'We needn't have bothered so about how to break the news to it,'
whispered Cyril.
'Ah, sigh not so,' said the bird, gently. 'All meetings end in
partings. I must leave you. I have sought to prepare you for
this. Ah, do not give way!'
'Must you really go--so soon?' murmured Anthea. It was what she
had often heard her mother say to calling ladies in the afternoon.
'I must, really; thank you so much, dear,' replied the bird, just
as though it had been one of the ladies.
'I am weary,' it went on. 'I desire to rest--after all the
happenings of this last moon I do desire really to rest, and I ask
of you one last boon.'
'Any little thing we can do,' said Robert.
Now that it had really come to parting with the Phoenix, whose
favourite he had always been, Robert did feel almost as miserable
as the Phoenix thought they all did.
'I ask but the relic designed for the rag-and-bottle man. Give me
what is left of the carpet and let me go.'
'Dare we?' said Anthea. 'Would mother mind?'
'I have dared greatly for your sakes,' remarked the bird.
'Well, then, we will,' said Robert.
The Phoenix fluffed out its feathers joyously.
'Nor shall you regret it, children of golden hearts,' it said.
'Quick--spread the carpet and leave me alone; but first pile high
the fire.
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