off than those in the crowd; they had finer clothes, and more of them.They were the kind of people who, nowadays, would have lived at Brixton orBrockley.

“What’s the trouble now?” a languid, large-eyed lady in acrimped, half-transparent linen dress, with her black hair very much braidedand puffed out, asked of a date-seller.

“Oh, the working-men—discontented as usual,” the mananswered. “Listen to them. Anyone would think it mattered whether theyhad a little more or less to eat. Dregs of society!” said thedate-seller.

“Scum!” said the lady.

“And I’ve heard thatbefore, too,” said Robert.

At that moment the voice of the crowd changed, from anger to doubt, from doubtto fear. There were other voices shouting; they shouted defiance and menace,and they came nearer very quickly. There was the rattle of wheels and thepounding of hoofs. A voice shouted, “Guards!”

“The Guards! The Guards!” shouted another voice, and the crowd ofworkmen took up the cry. “The Guards! Pharaoh’s Guards!” Andswaying a little once more, the crowd hung for a moment as it were balanced.Then as the trampling hoofs came nearer the workmen fled dispersed, up alleysand into the courts of houses, and the Guards in their embossed leatherchariots swept down the street at the gallop, their wheels clattering over thestones, and their dark-coloured, blue tunics blown open and back with the windof their going.

“So thatriot’s over,” said the crimped-linen-dressedlady; “that’s a blessing! And did you notice the Captain of theGuard? What a very handsome man he was, to be sure!”

The four children had taken advantage of the moment’s pause before thecrowd turned to fly, to edge themselves and drag each other into an archeddoorway.

Now they each drew a long breath and looked at the others.

“We’re well out of that,” said Cyril.

“Yes,” said Anthea, “but I do wish the poor men hadn’tbeen driven back before they could get to the King. He might have donesomething for them.”

“Not if he was the one in the Bible he wouldn’t,” said Jane.“He had a hard heart.”

“Ah, that was the Moses one,” Anthea explained. “The Josephone was quite different. I should like to see Pharaoh’s house. I wonderwhether it’s like the Egyptian Court in the Crystal Palace.”

“I thought we decided to try to get taken on in a Temple,” saidCyril in injured tones.

“Yes, but we’ve got to know someone first. Couldn’t we makefriends with a Temple doorkeeper—we might give him the padlock orsomething. I wonder which are temples and which are palaces,” Robertadded, glancing across the market-place to where an enormous gateway with hugeside buildings towered towards the sky. To right and left of it were otherbuildings only a little less magnificent.

“Did you wish to seek out the Temple of Amen Rā?” asked a softvoice behind them, “or the Temple of Mut, or the Temple of Khonsu?”

They turned to find beside them a young man. He was shaved clean from head tofoot, and on his feet were light papyrus sandals. He was clothed in a linentunic of white, embroidered heavily in colours. He was gay with anklets,bracelets, and armlets of gold, richly inlaid. He wore a ring on his finger,and he had a short jacket of gold embroidery something like the Zouave soldierswear, and on his neck was a gold collar with many amulets hanging from it. Butamong the amulets the children could see none like theirs.

“It doesn’t matter which Temple,” said Cyril frankly.

“Tell me your mission,” said the young man. “I am a divinefather of the Temple of Amen Rā and perhaps I can help you.”

“Well,” said Cyril, “we’ve come from the great Empireon which the sun never sets.”

“I thought somehow that you’d come from some odd, out-of-the-wayspot,” said the priest with courtesy.

“And we’ve seen a good many palaces. We thought we should like tosee a Temple, for a change,” said Robert.

The Psammead stirred uneasily in its embroidered bag.

“Have you brought gifts to the Temple?” asked the priestcautiously.

“We havegot some gifts,” said Cyril with equal caution.“You see there’s magic mixed up in it. So we can’t tell youeverything. But we don’t want to give our gifts for nothing.”

“Beware how you insult the god,” said the priest sternly. “Ialso can do magic. I can make a waxen image of you, and I can say words which,as the wax image melts before the fire, will make you dwindle away and at lastperish miserably.”

“Pooh!” said Cyril stoutly, “that’s nothing. I can makefireitself!”

“I should jolly well like to see you do it,” said the priestunbelievingly.

“Well, you shall,” said Cyril, “nothing easier. Just standclose round me.”

“Do you need no preparation—no fasting, no incantations?” Thepriest’s tone was incredulous.

“The incantation’s quite short,” said Cyril, taking the hint;“and as for fasting, it’s not needed in mysort of magic.Union Jack, Printing Press, Gunpowder, Rule Britannia! Come, Fire, at the endof this little stick!”

He had pulled a match from his pocket, and as he ended the incantation whichcontained no words that it seemed likely the Egyptian had ever heard he stoopedin the little crowd of his relations and the priest and struck the match on hisboot. He stood up, shielding the flame with one hand.

“See?” he said, with modest pride. “Here, take it into yourhand.”

“No, thank you,” said the priest, swiftly backing. “Can youdo that again?”

“Yes.”

“Then come with me to the great double house of Pharaoh. He loves goodmagic, and he will raise you to honour and glory. There’s no need ofsecrets between initiates,” he went on confidentially. “The factis, I am out of favour at present owing to a little matter of failure ofprophecy. I told him a beautiful princess would be sent to him from Syria, and,lo! a woman thirty years old arrived. But she wasa beautiful woman notso long ago. Time is only a mode of thought, you know.”

The children thrilled to the familiar words.

“So you know that too, do you?” said Cyril.

“It is part of the mystery of all magic, is it not?” said thepriest. “Now if I bring you to Pharaoh the little unpleasantness I spokeof will be forgotten. And I will ask Pharaoh, the Great House, Son of the Sun,and Lord of the South and North, to decree that you shall lodge in the Temple.Then you can have a good look round, and teach me your magic. And I will teachyou mine.”

This idea seemed good—at least it was better than any other which at thatmoment occurred to anybody, so they followed the priest through the city.

The streets were very narrow and dirty. The best houses, the priest explained,were built within walls twenty to twenty-five feet high, and such windows asshowed in the walls were very high up. The tops of palm-trees showed above thewalls. The poor people’s houses were little square huts with a door andtwo windows, and smoke coming out of a hole in the back.

“The poor Egyptians haven’t improved so very much in their buildingsince the first time we came to Egypt,” whispered Cyril to Anthea.

The huts were roofed with palm branches, and everywhere there were chickens,and goats, and little naked children kicking about in the yellow dust. On oneroof was a goat, who had climbed up and was eating the dry palm-leaves withsnorts and head-tossings of delight. Over every house door was some sort offigure or shape.

“Amulets,” the priest explained, “to keep off the evileye.”

“I don’t think much of your ‘nice Egypt’,” Robertwhispered to Jane; “it’s simply not a patch on Babylon.”

“Ah, you wait till you see the palace,” Jane whispered back.

The palace was indeed much more magnificent than anything they had yet seenthat day, though it would have made but a poor show beside that of theBabylonian King. They came to it through a great square pillared doorway ofsandstone that stood in a high brick wall. The shut doors were of massivecedar, with bronze hinges, and were studded with bronze nails. At the side wasa little door and a wicket gate, and through this the priest led the children.He seemed to know a word that made the sentries make way for him.

Inside was a garden, planted with hundreds of different kinds of trees andflowering shrubs, a lake full of fish, with blue lotus flowers at the margin,and ducks swimming about cheerfully, and looking, as Jane said, quite modern.

“The guard-chamber, the store-houses, the queen’s house,”said the priest, pointing them out.

They passed through open courtyards, paved with flat stones, and the priestwhispered to a guard at a great inner gate.

“We are fortunate,” he said to the children, “Pharaoh is evennow in the Court of Honour. Now, don’t forget to be overcome with respectand admiration. It won’t do any harm if you fall flat on your faces. Andwhatever you do, don’t speak until you’re spoken to.”

“There used to be that rule in our country,” said Robert,“when my father was a little boy.”

At the outer end of the great hall a crowd of people were arguing with and evenshoving the Guards, who seemed to make it a rule not to let anyone throughunless they were bribed to do it. The children heard several promises of theutmost richness, and wondered whether they would ever be kept.

All round the hall were pillars of painted wood. The roof was of cedar,gorgeously inlaid. About half-way up the hall was a wide, shallow step thatwent right across the hall; then a little farther on another; and then a steepflight of narrower steps, leading right up to the throne on which Pharaoh sat.He sat there very splendid, his red and white double crown on his head, and hissceptre in his hand. The throne had a canopy of wood and wooden pillars paintedin bright colours. On a low, broad bench that ran all round the hall sat thefriends, relatives, and courtiers of the King, leaning on richly-coveredcushions.

The priest led the children up the steps till they all stood before the throne;and then, suddenly, he fell on his face with hands outstretched. The others didthe same, Anthea falling very carefully because of the Psammead.

“Raise them,” said the voice of Pharaoh, “that they may speakto me.”

The officers of the King’s household raised them.

“Who are these strangers?” Pharaoh asked, and added very crossly,“And what do you mean, Rekh-marā, by daring to come into my presencewhile your innocence is not established?”

“Oh, great King,” said the young priest, “you are the veryimage of Rā, and the likeness of his son Horus in every respect. You know thethoughts of the hearts of the gods and of men, and you have divined that thesestrangers are the children of the children of the vile and conquered Kings ofthe Empire where the sun never sets. They know a magic not known to theEgyptians. And they come with gifts in their hands as tribute to Pharaoh, inwhose heart is the wisdom of the gods, and on his lips their truth.”

“That is all very well,” said Pharaoh, “but where are thegifts?”

The children, bowing as well as they could in their embarrassment at findingthemselves the centre of interest in a circle more grand, more golden and morehighly coloured than they could have imagined possible, pulled out the padlock,the Nécessaire, and the tie-clip. “But it’s not tribute allthe same,” Cyril muttered. “England doesn’t paytribute!”

Pharaoh examined all the things with great interest when the chief of thehousehold had taken them up to him. “Deliver them to the Keeper of theTreasury,” he said to one near him. And to the children he said—

“A small tribute, truly, but strange, and not without worth. And themagic, O Rekh-marā?”

“These unworthy sons of a conquered nation...” began Rekh-marā.

“Nothing of the kind!” Cyril whispered angrily.

“... of a vile and conquered nation, can make fire to spring from drywood—in the sight of all.”

“I should jolly well like to see them do it,” said Pharaoh, just asthe priest had done.

So Cyril, without more ado, did it.

“Do more magic,” said the King, with simple appreciation.

“He cannot do any more magic,” said Anthea suddenly, and all eyeswere turned on her, “because of the voice of the free people who areshouting for bread and onions and beer and a long mid-day rest. If the peoplehad what they wanted, he could do more.”

“A rude-spoken girl,” said Pharaoh. “But give the dogs whatthey want,” he said, without turning his head. “Let them have theirrest and their extra rations. There are plenty of slaves to work.”

A richly-dressed official hurried out.

“You will be the idol of the people,” Rekh-marā whispered joyously;“the Temple of Amen will not contain their offerings.”

Cyril struck another match, and all the court was overwhelmed with delight andwonder. And when Cyril took the candle from his pocket and lighted it with thematch, and then held the burning candle up before the King the enthusiasm knewno bounds.

“Oh, greatest of all, before whom sun and moon and stars bow down,”said Rekh-marā insinuatingly, “am I pardoned? Is my innocence madeplain?”

“As plain as it ever will be, I daresay,” said Pharaoh shortly.“Get along with you. You are pardoned. Go in peace.” The priestwent with lightning swiftness.

“And what,” said the King suddenly, “is it that moves in thatsack?

Show me, oh strangers.”

There was nothing for it but to show the Psammead.

“Seize it,” said Pharaoh carelessly. “A very curious monkey.It will be a nice little novelty for my wild beast collection.”

And instantly, the entreaties of the children availing as little as the bitesof the Psammead, though both bites and entreaties were fervent, it was carriedaway from before their eyes.

“Oh, dobe careful!” cried Anthea. “At least keep itdry! Keep it in its sacred house!”

She held up the embroidered bag.

“It’s a magic creature,” cried Robert; “it’ssimply priceless!”

“You’ve no right to take it away,” cried Jane incautiously.“It’s a shame, a barefaced robbery, that’s what it is!”

There was an awful silence. Then Pharaoh spoke.

“Take the sacred house of the beast from them,” he said, “andimprison all. Tonight after supper it may be our pleasure to see more magic.Guard them well, and do not torture them—yet!”

“Oh, dear!” sobbed Jane, as they were led away. “I knewexactly what it would be! Oh, I wish you hadn’t!”

