aloe, by the way, has a bad habit of its own, which it might well
cure before seeking to cure others; I allude to its indolent
practice of flowering but once a century), I doubt whether even
bitter aloes could have cured ME. But I WAS cured. I awoke one
morning from a feverish dream--it was getting near the time for me
to lay that tiresome fire and lay that tedious egg upon it--and I
saw two people, a man and a woman. They were sitting on a
carpet--and when I accosted them civilly they narrated to me their
life-story, which, as you have not yet heard it, I will now proceed
to relate. They were a prince and princess, and the story of their
parents was one which I am sure you will like to hear. In early
youth the mother of the princess happened to hear the story of a
certain enchanter, and in that story I am sure you will be
interested. The enchanter--'

'Oh, please don't,' said Anthea. 'I can't understand all these
beginnings of stories, and you seem to be getting deeper and deeper
in them every minute. Do tell us your OWN story. That's what we
really want to hear.'

'Well,' said the Phoenix, seeming on the whole rather flattered,
'to cut about seventy long stories short (though _I_ had to listen to
them all--but to be sure in the wilderness there is plenty of
time), this prince and princess were so fond of each other that
they did not want any one else, and the enchanter--don't be
alarmed, I won't go into his history--had given them a magic carpet
(you've heard of a magic carpet?), and they had just sat on it and
told it to take them right away from every one--and it had brought
them to the wilderness. And as they meant to stay there they had
no further use for the carpet, so they gave it to me. That was