Dazed by the
fire, I suppose. Your mother said it was the voice of--'
'I said it was the bird that spoke,' said mother, 'and so it was.
Or at least I thought so then. It wasn't a pigeon. It was an
orange-coloured cockatoo. I don't care who it was that spoke. It
was true and you're safe.'
Mother began to cry again, and father said bed was a good place
after the pleasures of the stage.
So every one went there.
Robert had a talk to the Phoenix that night.
'Oh, very well,' said the bird, when Robert had said what he felt,
'didn't you know that I had power over fire? Do not distress
yourself. I, like my high priests in Lombard Street, can undo the
work of flames. Kindly open the casement.'
It flew out.
That was why the papers said next day that the fire at the theatre
had done less damage than had been anticipated. As a matter of
fact it had done none, for the Phoenix spent the night in putting
things straight. How the management accounted for this, and how
many of the theatre officials still believe that they were mad on
that night will never be known.
Next day mother saw the burnt holes in the carpet.
'It caught where it was paraffiny,' said Anthea.
'I must get rid of that carpet at once,' said mother.
But what the children said in sad whispers to each other, as they
pondered over last night's events, was--
'We must get rid of that Phoenix.
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