“Shut up, silly,” said Cyril. “You know you wouldcometo Egypt. It was your own idea entirely. Shut up. It’ll be allright.”

“I thought we should play ball with queens,” sobbed Jane,“and have no end of larks! And now everything’s going to beperfectly horrid!”

The room they were shut up in wasa room, and not a dungeon, as theelder ones had feared. That, as Anthea said, was one comfort. There werepaintings on the wall that at any other time would have been most interesting.And a sort of low couch, and chairs.

When they were alone Jane breathed a sigh of relief.

“Now we can get home all right,” she said.

“And leave the Psammead?” said Anthea reproachfully.

“Wait a sec. I’ve got an idea,” said Cyril. He pondered for afew moments. Then he began hammering on the heavy cedar door. It opened, and aguard put in his head.

“Stop that row,” he said sternly, “or—”

“Look here,” Cyril interrupted, “it’s very dull for youisn’t it? Just doing nothing but guard us. Wouldn’t you like to seesome magic? We’re not too proud to do it for you. Wouldn’t you liketo see it?”

“I don’t mind if I do,” said the guard.

“Well then, you get us that monkey of ours that was taken away, andwe’ll show you.”

“How do I know you’re not making game of me?” asked thesoldier. “Shouldn’t wonder if you only wanted to get the creatureso as to set it on me. I daresay its teeth and claws are poisonous.”

“Well, look here,” said Robert. “You see we’ve gotnothing with us? You just shut the door, and open it again in five minutes, andwe’ll have got a magic—oh, I don’t know—a magic flowerin a pot for you.”

“If you can do that you can do anything,” said the soldier, and hewent out and barred the door.

Then, of course, they held up the Amulet. They found the East by holding it up,and turning slowly till the Amulet began to grow big, walked home through it,and came back with a geranium in full scarlet flower from the staircase windowof the Fitzroy Street house.

“Well!” said the soldier when he came in. “I reallyam—!”

“We can do much more wonderful things than that—oh, ever somuch,” said Anthea persuasively, “if we only have our monkey. Andhere’s twopence for yourself.”

The soldier looked at the twopence.

“What’s this?” he said.

Robert explained how much simpler it was to pay money for things than toexchange them as the people were doing in the market. Later on the soldier gavethe coins to his captain, who, later still, showed them to Pharaoh, who ofcourse kept them and was much struck with the idea. That was really how coinsfirst came to be used in Egypt. You will not believe this, I daresay, butreally, if you believe the rest of the story, I don’t see why youshouldn’t believe this as well.

“I say,” said Anthea, struck by a sudden thought, “I supposeit’ll be all right about those workmen? The King won’t go back onwhat he said about them just because he’s angry with us?”

“Oh, no,” said the soldier, “you see, he’s ratherafraid of magic. He’ll keep to his word right enough.”

“Then that’sall right,” said Robert; and Anthea saidsoftly and coaxingly—

“Ah, doget us the monkey, and then you’ll see some lovelymagic. Do—there’s a nice, kind soldier.”

“I don’t know where they’ve put your precious monkey, but ifI can get another chap to take on my duty here I’ll see what I cando,” he said grudgingly, and went out.

“Do you mean,” said Robert, “that we’re going offwithout even tryingfor the other half of the Amulet?”

“I really think we’d better,” said Anthea tremulously.

“Of course the other half of the Amulet’s here somewhere or ourhalf wouldn’t have brought us here. I do wish we could find it. It is apity we don’t know any realmagic. Then we could find out. I dowonder where it is—exactly.”

If they had only known it, something very like the other half of the Amulet wasvery near them. It hung round the neck of someone, and that someone waswatching them through a chink, high up in the wall, specially devised forwatching people who were imprisoned. But they did not know.

There was nearly an hour of anxious waiting. They tried to take an interest inthe picture on the wall, a picture of harpers playing very odd harps and womendancing at a feast. They examined the painted plaster floor, and the chairswere of white painted wood with coloured stripes at intervals.

But the time went slowly, and everyone had time to think of how Pharaoh hadsaid, “Don’t torture them—yet.”

“If the worst comes to the worst,” said Cyril, “we must justbunk, and leave the Psammead. I believe it can take care of itself well enough.They won’t kill it or hurt it when they find it can speak and givewishes. They’ll build it a temple, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“I couldn’t bear to go without it,” said Anthea, “andPharaoh said ‘After supper’, that won’t be just yet. And thesoldier wascurious. I’m sure we’re all right for thepresent.”

All the same, the sounds of the door being unbarred seemed one of the prettiestsounds possible.

“Suppose he hasn’t got the Psammead?” whispered Jane.

But that doubt was set at rest by the Psammead itself; for almost before thedoor was open it sprang through the chink of it into Anthea’s arms,shivering and hunching up its fur.

“Here’s its fancy overcoat,” said the soldier, holding outthe bag, into which the Psammead immediately crept.

“Now,” said Cyril, “what would you like us to do? Anythingyou’d like us to get for you?”

“Any little trick you like,” said the soldier. “If you canget a strange flower blooming in an earthenware vase you can get anything, Isuppose,” he said. “I just wish I’d got two men’s loadsof jewels from the King’s treasury. That’s what I’ve alwayswished for.”

At the word “wish” the children knew that the Psammead wouldattend to thatbit of magic. It did, and the floor was littered with aspreading heap of gold and precious stones.

“Any other little trick?” asked Cyril loftily. “Shall webecome invisible? Vanish?”

“Yes, if you like,” said the soldier; “but not through thedoor, you don’t.”

He closed it carefully and set his broad Egyptian back against it.

“No! no!” cried a voice high up among the tops of the tall woodenpillars that stood against the wall. There was a sound of someone moving above.

The soldier was as much surprised as anybody.

“That’s magic, if you like,” he said.

And then Jane held up the Amulet, uttering the word of Power. At the sound ofit and at the sight of the Amulet growing into the great arch the soldier fellflat on his face among the jewels with a cry of awe and terror.

The children went through the arch with a quickness born of long practice. ButJane stayed in the middle of the arch and looked back.

The others, standing on the dining-room carpet in Fitzroy Street, turned andsaw her still in the arch. “Someone’s holding her,” criedCyril. “We must go back.”

But they pulled at Jane’s hands just to see if she would come, and, ofcourse, she did come.

Then, as usual, the arch was little again and there they all were.

“Oh, I do wish you hadn’t!” Jane said crossly. “Itwasso interesting. The priest had come in and he was kicking thesoldier, and telling him he’d done it now, and they must take the jewelsand flee for their lives.”

“And did they?”

“I don’t know. You interfered,” said Jane ungratefully.“I shouldhave liked to see the last of it.”

As a matter of fact, none of them had seen the last of it—if by“it” Jane meant the adventure of the Priest and the Soldier.

CHAPTER XII.
THE SORRY-PRESENT AND THE EXPELLED LITTLE BOY

“Look here, said Cyril, sitting on the dining-table and swinging hislegs; “I really have got it.”

“Got what?” was the not unnatural rejoinder of the others.

Cyril was making a boat with a penknife and a piece of wood, and the girls weremaking warm frocks for their dolls, for the weather was growing chilly.

“Why, don’t you see? It’s really not any good our going intothe Past looking for that Amulet. The Past’s as full of different timesas—as the sea is of sand. We’re simply bound to hit upon the wrongtime. We might spend our lives looking for the Amulet and never see a sight ofit. Why, it’s the end of September already. It’s like looking for aneedle in—”

“A bottle of hay—I know,” interrupted Robert; “but ifwe don’t go on doing that, what ARE we to do?”

“That’s just it,” said Cyril in mysterious accents.“Oh, bother!”

Old Nurse had come in with the tray of knives, forks, and glasses, and wasgetting the tablecloth and table-napkins out of the chiffonier drawer.

“It’s always meal-times just when you come to anythinginteresting.”

“And a nice interesting handful you’dbe, MasterCyril,” said old Nurse, “if I wasn’t to bring your meals upto time. Don’t you begin grumbling now, fear you get something to grumbleat.”

“I wasn’t grumbling,” said Cyril quite untruly; “but itdoes always happen like that.”

“You deserve to havesomething happen,” said old Nurse.“Slave, slave, slave for you day and night, and never a word of thanks....”

“Why, you do everything beautifully,” said Anthea.

“It’s the first time any of you’s troubled to say so,anyhow,” said Nurse shortly.

“What’s the use of saying?” inquired Robert. “Weeatour meals fast enough, and almost always two helps. Thatought to show you!”

“Ah!” said old Nurse, going round the table and putting the knivesand forks in their places; “you’re a man all over, Master Robert.There was my poor Green, all the years he lived with me I never could get moreout of him than ‘It’s all right!’ when I asked him ifhe’d fancied his dinner. And yet, when he lay a-dying, his last words tome was, ‘Maria, you was always a good cook!’” She ended witha trembling voice.

“And so you are,” cried Anthea, and she and Jane instantly huggedher.

When she had gone out of the room Anthea said—

“I know exactly how she feels. Now, look here! Let’s do a penanceto show we’re sorry we didn’t think about telling her before whatnice cooking she does, and what a dear she is.”

“Penances are silly,” said Robert.

“Not if the penance is something to please someone else. I didn’tmean old peas and hair shirts and sleeping on the stones. I mean we’llmake her a sorry-present,” explained Anthea. “Look here! I voteCyril doesn’t tell us his idea until we’ve done something for oldNurse. It’s worse for us than him,” she added hastily,“because he knows what it is and we don’t. Do you all agree?”

The others would have been ashamed not to agree, so they did. It was not tillquite near the end of dinner—mutton fritters and blackberry and applepie—that out of the earnest talk of the four came an idea that pleasedeverybody and would, they hoped, please Nurse.

Cyril and Robert went out with the taste of apple still in their mouths and thepurple of blackberries on their lips—and, in the case of Robert, on thewristband as well—and bought a big sheet of cardboard at the stationers.Then at the plumber’s shop, that has tubes and pipes and taps andgas-fittings in the window, they bought a pane of glass the same size as thecardboard. The man cut it with a very interesting tool that had a bit ofdiamond at the end, and he gave them, out of his own free generousness, a largepiece of putty and a small piece of glue.

While they were out the girls had floated four photographs of the four childrenoff their cards in hot water. These were now stuck in a row along the top ofthe cardboard. Cyril put the glue to melt in a jampot, and put the jampot in asaucepan and saucepan on the fire, while Robert painted a wreath of poppiesround the photographs. He painted rather well and very quickly, and poppies areeasy to do if you’ve once been shown how. Then Anthea drew some printedletters and Jane coloured them. The words were:

“With all our loves to shew
We like the thigs to eat.”

And when the painting was dry they all signed their names at the bottom and putthe glass on, and glued brown paper round the edge and over the back, and puttwo loops of tape to hang it up by.

Of course everyone saw when too late that there were not enough letters in“things”, so the missing “n”was put in. It wasimpossible, of course, to do the whole thing over again for just one letter.

“There!” said Anthea, placing it carefully, face up, under thesofa. “It’ll be hours before the glue’s dry. Now, Squirrel,fire ahead!”

“Well, then,” said Cyril in a great hurry, rubbing at his glueyhands with his pocket handkerchief. “What I mean to say is this.”

There was a long pause.

“Well,” said Robert at last, “whatis it that you meanto say?”

“It’s like this,” said Cyril, and again stopped short.

“Like what?” asked Jane.

“How can I tell you if you will all keep on interrupting?” saidCyril sharply.

So no one said any more, and with wrinkled frowns he arranged his ideas.

“Look here,” he said, “what I really mean is—we canremember now what we did when we went to look for the Amulet. And if we’dfound it we should remember that too.”

“Rather!” said Robert. “Only, you see wehaven’t.”

“But in the future we shall have.”

“Shall we, though?” said Jane.

“Yes—unless we’ve been made fools of by the Psammead. Sothen, where we want to go to is where we shall remember about where we did findit.”

“I see,” said Robert, but he didn’t.

“Idon’t,” said Anthea, who did, very nearly.“Say it again, Squirrel, and very slowly.”

“If,” said Cyril, very slowly indeed, “we go into thefuture—after we’ve found the Amulet—”

“But we’ve got to find it first,” said Jane.

“Hush!” said Anthea.

“There will be a future,” said Cyril, driven to greater clearnessby the blank faces of the other three, “there will be a time afterwe’ve found it. Let’s go into thattime—and then weshall remember howwe found it. And then we can go back and do thefinding really.”

“I see,” said Robert, and this time he did, and I hope youdo.

“Yes,” said Anthea. “Oh, Squirrel, how clever of you!”

