'
Anthea chose a time when she was doing her home-lessons--they were
Algebra and Latin, German, English, and Euclid--and she asked her
mother whether she might come and do them in the drawing-room--'so
as to be quiet,' she said to her mother; and to herself she said,
'And that's not the real reason. I hope I shan't grow up a LIAR.'
Mother said, 'Of course, dearie,' and Anthea started swimming
through a sea of x's and y's and z's. Mother was sitting at the
mahogany bureau writing letters.
'Mother dear,' said Anthea.
'Yes, love-a-duck,' said mother.
'About cook,' said Anthea. '_I_ know where she is.'
'Do you, dear?' said mother. 'Well, I wouldn't take her back after
the way she has behaved.'
'It's not her fault,' said Anthea. 'May I tell you about it from
the beginning?'
Mother laid down her pen, and her nice face had a resigned
expression. As you know, a resigned expression always makes you
want not to tell anybody anything.
'It's like this,' said Anthea, in a hurry: 'that egg, you know,
that came in the carpet; we put it in the fire and it hatched into
the Phoenix, and the carpet was a wishing carpet--and--'
'A very nice game, darling,' said mother, taking up her pen. 'Now
do be quiet. I've got a lot of letters to write. I'm going to
Bournemouth to-morrow with the Lamb--and there's that bazaar.
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