'I will always get up at five,' she said to herself. 'It was quite
too awfully pretty for anything.'

Her heart was beating very fast, for she was carrying out a plan
quite her own. She could not be sure that it was a good plan, but
she was quite sure that it would not be any better if she were to
tell the others about it. And she had a feeling that, right or
wrong, she would rather go through with it alone. She put on her
shoes under the iron veranda, on the red-and-yellow shining tiles,
and then she ran straight to the sand-pit, and found the Psammead's
place, and dug it out; it was very cross indeed.

'It's too bad,' it said, fluffing up its fur like pigeons do their
feathers at Christmas time. 'The weather's arctic, and it's the
middle of the night.'

'I'm so sorry,' said Anthea gently, and she took off her white
pinafore and covered the Sand-fairy up with it, all but its head,
its bat's ears, and its eyes that were like a snail's eyes.

'Thank you,' it said, 'that's better. What's the wish this
morning?'

'I don't know,' said she; 'that's just it. You see we've been very
unlucky, so far. I wanted to talk to you about it. But - would
you mind not giving me any wishes till after breakfast? It's so
hard to talk to anyone if they jump out at you with wishes you
don't really want!'

'You shouldn't say you wish for things if you don't wish for them.