“But will the Amulet work both ways?” inquired Robert.

“It ought to,” said Cyril, “if time’s only a thingummyof whatsitsname. Anyway we might try.”

“Let’s put on our best things, then,” urged Jane. “Youknow what people say about progress and the world growing better and brighter.I expect people will be awfully smart in the future.”

“All right,” said Anthea, “we should have to wash anyway,I’m all thick with glue.”

When everyone was clean and dressed, the charm was held up.

“We want to go into the future and see the Amulet after we’ve foundit,” said Cyril, and Jane said the word of Power. They walked through thebig arch of the charm straight into the British Museum. They knew it at once,and there, right in front of them, under a glass case, was theAmulet—their own half of it, as well as the other half they had neverbeen able to find—and the two were joined by a pin of red stone thatformed a hinge.

“Oh, glorious!” cried Robert. “Here it is!”

“Yes,” said Cyril, very gloomily, “here it is. But wecan’t get it out.”

“No,” said Robert, remembering how impossible the Queen of Babylonhad found it to get anything out of the glass cases in the Museum—exceptby Psammead magic, and then she hadn’t been able to take anything awaywith her; “no—but we remember where we got it, and wecan—”

“Oh, dowe?” interrupted Cyril bitterly, “doyouremember where we got it?”

“No,” said Robert, “I don’t exactly, now I come tothink of it.”

Nor did any of the others!

“But whycan’t we?” said Jane.

“Oh, Idon’t know,” Cyril’s tone was impatient,“some silly old enchanted rule I suppose. I wish people would teach youmagic at school like they do sums—or instead of. It would be some usehaving an Amulet then.”

“I wonder how far we are in the future,” said Anthea; the Museumlooks just the same, only lighter and brighter, somehow.”

“Let’s go back and try the Past again,” said Robert.

“Perhaps the Museum people could tell us how we got it,” saidAnthea with sudden hope. There was no one in the room, but in the next gallery,where the Assyrian things are and still were, they found a kind, stout man in aloose, blue gown, and stockinged legs.

“Oh, they’ve got a new uniform, how pretty!” said Jane.

When they asked him their question he showed them a label on the case. It said,“From the collection of—.” A name followed, and it was thename of the learned gentleman who, among themselves, and to his face when hehad been with them at the other side of the Amulet, they had called Jimmy.

“That’snot much good,” said Cyril, “thankyou.”

“How is it you’re not at school?” asked the kind man in blue.“Not expelled for long I hope?”

“We’re not expelled at all,” said Cyril rather warmly.

“Well, I shouldn’t do it again, if I were you,” said the man,and they could see he did not believe them. There is no company so littlepleasing as that of people who do not believe you.

“Thank you for showing us the label,” said Cyril. And they cameaway.

As they came through the doors of the Museum they blinked at the sudden gloryof sunlight and blue sky. The houses opposite the Museum were gone. Insteadthere was a big garden, with trees and flowers and smooth green lawns, and nota single notice to tell you not to walk on the grass and not to destroy thetrees and shrubs and not to pick the flowers. There were comfortable seats allabout, and arbours covered with roses, and long, trellised walks, alsorose-covered. Whispering, splashing fountains fell into full white marblebasins, white statues gleamed among the leaves, and the pigeons that sweptabout among the branches or pecked on the smooth, soft gravel were not blackand tumbled like the Museum pigeons are now, but bright and clean and sleek asbirds of new silver. A good many people were sitting on the seats, and on thegrass babies were rolling and kicking and playing—with very little onindeed. Men, as well as women, seemed to be in charge of the babies and wereplaying with them.

“It’s like a lovely picture,” said Anthea, and it was. Forthe people’s clothes were of bright, soft colours and all beautifully andvery simply made. No one seemed to have any hats or bonnets, but there were agreat many Japanese-looking sunshades. And among the trees were hung lamps ofcoloured glass.

“I expect they light those in the evening,” said Jane. “Idowish we lived in the future!”

They walked down the path, and as they went the people on the benches looked atthe four children very curiously, but not rudely or unkindly. The children, intheir turn, looked—I hope they did not stare—at the faces of thesepeople in the beautiful soft clothes. Those faces were worth looking at. Notthat they were all handsome, though even in the matter of handsomeness they hadthe advantage of any set of people the children had ever seen. But it was theexpression of their faces that made them worth looking at. The children couldnot tell at first what it was.

“I know,” said Anthea suddenly. “They’re not worried;that’s what it is.”

And it was. Everybody looked calm, no one seemed to be in a hurry, no oneseemed to be anxious, or fretted, and though some did seem to be sad, not asingle one looked worried.

But though the people looked kind everyone looked so interested in the childrenthat they began to feel a little shy and turned out of the big main path into anarrow little one that wound among trees and shrubs and mossy, drippingsprings.

It was here, in a deep, shadowed cleft between tall cypresses, that they foundthe expelled little boy. He was lying face downward on the mossy turf, and thepeculiar shaking of his shoulders was a thing they had seen, more than once, ineach other. So Anthea kneeled down by him and said—

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m expelled from school,” said the boy between his sobs.

This was serious. People are not expelled for light offences.

“Do you mind telling us what you’d done?”

“I—I tore up a sheet of paper and threw it about in theplayground,” said the child, in the tone of one confessing an unutterablebaseness. “You won’t talk to me any more now you know that,”he added without looking up.

“Was that all?” asked Anthea.

“It’s about enough,” said the child; “and I’mexpelled for the whole day!”

“I don’t quite understand,” said Anthea, gently. The boylifted his face, rolled over, and sat up.

“Why, whoever on earth are you?” he said.

“We’re strangers from a far country,” said Anthea. “Inour country it’s not a crime to leave a bit of paper about.”

“It is here,” said the child. “If grown-ups do itthey’re fined. When we do it we’re expelled for the wholeday.”

“Well, but,” said Robert, “that just means a day’sholiday.”

“You mustcome from a long way off,” said the little boy.“A holiday’s when you all have play and treats and jolliness, allof you together. On your expelled days no one’ll speak to you. Everyonesees you’re an Expelleder or you’d be in school.”

“Suppose you were ill?”

“Nobody is—hardly. If they are, of course they wear the badge, andeveryone is kind to you. I know a boy that stole his sister’s illnessbadge and wore it when he was expelled for a day. Hegot expelled for aweek for that. It must be awful not to go to school for a week.”

“Do you likeschool, then?” asked Robert incredulously.

“Of course I do. It’s the loveliest place there is. I choserailways for my special subject this year, there are such splendid models andthings, and now I shall be all behind because of that torn-up paper.”

“You choose your own subject?” asked Cyril.

“Yes, of course. Where didyou come from? Don’t you knowanything?”

“No,” said Jane definitely; “so you’d better tellus.”

“Well, on Midsummer Day school breaks up and everything’s decoratedwith flowers, and you choose your special subject for next year. Of course youhave to stick to it for a year at least. Then there are all your othersubjects, of course, reading, and painting, and the rules ofCitizenship.”

“Good gracious!” said Anthea.

“Look here,” said the child, jumping up, “it’s nearlyfour. The expelledness only lasts till then. Come home with me. Mother willtell you all about everything.”

“Will your mother like you taking home strange children?” askedAnthea.

“I don’t understand,” said the child, settling his leatherbelt over his honey-coloured smock and stepping out with hard little bare feet.“Come on.”

So they went.

The streets were wide and hard and very clean. There were no horses, but a sortof motor carriage that made no noise. The Thames flowed between green banks,and there were trees at the edge, and people sat under them, fishing, for thestream was clear as crystal. Everywhere there were green trees and there was nosmoke. The houses were set in what seemed like one green garden.

The little boy brought them to a house, and at the window was a good, brightmother-face. The little boy rushed in, and through the window they could seehim hugging his mother, then his eager lips moving and his quick handspointing.

A lady in soft green clothes came out, spoke kindly to them, and took them intothe oddest house they had ever seen. It was very bare, there were no ornaments,and yet every single thing was beautiful, from the dresser with its rows ofbright china, to the thick squares of Eastern-looking carpet on the floors. Ican’t describe that house; I haven’t the time. And I haven’theart either, when I think how different it was from our houses. The lady tookthem all over it. The oddest thing of all was the big room in the middle. Ithad padded walls and a soft, thick carpet, and all the chairs and tables werepadded. There wasn’t a single thing in it that anyone could hurt itselfwith.

“What ever’s this for?—lunatics?” asked Cyril.

The lady looked very shocked.

“No! It’s for the children, of course,” she said.“Don’t tell me that in your country there are no children’srooms.”

“There are nurseries,” said Anthea doubtfully, “but thefurniture’s all cornery and hard, like other rooms.”

“How shocking!” said the lady; “you must be verymuchbehind the times in your country! Why, the children are more than half of thepeople; it’s not much to have one room where they can have a good timeand not hurt themselves.”

“But there’s no fireplace,” said Anthea.

“Hot-air pipes, of course,” said the lady. “Why, how couldyou have a fire in a nursery? A child might get burned.”

“In our country,” said Robert suddenly, “more than 3,000children are burned to death every year. Father told me,” he added, as ifapologizing for this piece of information, “once when I’d beenplaying with fire.”

The lady turned quite pale.

“What a frightful place you must live in!” she said.

“What’s all the furniture padded for?” Anthea asked, hastilyturning the subject.

“Why, you couldn’t have little tots of two or three running aboutin rooms where the things were hard and sharp! They might hurtthemselves.”

Robert fingered the scar on his forehead where he had hit it against thenursery fender when he was little.

“But does everyone have rooms like this, poor people and all?”asked Anthea.

“There’s a room like this wherever there’s a child, ofcourse,” said the lady. “How refreshingly ignorant youare!—no, I don’t mean ignorant, my dear. Of course, you’reawfully well up in ancient History. But I see you haven’t done yourDuties of Citizenship Course yet.”

“But beggars, and people like that?” persisted Anthea “andtramps and people who haven’t any homes?”

“People who haven’t any homes?” repeated the lady. “Ireally don’tunderstand what you’re talking about.”

“It’s all different in our country,” said Cyril carefully;and I have read it used to be different in London. Usedn’t people to haveno homes and beg because they were hungry? And wasn’t London very blackand dirty once upon a time? And the Thames all muddy and filthy? And narrowstreets, and—”

“You must have been reading very old-fashioned books,” said thelady. “Why, all that was in the dark ages! My husband can tell you moreabout it than I can. He took Ancient History as one of his specialsubjects.”

“I haven’t seen any working people,” said Anthea.

“Why, we’re all working people,” said the lady; “atleast my husband’s a carpenter.”

“Good gracious!” said Anthea; “but you’re alady!”

“Ah,” said the lady, “that quaint old word! Well, my husbandwillenjoy a talk with you. In the dark ages everyone was allowed tohave a smoky chimney, and those nasty horses all over the streets, and allsorts of rubbish thrown into the Thames. And, of course, the sufferings of thepeople will hardly bear thinking of. It’s very learned of you to know itall. Did youmake Ancient History your special subject?”

“Not exactly,” said Cyril, rather uneasily. “What is theDuties of Citizenship Course about?”

“Don’t you reallyknow? Aren’t youpretending—just for fun? Really not? Well, that course teaches you how tobe a good citizen, what you must do and what you mayn’t do, so as to doyour full share of the work of making your town a beautiful and happy place forpeople to live in. There’s a quite simple little thing they teach thetiny children. How does it go...?

“I must not steal and I must learn,
Nothing is mine that I do not earn.
I must try in work and play
To make things beautiful every day.
I must be kind to everyone,
And never let cruel things be done.
I must be brave, and I must try
When I am hurt never to cry,
And always laugh as much as I can,
And be glad that I’m going to be a man
To work for my living and help the rest
And never do less than my very best.”

“That’s very easy,” said Jane. “Icould rememberthat.”

“That’s only the very beginning, of course,” said the lady;“there are heaps more rhymes. There’s the one beginning—

“I must not litter the beautiful street
With bits of paper or things to eat;
I must not pick the public flowers,
They are not mine, but they are ours.”

“And ‘things to eat’ reminds me—are you hungry? Wells,run and get a tray of nice things.”

“Why do you call him ‘Wells’?” asked Robert, as the boyran off.

“It’s after the great reformer—surely you’ve heard ofhim?He lived in the dark ages, and he saw that what you ought to do isto find out what you want and then try to get it. Up to then people had alwaystried to tinker up what they’d got. We’ve got a great many of thethings he thought of. Then ‘Wells’ means springs of clear water.It’s a nice name, don’t you think?”

Here Wells returned with strawberries and cakes and lemonade on a tray, andeverybody ate and enjoyed.

