'Why, you just write your wish on a paper, and pin it on the
carpet.'
So a leaf was torn from Anthea's arithmetic book, and on it Cyril
wrote in large round-hand the following:
We wish you to go to your dear native home, and bring back the most
beautiful and delightful productions of it you can--and not to be
gone long, please.
(Signed) CYRIL.
ROBERT.
ANTHEA.
JANE.
Then the paper was laid on the carpet.
'Writing down, please,' said the Phoenix; 'the carpet can't read a
paper whose back is turned to it, any more than you can.'
It was pinned fast, and the table and chairs having been moved, the
carpet simply and suddenly vanished, rather like a patch of water
on a hearth under a fierce fire. The edges got smaller and
smaller, and then it disappeared from sight.
'It may take it some time to collect the beautiful and delightful
things,' said the Phoenix. 'I should wash up--I mean wash down.'
So they did. There was plenty of hot water left in the kettle, and
every one helped--even the Phoenix, who took up cups by their
handles with its clever claws and dipped them in the hot water, and
then stood them on the table ready for Anthea to dry them.
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