pleasant, especially on the days when it is cold mutton or hash.

There was no chance of talking things over before breakfast,
because everyone overslept itself, as it happened, and it needed a
vigorous and determined struggle to get dressed so as to be only
ten minutes late for breakfast. During this meal some efforts were
made to deal with the question of the Psammead in an impartial
spirit, but it is very difficult to discuss anything thoroughly and
at the same time to attend faithfully to your baby brother's
breakfast needs. The Baby was particularly lively that morning.
He not only wriggled his body through the bar of his high chair,
and hung by his head, choking and purple, but he collared a
tablespoon with desperate suddenness, hit Cyril heavily on the head
with it, and then cried because it was taken away from him. He put
his fat fist in his bread-and-milk, and demanded 'nam', which was
only allowed for tea. He sang, he put his feet on the table - he
clamoured to 'go walky'. The conversation was something like this:


'Look here - about that Sand-fairy - Look out! - he'll have the
milk over.'

Milk removed to a safe distance.

'Yes - about that Fairy - No, Lamb dear, give Panther the narky
poon.'

Then Cyril tried. 'Nothing we've had yet has turned out - He
nearly had the mustard that time!'