The Phoenix tore itself away from its cherished egg, which
it watched with yearning tenderness till, the paper being pinned
on, the carpet hastily rolled itself up round the egg, and both
vanished for ever from the nursery of the house in Camden Town.
'Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear!' said everybody.
'Bear up,' said the bird; 'do you think _I_ don't suffer, being
parted from my precious new-laid egg like this? Come, conquer your
emotions and build my fire.'
'OH!' cried Robert, suddenly, and wholly breaking down, 'I can't
BEAR you to go!'
The Phoenix perched on his shoulder and rubbed its beak softly
against his ear.
'The sorrows of youth soon appear but as dreams,' it said.
'Farewell, Robert of my heart. I have loved you well.'
The fire had burnt to a red glow. One by one the spices and sweet
woods were laid on it. Some smelt nice and some--the caraway seeds
and the Violettes de Parme sachet among them--smelt worse than you
would think possible.
'Farewell, farewell, farewell, farewell!' said the Phoenix, in a
far-away voice.
'Oh, GOOD-BYE,' said every one, and now all were in tears.
The bright bird fluttered seven times round the room and settled in
the hot heart of the fire. The sweet gums and spices and woods
flared and flickered around it, but its golden feathers did not
burn.
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