So they waved more and more wildly, and Robert's tea-cloth caught
the golden egg and whisked it off the mantelpiece, and it fell into
the fender and rolled under the grate.

'Oh, crikey!' said more than one voice.

And every one instantly fell down flat on its front to look under
the grate, and there lay the egg, glowing in a nest of hot ashes.

'It's not smashed, anyhow,' said Robert, and he put his hand under
the grate and picked up the egg. But the egg was much hotter than
any one would have believed it could possibly get in such a short
time, and Robert had to drop it with a cry of 'Bother!' It fell on
the top bar of the grate, and bounced right into the glowing
red-hot heart of the fire.

'The tongs!' cried Anthea. But, alas, no one could remember where
they were. Every one had forgotten that the tongs had last been
used to fish up the doll's teapot from the bottom of the water-
butt, where the Lamb had dropped it. So the nursery tongs were
resting between the water-butt and the dustbin, and cook refused to
lend the kitchen ones.

'Never mind,' said Robert, 'we'll get it out with the poker and the
shovel.'

'Oh, stop,' cried Anthea. 'Look at it! Look! look! look! I do
believe something IS going to happen!'

For the egg was now red-hot, and inside it something was moving.