All eyes were on the stage, where the lobster was delighting the audience with that gem of a song, 'If you can't walk straight, walk sideways!' when the Phoenix murmured warmly-- 'No altar, no fire, no incense!' and then, before any of the children could even begin to think of stopping it, it spread its bright wings and swept round the theatre, brushing its gleaming feathers against delicate hangings and gilded woodwork.
It seemed to have made but one circular wing-sweep, such as you may see a gull make over grey water on a stormy day.

Next moment it was perched again on the chair-back--and all round the theatre, where it had passed, little sparks shone like tinsel seeds, then little smoke wreaths curled up like growing plants--little flames opened like flower-buds.

People whispered--then people shrieked.
'Fire! Fire!' The curtain went down--the lights went up.
'Fire!' cried every one, and made for the doors.
'A magnificent idea!' said the Phoenix, complacently.

'An enormous altar--fire supplied free of charge.

Doesn't the incense smell delicious ?' The only smell was the stifling smell of smoke, of burning silk, or scorching varnish.
The little flames had opened now into great flame-flowers.