“Now, Wells,” said the lady, “run off or you’ll be lateand not meet your Daddy.”

Wells kissed her, waved to the others, and went.

“Look here,” said Anthea suddenly, “would you like to come toourcountry, and see what it’s like? It wouldn’t take you aminute.”

The lady laughed. But Jane held up the charm and said the word.

“What a splendid conjuring trick!” cried the lady, enchanted withthe beautiful, growing arch.

“Go through,” said Anthea.

The lady went, laughing. But she did not laugh when she found herself,suddenly, in the dining-room at Fitzroy Street.

“Oh, what a horribletrick!” she cried. “What ahateful, dark, ugly place!”

She ran to the window and looked out. The sky was grey, the street was foggy, adismal organ-grinder was standing opposite the door, a beggar and a man whosold matches were quarrelling at the edge of the pavement on whose greasy blacksurface people hurried along, hastening to get to the shelter of their houses.

“Oh, look at their faces, their horrible faces!” she cried.“What’s the matter with them all?”

“They’re poor people, that’s all,” said Robert.

“But it’s notall! They’re ill, they’re unhappy,they’re wicked! Oh, do stop it, there’s dear children. It’svery, very clever. Some sort of magic-lantern trick, I suppose, like I’veread of. But dostop it. Oh! their poor, tired, miserable, wickedfaces!”

The tears were in her eyes. Anthea signed to Jane. The arch grew, they spokethe words, and pushed the lady through it into her own time and place, whereLondon is clean and beautiful, and the Thames runs clear and bright, and thegreen trees grow, and no one is afraid, or anxious, or in a hurry.

There was a silence. Then—

“I’m glad we went,” said Anthea, with a deep breath.

“I’ll never throw paper about again as long as I live,” saidRobert.

“Mother always told us not to,” said Jane.

“I would like to take up the Duties of Citizenship for a specialsubject,” said Cyril. “I wonder if Father could put me through it.I shall ask him when he comes home.”

“If we’d found the Amulet, Father could be home now,”said Anthea, “and Mother and The Lamb.”

“Let’s go into the future again,” suggested Janebrightly. “Perhaps we could remember if it wasn’t such an awful wayoff.”

So they did. This time they said, “The future, where the Amulet is, notso far away.”

And they went through the familiar arch into a large, light room with threewindows. Facing them was the familiar mummy-case. And at a table by the windowsat the learned gentleman. They knew him at once, though his hair was white. Hewas one of the faces that do not change with age. In his hand was theAmulet—complete and perfect.

He rubbed his other hand across his forehead in the way they were so used to.

“Dreams, dreams!” he said; “old age is full of them!”

“You’ve been in dreams with us before now,” said Robert,“don’t you remember?”

“I do, indeed,” said he. The room had many more books than theFitzroy Street room, and far more curious and wonderful Assyrian and Egyptianobjects. “The most wonderful dreams I ever had had you in them.”

“Where,” asked Cyril, “did you get that thing in yourhand?”

“If you weren’t just a dream,” he answered, smiling,you’d remember that you gave it to me.”

“But where did we get it?” Cyril asked eagerly.

“Ah, you never would tell me that,” he said, “You always hadyour little mysteries. You dear children! What a difference you made to thatold Bloomsbury house! I wish I could dream you oftener. Now you’re grownup you’re not like you used to be.”

“Grown up?” said Anthea.

The learned gentleman pointed to a frame with four photographs in it.

“There you are,” he said.

The children saw four grown-up people’s portraits—two ladies, twogentlemen—and looked on them with loathing.

“Shall we grow up like that?” whispered Jane. “Howperfectly horrid!”

“If we’re ever like that, we sha’nn’t know it’shorrid, I expect,” Anthea with some insight whispered back. “Yousee, you get used to yourself while you’re changing.It’s—it’s being so sudden makes it seem so frightfulnow.”

The learned gentleman was looking at them with wistful kindness.“Don’t let me undream you just yet,” he said. There was apause.

“Do you remember whenwe gave you that Amulet?” Cyril askedsuddenly.

“You know, or you would if you weren’t a dream, that it was on the3rd December, 1905. I shall never forget thatday.”

“Thank you,” said Cyril, earnestly; “oh, thank you verymuch.”

“You’ve got a new room,” said Anthea, looking out of thewindow, “and what a lovely garden!”

“Yes,” said he, “I’m too old now to care even aboutbeing near the Museum. This is a beautiful place. Do you know—I canhardly believe you’re just a dream, you do look so exactly real. Do youknow...” his voice dropped, “I can say it to you, though, ofcourse, if I said it to anyone that wasn’t a dream they’d call memad; there was something about that Amulet you gave me—something verymysterious.”

“There was that,” said Robert.

“Ah, I don’t mean your pretty little childish mysteries about whereyou got it. But about the thing itself. First, the wonderful dreams I used tohave, after you’d shown me the first half of it! Why, my book onAtlantis, that I did, was the beginning of my fame and my fortune, too. And Igot it all out of a dream! And then, ‘Britain at the Time of the RomanInvasion’—that was only a pamphlet, but it explained a lot ofthings people hadn’t understood.”

“Yes,” said Anthea, “it would.”

“That was the beginning. But after you’d given me the whole of theAmulet—ah, it was generous of you!—then, somehow, I didn’tneed to theorize, I seemed to knowabout the old Egyptian civilization.And they can’t upset my theories”—he rubbed his thin handsand laughed triumphantly—“they can’t, though they’vetried. Theories, they call them, but they’re more like—Idon’t know—more like memories. I knowI’m right aboutthe secret rites of the Temple of Amen.”

“I’m so glad you’re rich,” said Anthea. “Youweren’t, you know, at Fitzroy Street.”

“Indeed I wasn’t,” said he, “but I am now. Thisbeautiful house and this lovely garden—I dig in it sometimes; youremember, you used to tell me to take more exercise? Well, I feel I owe it allto you—and the Amulet.”

“I’m so glad,” said Anthea, and kissed him. He started.

“Thatdidn’t feel like a dream,” he said, and hisvoice trembled.

“It isn’t exactly a dream,” said Anthea softly,“it’s all part of the Amulet—it’s a sort of extraspecial, real dream, dear Jimmy.”

“Ah,” said he, “when you call me that, I know I’mdreaming. My little sister—I dream of her sometimes. But it’s notreal like this. Do you remember the day I dreamed you brought me the Babylonishring?”

“We remember it all,” said Robert. “Did you leave FitzroyStreet because you were too rich for it?”

“Oh, no!” he said reproachfully. “You know I should neverhave done such a thing as that. Of course, I left when your old Nurse diedand—what’s the matter!”

“Old Nurse dead?” said Anthea. “Oh, no!”

“Yes, yes, it’s the common lot. It’s a long time agonow.”

Jane held up the Amulet in a hand that twittered.

“Come!” she cried, “oh, come home! She may be dead before weget there, and then we can’t give it to her. Oh, come!”

“Ah, don’t let the dream end now!” pleaded the learnedgentleman.

“It must,” said Anthea firmly, and kissed him again.

“When it comes to people dying,” said Robert, “good-bye!I’m so glad you’re rich and famous and happy.”

“Docome!” cried Jane, stamping in her agony of impatience.

And they went. Old Nurse brought in tea almost as soon as they were back inFitzroy Street. As she came in with the tray, the girls rushed at her andnearly upset her and it.

“Don’t die!” cried Jane, “oh, don’t!” andAnthea cried, “Dear, ducky, darling old Nurse, don’t die!”

“Lord, love you!” said Nurse, “I’m not agoin’ todie yet a while, please Heaven! Whatever on earth’s the matter with thechicks?”

“Nothing. Only don’t!”

She put the tray down and hugged the girls in turn. The boys thumped her on theback with heartfelt affection.

“I’m as well as ever I was in my life,” she said. “Whatnonsense about dying! You’ve been a sitting too long in the dusk,that’s what it is. Regular blind man’s holiday. Leave go of me,while I light the gas.”

The yellow light illuminated four pale faces.

“We do love you so,” Anthea went on, “and we’ve madeyou a picture to show you how we love you. Get it out, Squirrel.”

The glazed testimonial was dragged out from under the sofa and displayed.

“The glue’s not dry yet,” said Cyril, “look out!”

“What a beauty!” cried old Nurse. “Well, I never! And yourpictures and the beautiful writing and all. Well, I always did say your heartswas in the right place, if a bit careless at times. Well! I never did! Idon’t know as I was ever pleased better in my life.”

She hugged them all, one after the other. And the boys did not mind it,somehow, that day.

“How is it we can remember all about the future, now?”Anthea woke the Psammead with laborious gentleness to put the question.“How is it we can remember what we saw in the future, and yet, when wewerein the future, we could not remember the bit of the future that waspast then, the time of finding the Amulet?”

“Why, what a silly question!” said the Psammead, “of courseyou cannot remember what hasn’t happened yet.”

“But the futurehasn’t happened yet,” Antheapersisted, “and we remember that all right.”

“Oh, that isn’t what’s happened, my good child,” saidthe Psammead, rather crossly, “that’s prophetic vision. And youremember dreams, don’t you? So why not visions? You never do seem tounderstand the simplest thing.”

It went to sand again at once.

Anthea crept down in her nightgown to give one last kiss to old Nurse, and onelast look at the beautiful testimonial hanging, by its tapes, its glue nowfirmly set, in glazed glory on the wall of the kitchen.

“Good-night, bless your loving heart,” said old Nurse, “ifonly you don’t catch your deather-cold!”

CHAPTER XIII.
THE SHIPWRECK ON THE TIN ISLANDS

“Blue and red,” said Jane softly, “make purple.”

“Not always they don’t,” said Cyril, “it has to becrimson lake and Prussian blue. If you mix Vermilion and Indigo you get themost loathsome slate colour.”

“Sepia’s the nastiest colour in the box, I think,” said Jane,sucking her brush.

They were all painting. Nurse in the flush of grateful emotion, excited byRobert’s border of poppies, had presented each of the four with ashilling paint-box, and had supplemented the gift with a pile of old copies ofthe Illustrated London News.

“Sepia,” said Cyril instructively, “is made out of beastlycuttlefish.”

“Purple’s made out of a fish, as well as out of red andblue,” said Robert. “Tyrian purple was, I know.”

“Out of lobsters?” said Jane dreamily. “They’re redwhen they’re boiled, and blue when they aren’t. If you mixed liveand dead lobsters you’d get Tyrian purple.”

“Ishouldn’t like to mix anything with a livelobster,” said Anthea, shuddering.

“Well, there aren’t any other red and blue fish,” said Jane;“you’d have to.”

“I’d rather not have the purple,” said Anthea.

“The Tyrian purple wasn’t that colour when it came out of the fish,nor yet afterwards, it wasn’t,” said Robert; “it was scarletreally, and Roman Emperors wore it. And it wasn’t any nice colour whilethe fish had it. It was a yellowish-white liquid of a creamyconsistency.”

“How do you know?” asked Cyril.

“I read it,” said Robert, with the meek pride of superiorknowledge.

“Where?” asked Cyril.

“In print,” said Robert, still more proudly meek.

“You think everything’s true if it’s printed,” saidCyril, naturally annoyed, “but it isn’t. Father said so. Quite alot of lies get printed, especially in newspapers.”

“You see, as it happens,” said Robert, in what was really a ratherannoying tone, “it wasn’t a newspaper, it was in a book.”

“How sweet Chinese white is!” said Jane, dreamily sucking her brushagain.

“I don’t believe it,” said Cyril to Robert.

“Have a suck yourself,” suggested Robert.

“I don’t mean about the Chinese white. I mean about the cream fishturning purple and—”

“Oh!” cried Anthea, jumping up very quickly, “I’m tiredof painting. Let’s go somewhere by Amulet. I say let’s letitchoose.”

Cyril and Robert agreed that this was an idea. Jane consented to stop paintingbecause, as she said, Chinese white, though certainly sweet, gives you a queerfeeling in the back of the throat if you paint with it too long.

The Amulet was held up.

“Take us somewhere,” said Jane, “anywhere you like in thePast—but somewhere where you are.” Then she said the word.

Next moment everyone felt a queer rocking and swaying—something like whatyou feel when you go out in a fishing boat. And that was not wonderful, whenyou come to think of it, for it was in a boat that they found themselves. Aqueer boat, with high bulwarks pierced with holes for oars to go through. Therewas a high seat for the steersman, and the prow was shaped like the head ofsome great animal with big, staring eyes. The boat rode at anchor in a bay, andthe bay was very smooth. The crew were dark, wiry fellows with black beards andhair. They had no clothes except a tunic from waist to knee, and round capswith knobs on the top. They were very busy, and what they were doing was sointeresting to the children that at first they did not even wonder where theAmulet had brought them.

