I do hope you'll be good children.'
'We will, we will,' said Anthea, fervently. 'When's the bazaar?'
'On Saturday,' said mother, 'at the schools. Oh, don't talk any
more, there's a treasure! My head's going round, and I've
forgotten how to spell whooping-cough.'
Mother and the Lamb went away, and father went away, and there was
a new cook who looked so like a frightened rabbit that no one had
the heart to do anything to frighten her any more than seemed
natural to her.
The Phoenix begged to be excused. It said it wanted a week's rest,
and asked that it might not be disturbed. And it hid its golden
gleaming self, and nobody could find it.
So that when Wednesday afternoon brought an unexpected holiday, and
every one decided to go somewhere on the carpet, the journey had to
be undertaken without the Phoenix. They were debarred from any
carpet excursions in the evening by a sudden promise to mother,
exacted in the agitation of parting, that they would not be out
after six at night, except on Saturday, when they were to go to the
bazaar, and were pledged to put on their best clothes, to wash
themselves to the uttermost, and to clean their nails--not with
scissors, which are scratchy and bad, but with flat-sharpened ends
of wooden matches, which do no harm to any one's nails.
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