the breakfast-room. 'But I know it hasn't deserted us. It's a
bird of its word.'

'Quite so,' said the gentle voice of the Phoenix from beneath the
table.

Every one fell on its knees and looked up, and there was the
Phoenix perched on a crossbar of wood that ran across under the
table, and had once supported a drawer, in the happy days before
the drawer had been used as a boat, and its bottom unfortunately
trodden out by Raggett's Really Reliable School Boots on the feet
of Robert.

'I've been here all the time,' said the Phoenix, yawning politely
behind its claw. 'If you wanted me you should have recited the ode
of invocation; it's seven thousand lines long, and written in very
pure and beautiful Greek.'

'Couldn't you tell it us in English?' asked Anthea.

'It's rather long, isn't it?' said Jane, jumping the Lamb on her
knee.

'Couldn't you make a short English version, like Tate and Brady?'

'Oh, come along, do,' said Robert, holding out his hand. 'Come
along, good old Phoenix.'

'Good old BEAUTIFUL Phoenix,' it corrected shyly.