And the crew seemed too busy to notice the children. They were fastening rushbaskets to a long rope with a great piece of cork at the end, and in eachbasket they put mussels or little frogs. Then they cast out the rope, thebaskets sank, but the cork floated. And all about on the blue water were otherboats and all the crews of all the boats were busy with ropes and baskets andfrogs and mussels.

“Whatever are you doing?” Jane suddenly asked a man who had rathermore clothes than the others, and seemed to be a sort of captain or overseer.He started and stared at her, but he had seen too many strange lands to be verymuch surprised at these queerly-dressed stowaways.

“Setting lines for the dye shell-fish,” he said shortly. “Howdid you get here?”

“A sort of magic,” said Robert carelessly. The Captain fingered anAmulet that hung round his neck.

“What is this place?” asked Cyril.

“Tyre, of course,” said the man. Then he drew back and spoke in alow voice to one of the sailors.

“Now we shall know about your precious cream-jug fish,” said Cyril.

“But we never saidcome to Tyre,” said Jane.

“The Amulet heard us talking, I expect. I think it’s mostobliging of it,” said Anthea.

“And the Amulet’s here too,” said Robert. “We ought tobe able to find it in a little ship like this. I wonder which of them’sgot it.”

“Oh—look, look!” cried Anthea suddenly. On the bare breast ofone of the sailors gleamed something red. It was the exact counterpart of theirprecious half-Amulet.

A silence, full of emotion, was broken by Jane.

“Then we’ve found it!” she said. “Oh do let’stake it and go home!”

“Easy to say ‘take it’,” said Cyril; “he looksvery strong.”

He did—yet not so strong as the other sailors.

“It’s odd,” said Anthea musingly, “I do believeI’ve seen that man somewhere before.”

“He’s rather like our learned gentleman,” said Robert,“but I’ll tell you who he’s much more like—”

At this moment that sailor looked up. His eyes met Robert’s—andRobert and the others had no longer any doubt as to where they had seen himbefore. It was Rekh-marā, the priest who had led them to the palace ofPharaoh—and whom Jane had looked back at through the arch, when he wascounselling Pharaoh’s guard to take the jewels and fly for his life.

Nobody was quite pleased, and nobody quite knew why.

Jane voiced the feelings of all when she said, fingering theirAmuletthrough the folds of her frock, “We can go back in a minute if anythingnasty happens.”

For the moment nothing worse happened than an offer of food—figs andcucumbers it was, and very pleasant.

“I see,” said the Captain, “that you are from a far country.Since you have honoured my boat by appearing on it, you must stay here tillmorning. Then I will lead you to one of our great ones. He loves strangers fromfar lands.”

“Let’s go home,” Jane whispered, “all the frogs aredrowning now. I think the people here are cruel.”

But the boys wanted to stay and see the lines taken up in the morning.

“It’s just like eel-pots and lobster-pots,” said Cyril,“the baskets only open from outside—I vote we stay.”

So they stayed.

“That’s Tyre over there,” said the Captain, who was evidentlytrying to be civil. He pointed to a great island rock, that rose steeply fromthe sea, crowned with huge walls and towers. There was another city on themainland.

“That’s part of Tyre, too,” said the Captain;“it’s where the great merchants have their pleasure-houses andgardens and farms.”

“Look, look!” Cyril cried suddenly; “what a lovely littleship!”

A ship in full sail was passing swiftly through the fishing fleet. TheCaptain’s face changed. He frowned, and his eyes blazed with fury.

“Insolent young barbarian!” he cried. “Do you call the shipsof Tyre little?None greater sail the seas. That ship has been on athree years’ voyage. She is known in all the great trading ports fromhere to the Tin Islands. She comes back rich and glorious. Her very anchor isof silver.”

“I’m sure we beg your pardon,” said Anthea hastily. “Inour country we say ‘little’ for a pet name. Your wife might callyou her dear little husband, you know.”

“I should like to catch her at it,” growled the Captain, but hestopped scowling.

“It’s a rich trade,” he went on. “For cloth oncedipped, second-best glass, and the rough images our young artists carve forpractice, the barbarian King in Tessos lets us work the silver mines. We get somuch silver there that we leave them our iron anchors and come back with silverones.”

“How splendid!” said Robert. “Do go on. What’s clothonce dipped?”

“You mustbe barbarians from the outer darkness,” said theCaptain scornfully. “All wealthy nations know that our finest stuffs aretwice dyed—dibaptha. They’re only for the robes of kings andpriests and princes.”

“What do the rich merchants wear,” asked Jane, with interest,“in the pleasure-houses?”

“They wear the dibaptha. Ourmerchants areprinces,”scowled the skipper.

“Oh, don’t be cross, we do so like hearing about things. We want toknow allabout the dyeing,” said Anthea cordially.

“Oh, you do, do you?” growled the man. “So that’s whatyou’re here for? Well, you won’t get the secrets of the dye tradeout of me.”

He went away, and everyone felt snubbed and uncomfortable. And all the time thelong, narrow eyes of the Egyptian were watching, watching. They felt as thoughhe was watching them through the darkness, when they lay down to sleep on apile of cloaks.

Next morning the baskets were drawn up full of what looked like whelk shells.

The children were rather in the way, but they made themselves as small as theycould. While the skipper was at the other end of the boat they did ask onequestion of a sailor, whose face was a little less unkind than the others.

“Yes,” he answered, “this is the dye-fish. It’s a sortof murex—and there’s another kind that they catch at Sidon andthen, of course, there’s the kind that’s used for the dibaptha. Butthat’s quite different. It’s—”

“Hold your tongue!” shouted the skipper. And the man held it.

The laden boat was rowed slowly round the end of the island, and was made fastin one of the two great harbours that lay inside a long breakwater. The harbourwas full of all sorts of ships, so that Cyril and Robert enjoyed themselvesmuch more than their sisters. The breakwater and the quays were heaped withbales and baskets, and crowded with slaves and sailors. Farther along some menwere practising diving.

“That’s jolly good,” said Robert, as a naked brown body cleftthe water.

“I should think so,” said the skipper. “The pearl-divers ofPersia are not more skilful. Why, we’ve got a fresh-water spring thatcomes out at the bottom of the sea. Our divers dive down and bring up the freshwater in skin bottles! Can your barbarian divers do as much?”

“I suppose not,” said Robert, and put away a wild desire to explainto the Captain the English system of waterworks, pipes, taps, and theintricacies of the plumbers’ trade.

As they neared the quay the skipper made a hasty toilet. He did his hair,combed his beard, put on a garment like a jersey with short sleeves, anembroidered belt, a necklace of beads, and a big signet ring.

“Now,” said he, “I’m fit to be seen. Come along?”

“Where to?” said Jane cautiously.

“To Pheles, the great sea-captain, said the skipper, “the man Itold you of, who loves barbarians.”

Then Rekh-marā came forward, and, for the first time, spoke.

“I have known these children in another land,” he said. “Youknow my powers of magic. It was my magic that brought these barbarians to yourboat. And you know how they will profit you. I read your thoughts. Let me comewith you and see the end of them, and then I will work the spell I promised youin return for the little experience you have so kindly given me on yourboat.”

The skipper looked at the Egyptian with some disfavour.

“So it was yourdoing,” he said. “I might have guessedit. Well, come on.”

So he came, and the girls wished he hadn’t. But Robert whispered—

“Nonsense—as long as he’s with us we’ve got somechance of the Amulet. We can always fly if anything goes wrong.”

The morning was so fresh and bright; their breakfast had been so good and sounusual; they had actually seen the Amulet round the Egyptian’s neck. Oneor two, or all these things, suddenly raised the children’s spirits. Theywent off quite cheerfully through the city gate—it was not arched, butroofed over with a great flat stone—and so through the street, whichsmelt horribly of fish and garlic and a thousand other things even lessagreeable. But far worse than the street scents was the scent of the factory,where the skipper called in to sell his night’s catch. I wish I couldtell you all about that factory, but I haven’t time, and perhaps afterall you aren’t interested in dyeing works. I will only mention thatRobert was triumphantly proved to be right. The dye wasayellowish-white liquid of a creamy consistency, and it smelt more strongly ofgarlic than garlic itself does.

While the skipper was bargaining with the master of the dye works the Egyptiancame close to the children, and said, suddenly and softly—

“Trust me.”

“I wish we could,” said Anthea.

“You feel,” said the Egyptian, “that I want your Amulet. Thatmakes you distrust me.”

“Yes,” said Cyril bluntly.

“But you also, you want my Amulet, and I am trusting you.”

“There’s something in that,” said Robert.

“We have the two halves of the Amulet,” said the Priest, “butnot yet the pin that joined them. Our only chance of getting that is to remaintogether. Once part these two halves and they may never be found in the sametime and place. Be wise. Our interests are the same.”

Before anyone could say more the skipper came back, and with him thedye-master. His hair and beard were curled like the men’s in Babylon, andhe was dressed like the skipper, but with added grandeur of gold andembroidery. He had necklaces of beads and silver, and a glass amulet with aman’s face, very like his own, set between two bull’s heads, aswell as gold and silver bracelets and armlets. He looked keenly at thechildren. Then he said—

“My brother Pheles has just come back from Tarshish. He’s at hisgarden house—unless he’s hunting wild boar in the marshes. He getsfrightfully bored on shore.”

“Ah,” said the skipper, “he’s a true-born Phoenician.‘Tyre, Tyre for ever! Oh, Tyre rules the waves!’ as the old songsays. I’ll go at once, and show him my young barbarians.”

“I should,” said the dye-master. “They are very rum,aren’t they? What frightful clothes, and what a lot of them! Observe thecovering of their feet. Hideous indeed.”

Robert could not help thinking how easy, and at the same time pleasant, itwould be to catch hold of the dye-master’s feet and tip him backward intothe great sunken vat just near him. But if he had, flight would have had to bethe next move, so he restrained his impulse.

There was something about this Tyrian adventure that was different from all theothers. It was, somehow, calmer. And there was the undoubted fact that thecharm was there on the neck of the Egyptian.

So they enjoyed everything to the full, the row from the Island City to theshore, the ride on the donkeys that the skipper hired at the gate of themainland city, and the pleasant country—palms and figs and cedars allabout. It was like a garden—clematis, honeysuckle, and jasmine clungabout the olive and mulberry trees, and there were tulips and gladiolus, andclumps of mandrake, which has bell-flowers that look as though they were cutout of dark blue jewels. In the distance were the mountains of Lebanon.

The house they came to at last was rather like a bungalow—long and low,with pillars all along the front. Cedars and sycamores grew near it andsheltered it pleasantly.

Everyone dismounted, and the donkeys were led away.

“Why is this like Rosherville?” whispered Robert, and instantlysupplied the answer.

“Because it’s the place to spend a happy day.”

“It’s jolly decent of the skipper to have brought us to such aripping place,” said Cyril.

“Do you know,” said Anthea, “this feels more real thananything else we’ve seen? It’s like a holiday in the country athome.”

The children were left alone in a large hall. The floor was mosaic, done withwonderful pictures of ships and sea-beasts and fishes. Through an open doorwaythey could see a pleasant courtyard with flowers.

“I should like to spend a week here,” said Jane, “and donkeyride every day.”

Everyone was feeling very jolly. Even the Egyptian looked pleasanter thanusual. And then, quite suddenly, the skipper came back with a joyous smile.With him came the master of the house. He looked steadily at the children andnodded twice.

“Yes,” he said, “my steward will pay you the price. But Ishall not pay at that high rate for the Egyptian dog.”

The two passed on.

“This,” said the Egyptian, “is a pretty kettle offish.”

“What is?” asked all the children at once.

“Our present position,” said Rekh-marā. “Our seafaringfriend,” he added, “has sold us all for slaves!”

A hasty council succeeded the shock of this announcement. The Priest wasallowed to take part in it. His advice was “stay”, because theywere in no danger, and the Amulet in its completeness must be somewhere near,or, of course, they could not have come to that place at all. And after somediscussion they agreed to this.

The children were treated more as guests than as slaves, but the Egyptian wassent to the kitchen and made to work.

Pheles, the master of the house, went off that very evening, by theKing’s orders, to start on another voyage. And when he was gone his wifefound the children amusing company, and kept them talking and singing anddancing till quite late. “To distract my mind from my sorrows,” shesaid.

“I do like being a slave,” remarked Jane cheerfully, as they curledup on the big, soft cushions that were to be their beds.

