They took the things home and found Cyril still on guard. When
they had knocked and the golden voice of the Phoenix had said 'Come
in,' they went in.
There lay the carpet--or what was left of it--and on it lay an egg,
exactly like the one out of which the Phoenix had been hatched.
The Phoenix was walking round and round the egg, clucking with joy
and pride.
'I've laid it, you see,' it said, 'and as fine an egg as ever I
laid in all my born days.'
Every one said yes, it was indeed a beauty.
The things which the children had bought were now taken out of
their papers and arranged on the table, and when the Phoenix had
been persuaded to leave its egg for a moment and look at the
materials for its last fire it was quite overcome.
'Never, never have I had a finer pyre than this will be. You shall
not regret it,' it said, wiping away a golden tear. 'Write
quickly: "Go and tell the Psammead to fulfil the last wish of the
Phoenix, and return instantly".'
But Robert wished to be polite and he wrote--
'Please go and ask the Psammead to be so kind as to fulfil the
Phoenix's last wish, and come straight back, if you please.'
The paper was pinned to the carpet, which vanished and returned in
the flash of an eye.
Then another paper was written ordering the carpet to take the egg
somewhere where it wouldn't be hatched for another two thousand
years.
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