It was black night when they were awakened, each by a hand passed softly overits face, and a low voice that whispered—

“Be quiet, or all is lost.”

So they were quiet.

“It’s me, Rekh-marā, the Priest of Amen,” said the whisperer.“The man who brought us has gone to sea again, and he has taken my Amuletfrom me by force, and I know no magic to get it back. Is there magic for thatin the Amulet you bear?”

Everyone was instantly awake by now.

“We can go after him,” said Cyril, leaping up; “but he mighttake oursas well; or he might be angry with us for followinghim.”

“I’ll see to that,” said the Egyptian in the dark.“Hide your Amulet well.”

There in the deep blackness of that room in the Tyrian country house the Amuletwas once more held up and the word spoken.

All passed through on to a ship that tossed and tumbled on a wind-blown sea.They crouched together there till morning, and Jane and Cyril were not at allwell. When the dawn showed, dove-coloured, across the steely waves, they stoodup as well as they could for the tumbling of the ship. Pheles, that hardysailor and adventurer, turned quite pale when he turned round suddenly and sawthem.

“Well!” he said, “well, I never did!”

“Master,” said the Egyptian, bowing low, and that was even moredifficult than standing up, “we are here by the magic of the sacredAmulet that hangs round your neck.”

“I never did!” repeated Pheles. “Well, well!”

“What port is the ship bound for?” asked Robert, with a nauticalair.

But Pheles said, “Are you a navigator?” Robert had to own that hewas not.

“Then,” said Pheles, “I don’t mind telling you thatwe’re bound for the Tin Isles. Tyre alone knows where the Tin Isles are.It is a splendid secret we keep from all the world. It is as great a thing tous as your magic to you.”

He spoke in quite a new voice, and seemed to respect both the children and theAmulet a good deal more than he had done before.

“The King sent you, didn’t he?” said Jane.

“Yes,” answered Pheles, “he bade me set sail with half ascore brave gentlemen and this crew. You shall go with us, and see manywonders.” He bowed and left them.

“What are we going to do now?” said Robert, when Pheles had causedthem to be left along with a breakfast of dried fruits and a sort of hardbiscuit.

“Wait till he lands in the Tin Isles,” said Rekh-marā, “thenwe can get the barbarians to help us. We will attack him by night and tear thesacred Amulet from his accursed heathen neck,” he added, grinding histeeth.

“When shall we get to the Tin Isles?” asked Jane.

“Oh—six months, perhaps, or a year,” said the Egyptiancheerfully.

“A yearof this?” cried Jane, and Cyril, who was stillfeeling far too unwell to care about breakfast, hugged himself miserably andshuddered.

It was Robert who said—

“Look here, we can shorten that year. Jane, out with the Amulet! Wishthat we were where the Amulet will be when the ship is twenty miles from theTin Island. That’ll give us time to mature our plans.”

It was done—the work of a moment—and there they were on the sameship, between grey northern sky and grey northern sea. The sun was setting in apale yellow line. It was the same ship, but it was changed, and so were thecrew. Weather-worn and dirty were the sailors, and their clothes torn andragged. And the children saw that, of course, though they had skipped the ninemonths, the ship had had to live through them. Pheles looked thinner, and hisface was rugged and anxious.

“Ha!” he cried, “the charm has brought you back! I haveprayed to it daily these nine months—and now you are here? Have you nomagic that can help?”

“What is your need?” asked the Egyptian quietly.

“I need a great wave that shall whelm away the foreign ship that followsus. A month ago it lay in wait for us, by the pillars of the gods, and itfollows, follows, to find out the secret of Tyre—the place of the TinIslands. If I could steer by night I could escape them yet, but tonight therewill be no stars.”

“My magic will not serve you here,” said the Egyptian.

But Robert said, “My magic will not bring up great waves, but I can showyou how to steer without stars.”

He took out the shilling compass, still, fortunately, in working order, that hehad bought off another boy at school for fivepence, a piece of indiarubber, astrip of whalebone, and half a stick of red sealing-wax.

And he showed Pheles how it worked. And Pheles wondered at the compass’smagic truth.

“I will give it to you,” Robert said, “in return for thatcharm about your neck.”

Pheles made no answer. He first laughed, snatched the compass fromRobert’s hand, and turned away still laughing.

“Be comforted,” the Priest whispered, “our time willcome.”

The dusk deepened, and Pheles, crouched beside a dim lantern, steered by theshilling compass from the Crystal Palace.

No one ever knew how the other ship sailed, but suddenly, in the deep night,the look-out man at the stern cried out in a terrible voice—

“She is close upon us!”

“And we,” said Pheles, “are close to the harbour.” Hewas silent a moment, then suddenly he altered the ship’s course, and thenhe stood up and spoke.

“Good friends and gentlemen,” he said, “who are bound with mein this brave venture by our King’s command, the false, foreign ship isclose on our heels. If we land, they land, and only the gods know whether theymight not beat us in fight, and themselves survive to carry back the tale ofTyre’s secret island to enrich their own miserable land. Shall thisbe?”

“Never!” cried the half-dozen men near him. The slaves were rowinghard below and could not hear his words.

The Egyptian leaped upon him; suddenly, fiercely, as a wild beast leaps.“Give me back my Amulet,” he cried, and caught at the charm. Thechain that held it snapped, and it lay in the Priest’s hand.

Pheles laughed, standing balanced to the leap of the ship that answered theoarstroke.

“This is no time for charms and mummeries,” he said.“We’ve lived like men, and we’ll die like gentlemen for thehonour and glory of Tyre, our splendid city. ‘Tyre, Tyre for ever!It’s Tyre that rules the waves.’ I steer her straight for theDragon rocks, and we go down for our city, as brave men should. The creepingcowards who follow shall go down as slaves—and slaves they shall be tous—when we live again. Tyre, Tyre for ever!”

A great shout went up, and the slaves below joined in it.

“Quick, the Amulet,” cried Anthea, and held it up. Rekh-marā heldup the one he had snatched from Pheles. The word was spoken, and the two greatarches grew on the plunging ship in the shrieking wind under the dark sky. Fromeach Amulet a great and beautiful green light streamed and shone far out overthe waves. It illuminated, too, the black faces and jagged teeth of the greatrocks that lay not two ships’ lengths from the boat’s peaked nose.

“Tyre, Tyre for ever! It’s Tyre that rules the waves!” thevoices of the doomed rose in a triumphant shout. The children scrambled throughthe arch, and stood trembling and blinking in the Fitzroy Street parlour, andin their ears still sounded the whistle of the wind, and the rattle of theoars, the crash of the ships bow on the rocks, and the last shout of the bravegentlemen-adventurers who went to their deaths singing, for the sake of thecity they loved.

“And so we’ve lost the other half of the Amulet again,” saidAnthea, when they had told the Psammead all about it.

“Nonsense, pooh!” said the Psammead. “That wasn’t theother half. It was the same half that you’ve got—the one thatwasn’t crushed and lost.”

“But how could it be the same?” said Anthea gently.

“Well, not exactly, of course. The one you’ve got is a good manyyears older, but at any rate it’s not the other one. What did you saywhen you wished?”

“I forget,” said Jane.

“I don’t,” said the Psammead. “You said, ‘Take uswhere youare’—and it did, so you see it was the samehalf.”

“I see,” said Anthea.

“But you mark my words,” the Psammead went on, “you’llhave trouble with that Priest yet.”

“Why, he was quite friendly,” said Anthea.

“All the same you’d better beware of the Reverend Rekh-marā.”

“Oh, I’m sick of the Amulet,” said Cyril, “we shallnever get it.”

“Oh yes we shall,” said Robert. “Don’t you rememberDecember 3rd?”

“Jinks!” said Cyril, “I’d forgotten that.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Jane, “and I don’tfeel at all well.”

“If I were you,” said the Psammead, “I should not go out intothe Past again till that date. You’ll find it safer not to go whereyou’re likely to meet that Egyptian any more just at present.”

“Of course we’ll do as you say,” said Anthea soothingly,“though there’s something about his face that I really dolike.”

“Still, you don’t want to run after him, I suppose,” snappedthe Psammead. “You wait till the 3rd, and then see what happens.”

Cyril and Jane were feeling far from well, Anthea was always obliging, soRobert was overruled. And they promised. And none of them, not even thePsammead, at all foresaw, as you no doubt do quite plainly, exactly what it wasthat wouldhappen on that memorable date.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE HEART’S DESIRE

If I only had time I could tell you lots of things. For instance, how, in spiteof the advice of the Psammead, the four children did, one very wet day, gothrough their Amulet Arch into the golden desert, and there find the greatTemple of Baalbec and meet with the Phœnix whom they never thought to seeagain. And how the Phœnix did not remember them at all until it went into asort of prophetic trance—if that can be called remembering. But, alas! Ihaven’ttime, so I must leave all that out though it was awonderfully thrilling adventure. I must leave out, too, all about the visit ofthe children to the Hippodrome with the Psammead in its travelling bag, andabout how the wishes of the people round about them were granted so suddenlyand surprisingly that at last the Psammead had to be taken hurriedly home byAnthea, who consequently missed half the performance. Then there was the timewhen, Nurse having gone to tea with a friend out Ivalunk way, they were playing“devil in the dark”—and in the midst of that most creepypastime the postman’s knock frightened Jane nearly out of her life. Shetook in the letters, however, and put them in the back of the hat-stand drawer,so that they should be safe. And safe they were, for she never thought of themagain for weeks and weeks.

One really good thing happened when they took the Psammead to a magic-lanternshow and lecture at the boys’ school at Camden Town. The lecture was allabout our soldiers in South Africa. And the lecturer ended up by saying,“And I hope every boy in this room has in his heart the seeds of courageand heroism and self-sacrifice, and I wish that every one of you may grow up tobe noble and brave and unselfish, worthy citizens of this great Empire for whomour soldiers have freely given their lives.”

And, of course, this came true—which was a distinct score for CamdenTown.

As Anthea said, it was unlucky that the lecturer said boys, because now she andJane would have to be noble and unselfish, if at all, without any outside help.But Jane said, “I daresay we are already because of our beautifulnatures. It’s only boys that have to be made brave bymagic”—which nearly led to a first-class row.

And I daresay you would like to know all about the affair of the fishing rod,and the fish-hooks, and the cook next door—which was amusing from somepoints of view, though not perhaps the cook’s—but there really isno time even for that.

The only thing that there’s time to tell about is the Adventure ofMaskelyne and Cooke’s, and the Unexpected Apparition—which is alsothe beginning of the end.

It was Nurse who broke into the gloomy music of the autumn rain on the windowpanes by suggesting a visit to the Egyptian Hall, England’s Home ofMystery. Though they had good, but private reasons to know that their ownparticular personal mystery was of a very different brand, the four allbrightened at the idea. All children, as well as a good many grown-ups, loveconjuring.

“It’s in Piccadilly,” said old Nurse, carefully counting outthe proper number of shillings into Cyril’s hand, “not so very fardown on the left from the Circus. There’s big pillars outside, somethinglike Carter’s seed place in Holborn, as used to be Day and Martin’sblacking when I was a gell. And something like Euston Station, only not sobig.”

“Yes, I know,” said everybody.

So they started.

But though they walked along the left-hand side of Piccadilly they saw nopillared building that was at all like Carter’s seed warehouse or EustonStation or England’s Home of Mystery as they remembered it.

At last they stopped a hurried lady, and asked her the way to Maskelyne andCooke’s.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” she said, pushing past them.“I always shop at the Stores.” Which just shows, as Jane said, howignorant grown-up people are.

It was a policeman who at last explained to them that England’s Mysteriesare now appropriately enough enacted at St George’s Hall. So they trampedto Langham Place, and missed the first two items in the programme. But theywere in time for the most wonderful magic appearances and disappearances, whichthey could hardly believe—even with all their knowledge of a largermagic—was not really magic after all.

“If only the Babylonians could have seen thisconjuring,”whispered Cyril. “It takes the shine out of their old conjurer,doesn’t it?”

“Hush!” said Anthea and several other members of the audience.

Now there was a vacant seat next to Robert. And it was when all eyes were fixedon the stage where Mr Devant was pouring out glasses of all sorts of differentthings to drink, out of one kettle with one spout, and the audience weredelightedly tasting them, that Robert felt someone in that vacant seat. He didnot feel someone sit down in it. It was just that one moment there was no onesitting there, and the next moment, suddenly, there was someone.

Robert turned. The someone who had suddenly filled that empty place wasRekh-marā, the Priest of Amen!

Though the eyes of the audience were fixed on Mr David Devant, Mr DavidDevant’s eyes were fixed on the audience. And it happened that his eyeswere more particularly fixed on that empty chair. So that he saw quite plainlythe sudden appearance, from nowhere, of the Egyptian Priest.

“A jolly good trick,” he said to himself, “and worked undermy own eyes, in my own hall. I’ll find out how that’s done.”He had never seen a trick that he could not do himself if he tried.

By this time a good many eyes in the audience had turned on the clean-shaven,curiously-dressed figure of the Egyptian Priest.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr Devant, rising to the occasion,“this is a trick I have never before performed. The empty seat, thirdfrom the end, second row, gallery—you will now find occupied by anAncient Egyptian, warranted genuine.”

He little knew how true his words were.

And now all eyes were turned on the Priest and the children, and the wholeaudience, after a moment’s breathless surprise, shouted applause. Onlythe lady on the other side of Rekh-marā drew back a little. She knewnoone had passed her, and, as she said later, over tea and cold tongue, “itwas that sudden it made her flesh creep.”

Rekh-marā seemed very much annoyed at the notice he was exciting.

“Come out of this crowd,” he whispered to Robert. “I musttalk with you apart.”

“Oh, no,” Jane whispered. “I did so want to see the MascotMoth, and the Ventriloquist.”

“How did you get here?” was Robert’s return whisper.

“How did you get to Egypt and to Tyre?” retorted Rekh-marā.“Come, let us leave this crowd.”

“There’s no help for it, I suppose,” Robert shrugged angrily.But they all got up.

“Confederates!” said a man in the row behind. “Now they goround to the back and take part in the next scene.”

“I wish we did,” said Robert.

“Confederate yourself!” said Cyril. And so they got away, theaudience applauding to the last.

In the vestibule of St George’s Hall they disguised Rekh-marā as well asthey could, but even with Robert’s hat and Cyril’s Inverness capehe was too striking a figure for foot-exercise in the London streets. It had tobe a cab, and it took the last, least money of all of them. They stopped thecab a few doors from home, and then the girls went in and engaged oldNurse’s attention by an account of the conjuring and a fervent entreatyfor dripping-toast with their tea, leaving the front door open so that whileNurse was talking to them the boys could creep quietly in with Rekh-marā andsmuggle him, unseen, up the stairs into their bedroom.

When the girls came up they found the Egyptian Priest sitting on the side ofCyril’s bed, his hands on his knees, looking like a statue of a king.

“Come on,” said Cyril impatiently. “He won’t begin tillwe’re all here. And shut the door, can’t you?”

When the door was shut the Egyptian said—

“My interests and yours are one.”

“Very interesting,” said Cyril, “and it’ll be a jollysight more interesting if you keep following us about in a decent country withno more clothes on than that!”

“Peace,” said the Priest. “What is this country? and what isthis time?”

“The country’s England,” said Anthea, “and thetime’s about 6,000 years later than yourtime.”

“The Amulet, then,” said the Priest, deeply thoughtful,“gives the power to move to and fro in time as well as in space?”

“That’s about it,” said Cyril gruffly. “Look here,it’ll be tea-time directly. What are we to do with you?”

“You have one-half of the Amulet, I the other,” said Rekh-marā.“All that is now needed is the pin to join them.”

“Don’t you think it,” said Robert. “The halfyou’ve got is the same half as the one we’ve got.”

“But the same thing cannot be in the same place and the same time, andyet be not one, but twain,” said the Priest. “See, here is myhalf.” He laid it on the Marcella counterpane. “Where isyours?”

Jane watching the eyes of the others, unfastened the string of the Amulet andlaid it on the bed, but too far off for the Priest to seize it, even if he hadbeen so dishonourable. Cyril and Robert stood beside him, ready to spring onhim if one of his hands had moved but ever so little towards the magic treasurethat was theirs. But his hands did not move, only his eyes opened very wide,and so did everyone else’s for the Amulet the Priest had now quivered andshook; and then, as steel is drawn to the magnet, it was drawn across the whitecounterpane, nearer and nearer to the Amulet, warm from the neck of Jane. Andthen, as one drop of water mingles with another on a rain-wrinkled window-pane,as one bead of quick-silver is drawn into another bead, Rekh-marā’sAmulet slipped into the other one, and, behold! there was no more but the oneAmulet!

“Black magic!” cried Rekh-marā, and sprang forward to snatch theAmulet that had swallowed his. But Anthea caught it up, and at the same momentthe Priest was jerked back by a rope thrown over his head. It drew, tightenedwith the pull of his forward leap, and bound his elbows to his sides. Before hehad time to use his strength to free himself, Robert had knotted the cordbehind him and tied it to the bedpost. Then the four children, overcoming thepriest’s wrigglings and kickings, tied his legs with more rope.

“I thought,” said Robert, breathing hard, and drawing the last knottight, “he’d have a try for Ours, so I got the ropes out ofthe box-room, so as to be ready.”

The girls, with rather white faces, applauded his foresight.

“Loosen these bonds!” cried Rekh-marā in fury, “before Iblast you with the seven secret curses of Amen-Rā!”

“We shouldn’t be likely to loose them after,” Robertretorted.

“Oh, don’t quarrel!” said Anthea desperately. “Lookhere, he hasjust as much right to the thing as we have. This,”she took up the Amulet that had swallowed the other one, “this has gothis in it as well as being ours. Let’s go shares.”

“Let me go!” cried the Priest, writhing.

“Now, look here,” said Robert, “if you make a row we can justopen that window and call the police—the guards, you know—and tellthem you’ve been trying to rob us. Nowwill you shut up and listento reason?”

“I suppose so,” said Rekh-marā sulkily.

But reason could not be spoken to him till a whispered counsel had been held inthe far corner by the washhand-stand and the towel-horse, a counsel rather longand very earnest.

At last Anthea detached herself from the group, and went back to the Priest.

“Look here,” she said in her kind little voice, “we want tobe friends. We want to help you. Let’s make a treaty. Let’s jointogether to getthe Amulet—the whole one, I mean. And then itshall belong to you as much as to us, and we shall all get our hearts’desire.”

“Fair words,” said the Priest, “grow no onions.”

“Wesay, ‘Butter no parsnips’,” Jane put in.“But don’t you see we wantto be fair? Only we want to bindyou in the chains of honour and upright dealing.”

“Will you deal fairly by us?” said Robert.

“I will,” said the Priest. “By the sacred, secret name thatis written under the Altar of Amen-Rā, I will deal fairly by you. Will you,too, take the oath of honourable partnership?”

“No,” said Anthea, on the instant, and added rather rashly,“We don’t swear in England, except in police courts, where theguards are, you know, and you don’t want to go there. But when wesaywe’ll do a thing—it’s the same as an oath tous—we do it. You trust us, and we’ll trust you.” She began tounbind his legs, and the boys hastened to untie his arms.

When he was free he stood up, stretched his arms, and laughed.

“Now,” he said, “I am stronger than you and my oath is void.I have sworn by nothing, and my oath is nothing likewise. For there isno secret, sacred name under the altar of Amen-Rā.”

“Oh, yes there is!” said a voice from under the bed. Everyonestarted—Rekh-marā most of all.

Cyril stooped and pulled out the bath of sand where the Psammead slept.

“You don’t know everything, though you area Divine Fatherof the Temple of Amen,” said the Psammead shaking itself till the sandfell tinkling on the bath edge. “There isa secret, sacred namebeneath the altar of Amen-Rā. Shall I call on that name?”

“No, no!” cried the Priest in terror. “No,” said Jane,too. “Don’t let’s have any calling names.”

“Besides,” said Rekh-marā, who had turned very white indeed underhis natural brownness, “I was only going to say that though thereisn’t any name under—”

“There is,” said the Psammead threateningly.

“Well, even if there wasn’t, I will be bound by the wordlessoath of your strangely upright land, and having said that I will be yourfriend—I will be it.”

“Then that’s all right,” said the Psammead; “andthere’s the tea-bell. What are you going to do with your distinguishedpartner? He can’t go down to tea like that, you know.”

“You see we can’t do anything till the 3rd of December,” saidAnthea, “that’s when we are to find the whole charm. What can we dowith Rekh-marā till then?”

“Box-room,” said Cyril briefly, “and smuggle up his meals. Itwill be rather fun.”

“Like a fleeing Cavalier concealed from exasperated Roundheads,”said Robert. “Yes.”

So Rekh-marā was taken up to the box-room and made as comfortable as possiblein a snug nook between an old nursery fender and the wreck of a bigfour-poster. They gave him a big rag-bag to sit on, and an old, moth-eaten furcoat off the nail on the door to keep him warm. And when they had had their owntea they took him some. He did not like the tea at all, but he liked the breadand butter, and cake that went with it. They took it in turns to sit with himduring the evening, and left him fairly happy and quite settled for the night.

But when they went up in the morning with a kipper, a quarter of which each ofthem had gone without at breakfast, Rekh-marā was gone! There was the cosycorner with the rag-bag, and the moth-eaten fur coat—but the cosy cornerwas empty.

“Good riddance!” was naturally the first delightful thought in eachmind. The second was less pleasing, because everyone at once remembered thatsince his Amulet had been swallowed up by theirs—which hung once moreround the neck of Jane—he could have no possible means of returning tohis Egyptian past. Therefore he must be still in England, and probablysomewhere quite near them, plotting mischief.

The attic was searched, to prevent mistakes, but quite vainly.

“The best thing we can do,” said Cyril, “is to go through thehalf Amulet straight away, get the whole Amulet, and come back.”

“I don’t know,” Anthea hesitated. “Would that be quitefair? Perhaps he isn’t really a base deceiver. Perhaps something’shappened to him.”

“Happened?” said Cyril, “not it! Besides, what couldhappen?”

“I don’t know,” said Anthea. “Perhaps burglars came inthe night, and accidentally killed him, and took away the—all that wasmortal of him, you know—to avoid discovery.”

“Or perhaps,” said Cyril, “they hid the—all that wasmortal, in one of those big trunks in the box-room. Shall we go back andlook?” he added grimly.

“No, no!” Jane shuddered. “Let’s go and tell thePsammead and see what it says.”

“No,” said Anthea, “let’s ask the learned gentleman. Ifanything hashappened to Rekh-marā a gentleman’s advice would bemore useful than a Psammead’s. And the learned gentleman’ll onlythink it’s a dream, like he always does.”

They tapped at the door, and on the “Come in” entered. The learnedgentleman was sitting in front of his untasted breakfast. Opposite him, in theeasy chair, sat Rekh-marā!

“Hush!” said the learned gentleman very earnestly, “please,hush! or the dream will go. I am learning... Oh, what have I not learned in thelast hour!”

“In the grey dawn,” said the Priest, “I left my hiding-place,and finding myself among these treasures from my own country, I remained. Ifeel more at home here somehow.”

“Of course I know it’s a dream,” said the learned gentlemanfeverishly, “but, oh, ye gods! what a dream! By Jove!...”

“Call not upon the gods,” said the Priest, “lest ye raisegreater ones than ye can control. Already,” he explained to the children,“he and I are as brothers, and his welfare is dear to me as myown.”

“He has told me,” the learned gentleman began, but Robertinterrupted. This was no moment for manners.

“Have you told him,” he asked the Priest, “all about theAmulet?”

“No,” said Rekh-marā.

“Then tell him now. He is very learned. Perhaps he can tell us what todo.”

Rekh-marā hesitated, then told—and, oddly enough, none of the childrenever could remember afterwards what it was that he did tell. Perhaps he usedsome magic to prevent their remembering.

When he had done the learned gentleman was silent, leaning his elbow on thetable and his head on his hand.

“Dear Jimmy,” said Anthea gently, “don’t worry aboutit. We are sure to find it today, somehow.”

“Yes,” said Rekh-marā, “and perhaps, with it, Death.”

“It’s to bring us our hearts’ desire,” said Robert.

“Who knows,” said the Priest, “what things undreamed-of andinfinitely desirable lie beyond the dark gates?”

“Oh, don’t,” said Jane, almost whimpering.

The learned gentleman raised his head suddenly.

“Why not,” he suggested, “go back into the Past? At a momentwhen the Amulet is unwatched. Wish to be with it, and that it shall be underyour hand.”

It was the simplest thing in the world! And yet none of them had ever thoughtof it.

“Come,” cried Rekh-marā, leaping up. “Come now!”

“May—may I come?” the learned gentleman timidly asked.“It’s only a dream, you know.”

“Come, and welcome, oh brother,” Rekh-marā was beginning, but Cyriland Robert with one voice cried, “No.”

“You weren’t with us in Atlantis,” Robert added, “oryou’d know better than to let him come.”

“Dear Jimmy,” said Anthea, “please don’t ask to come.We’ll go and be back again before you have time to know that we’regone.”

“And he, too?”

“We must keep together,” said Rekh-marā, “since there is butone perfect Amulet to which I and these children have equal claims.”

Jane held up the Amulet—Rekh-marā went first—and they all passedthrough the great arch into which the Amulet grew at the Name of Power.

The learned gentleman saw through the arch a darkness lighted by smoky gleams.He rubbed his eyes. And he only rubbed them for ten seconds.

The children and the Priest were in a small, dark chamber. A square doorway ofmassive stone let in gleams of shifting light, and the sound of many voiceschanting a slow, strange hymn. They stood listening. Now and then the chantquickened and the light grew brighter, as though fuel had been thrown on afire.

“Where are we?” whispered Anthea.

“And when?” whispered Robert.

“This is some shrine near the beginnings of belief,” said theEgyptian shivering. “Take the Amulet and come away. It is cold here inthe morning of the world.”

And then Jane felt that her hand was on a slab or table of stone, and, underher hand, something that felt like the charm that had so long hung round herneck, only it was thicker. Twice as thick.

“It’s here!” she said, “I’ve gotit!” And she hardly knew the sound of her own voice.

“Come away,” repeated Rekh-marā.

“I wish we could see more of this Temple,” said Robert resistingly.

“Come away,” the Priest urged, “there is death all about, andstrong magic. Listen.”

The chanting voices seemed to have grown louder and fiercer, and lightstronger.

“They are coming!” cried Rekh-marā. “Quick, quick, theAmulet!”

Jane held it up.

“What a long time you’ve been rubbing your eyes!” saidAnthea; “don’t you see we’ve got back?” The learnedgentleman merely stared at her.

“Miss Anthea—Miss Jane!” It was Nurse’s voice, verymuch higher and squeaky and more exalted than usual.

“Oh, bother!” said everyone. Cyril adding, “You just go onwith the dream for a sec, Mr Jimmy, we’ll be back directly.Nurse’ll come up if we don’t. Shewouldn’t thinkRekh-marā was a dream.”

Then they went down. Nurse was in the hall, an orange envelope in one hand, anda pink paper in the other.

“Your Pa and Ma’s come home. ‘Reach London 11.15. Preparerooms as directed in letter’, and signed in their two names.”

“Oh, hooray! hooray! hooray!” shouted the boys and Jane. But Antheacould not shout, she was nearer crying.

“Oh,” she said almost in a whisper, “then it wastrue.And we havegot our hearts’ desire.”

“But I don’t understand about the letter,” Nurse was saying.“I haven’t hadno letter.”

“Oh!” said Jane in a queer voice, “I wonder whether itwas one of those... they came that night—you know, when we were playing‘devil in the dark’—and I put them in the hat-stand drawer,behind the clothes-brushes and”—she pulled out the drawer as shespoke—“and here they are!”

There was a letter for Nurse and one for the children. The letters told howFather had done being a war-correspondent and was coming home; and how Motherand The Lamb were going to meet him in Italy and all come home together; andhow The Lamb and Mother were quite well; and how a telegram would be sent totell the day and the hour of their home-coming.

“Mercy me!” said old Nurse. “I declare if it’s not toobad of you, Miss Jane. I shall have a nice to-do getting things straight foryour Pa and Ma.”

“Oh, never mind, Nurse,” said Jane, hugging her; “isn’tit just too lovely for anything!”

“We’ll come and help you,” said Cyril. “There’sjust something upstairs we’ve got to settle up, and then we’ll allcome and help you.”

“Get along with you,” said old Nurse, but she laughed jollily.“Nice help you’dbe. I know you. And it’s teno’clock now.”

There was, in fact, something upstairs that they had to settle. Quite aconsiderable something, too. And it took much longer than they expected.

A hasty rush into the boys’ room secured the Psammead, very sandy andvery cross.

“It doesn’t matter how cross and sandy it is though,” saidAnthea, “it ought to be there at the final council.”

“It’ll give the learned gentleman fits, I expect,” saidRobert, “when he sees it.”

But it didn’t.

“The dream is growing more and more wonderful,” he exclaimed, whenthe Psammead had been explained to him by Rekh-marā. “I have dreamed thisbeast before.”

“Now,” said Robert, “Jane has got the half Amulet andI’ve got the whole. Show up, Jane.”

Jane untied the string and laid her half Amulet on the table, littered withdusty papers, and the clay cylinders marked all over with little marks like thelittle prints of birds’ little feet.

Robert laid down the whole Amulet, and Anthea gently restrained the eager handof the learned gentleman as it reached out yearningly towards the“perfect specimen”.

And then, just as before on the Marcella quilt, so now on the dusty litter ofpapers and curiosities, the half Amulet quivered and shook, and then, as steelis drawn to a magnet, it was drawn across the dusty manuscripts, nearer andnearer to the perfect Amulet, warm from the pocket of Robert. And then, as onedrop of water mingles with another when the panes of the window are wrinkledwith rain, as one bead of mercury is drawn into another bead, the half Amulet,that was the children’s and was also Rekh-marā’s,—slippedinto the whole Amulet, and, behold! there was only one—the perfect andultimate Charm.

“And that’sall right,” said the Psammead, breaking abreathless silence.

“Yes,” said Anthea, “and we’ve got our hearts’desire. Father and Mother and The Lamb are coming home today.”

“But what about me?” said Rekh-marā.

“What isyour heart’s desire?” Anthea asked.

“Great and deep learning,” said the Priest, without amoment’s hesitation. “A learning greater and deeper than that ofany man of my land and my time. But learning too great is useless. If I go backto my own land and my own age, who will believe my tales of what I have seen inthe future? Let me stay here, be the great knower of all that has been, in thatour time, so living to me, so old to you, about which your learned menspeculate unceasingly, and often, hetells me, vainly.”

“If I were you,” said the Psammead, “I should ask the Amuletabout that. It’s a dangerous thing, trying to live in a time that’snot your own. You can’t breathe an air that’s thousands ofcenturies ahead of your lungs without feeling the effects of it, sooner orlater. Prepare the mystic circle and consult the Amulet.”

“Oh, whata dream!” cried the learned gentleman. “Dearchildren, if you love me—and I think you do, in dreams and out ofthem—prepare the mystic circle and consult the Amulet!”

They did. As once before, when the sun had shone in August splendour, theycrouched in a circle on the floor. Now the air outside was thick and yellowwith the fog that by some strange decree always attends the Cattle Show week.And in the street costers were shouting. “Ur Hekau Setcheh,” Janesaid the Name of Power. And instantly the light went out, and all the soundswent out too, so that there was a silence and a darkness, both deeper than anydarkness or silence that you have ever even dreamed of imagining. It was likebeing deaf or blind, only darker and quieter even than that.

Then out of that vast darkness and silence came a light and a voice. The lightwas too faint to see anything by, and the voice was too small for you to hearwhat it said. But the light and the voice grew. And the light was the lightthat no man may look on and live, and the voice was the sweetest and mostterrible voice in the world. The children cast down their eyes. And so dideveryone.

“I speak,” said the voice. “What is it that you wouldhear?”

There was a pause. Everyone was afraid to speak.

“What are we to do about Rekh-marā?” said Robert suddenly andabruptly. “Shall he go back through the Amulet to his own time,or—”

“No one can pass through the Amulet now,” said the beautiful,terrible voice, “to any land or any time. Only when it was imperfectcould such things be. But men may pass through the perfect charm to the perfectunion, which is not of time or space.”

“Would you be so very kind,” said Anthea tremulously, “as tospeak so that we can understand you? The Psammead said something aboutRekh-marā not being able to live here, and if he can’t getback—” She stopped, her heart was beating desperately in herthroat, as it seemed.

“Nobody can continue to live in a land and in a time notappointed,” said the voice of glorious sweetness. “But a soul maylive, if in that other time and land there be found a soul so akin to it as tooffer it refuge, in the body of that land and time, that thus they two may beone soul in one body.”

The children exchanged discouraged glances. But the eyes of Rekh-marā and thelearned gentleman met, and were kind to each other, and promised each othermany things, secret and sacred and very beautiful.

Anthea saw the look.

“Oh, but,” she said, without at all meaning to say it, “dearJimmy’s soul isn’t at all like Rekh-marā’s. I’m certainit isn’t. I don’t want to be rude, but it isn’t, youknow. Dear Jimmy’s soul is as good as gold, and—”

“Nothing that is not good can pass beneath the double arch of my perfectAmulet,” said the voice. “If both are willing, say the word ofPower, and let the two souls become one for ever and ever more.”

“Shall I?” asked Jane.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

The voices were those of the Egyptian Priest and the learned gentleman, and thevoices were eager, alive, thrilled with hope and the desire of great things.

So Jane took the Amulet from Robert and held it up between the two men, andsaid, for the last time, the word of Power.

“Ur Hekau Setcheh.”

The perfect Amulet grew into a double arch; the two arches leaned to each otherΛ making a great A.

“A stands for Amen,” whispered Jane; “what he was a priestof.”

“Hush!” breathed Anthea.

The great double arch glowed in and through the green light that had been theresince the Name of Power had first been spoken—it glowed with a light morebright yet more soft than the other light—a glory and splendour andsweetness unspeakable.

“Come!” cried Rekh-marā, holding out his hands.

“Come!” cried the learned gentleman, and he also held out hishands.

Each moved forward under the glowing, glorious arch of the perfect Amulet.

Then Rekh-marā quavered and shook, and as steel is drawn to a magnet he wasdrawn, under the arch of magic, nearer and nearer to the learned gentleman.And, as one drop of water mingles with another, when the window-glass israin-wrinkled, as one quick-silver bead is drawn to another quick-silver bead,Rekh-marā, Divine Father of the Temple of Amen-Rā, was drawn into, slippedinto, disappeared into, and was one with Jimmy, the good, the beloved, thelearned gentleman.

And suddenly it was good daylight and the December sun shone. The fog haspassed away like a dream.

The Amulet was there—little and complete in Jane’s hand, and therewere the other children and the Psammead, and the learned gentleman. ButRekh-marā—or the body of Rekh-marā—was not there any more. As forhis soul...

“Oh, the horrid thing!” cried Robert, and put his foot on acentipede as long as your finger, that crawled and wriggled and squirmed at thelearned gentleman’s feet.

“That,” said the Psammead, “was the evil in the soulof Rekh-marā.”

There was a deep silence.

“Then Rekh-marā’s himnow?” said Jane at last.

“All that was good in Rekh-marā,” said the Psammead.

“Heought to have his heart’s desire, too,” saidAnthea, in a sort of stubborn gentleness.

“Hisheart’s desire,” said the Psammead, “is theperfect Amulet you hold in your hand. Yes—and has been ever since hefirst saw the broken half of it.”

“We’ve got ours,” said Anthea softly.

“Yes,” said the Psammead—its voice was crosser than they hadever heard it—“your parents are coming home. And what’s tobecome of me?I shall be found out, and made a show of, and degraded inevery possible way. I knowthey’ll make me go intoParliament—hateful place—all mud and no sand. That beautifulBaalbec temple in the desert! Plenty of good sand there, and no politics! Iwish I were there, safe in the Past—that I do.”

“I wish you were,” said the learned gentleman absently, yet politeas ever.

The Psammead swelled itself up, turned its long snail’s eyes in one lastlingering look at Anthea—a loving look, she always said, andthought—and—vanished.

“Well,” said Anthea, after a silence, “I suppose it’shappy. The only thing it ever did really care for was sand.”

“My dear children,” said the learned gentleman, “I must havefallen asleep. I’ve had the most extraordinary dream.”

“I hope it was a nice one,” said Cyril with courtesy.

“Yes.... I feel a new man after it. Absolutely a new man.”

There was a ring at the front-door bell. The opening of a door. Voices.

“It’s them!” cried Robert, and a thrill ran throughfour hearts.

“Here!” cried Anthea, snatching the Amulet from Jane and pressingit into the hand of the learned gentleman. “Here—it’syours—your very own—a present from us, because you’reRekh-marā as well as... I mean, because you’re such a dear.”

She hugged him briefly but fervently, and the four swept down the stairs to thehall, where a cabman was bringing in boxes, and where, heavily disguised intravelling cloaks and wraps, was their hearts’desire—three-fold—Mother, Father, and The Lamb.

“Bless me!” said the learned gentleman, left alone, “blessme! What a treasure! The dear children! It must be their affection that hasgiven me these luminous aperçus. I seem to see so many thingsnow—things I never saw before! The dear children! The dear, dearchildren!”

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