Mother was very clever, but even she could not quite understand the cook's accounts.
The Lamb was very glad to have his brothers and sisters to play with him.

He had not forgotten them a bit, and he made them play all the old exhausting games: 'Whirling Worlds', where you swing the baby round and round by his hands; and 'Leg and Wing', where you swing him from side to side by one ankle and one wrist.

There was also climbing Vesuvius.
In this game the baby walks up you, and when he is standing on your shoulders, you shout as loud as you can, which is the rumbling of the burning mountain, and then tumble him gently on to the floor, and roll him there, which is the destruction of Pompeii.
'All the same, I wish we could decide what we'd better say next time mother says anything about the carpet,' said Cyril, breathlessly ceasing to be a burning mountain.
'Well, you talk and decide,' said Anthea; 'here, you lovely ducky Lamb.
Come to Panther and play Noah's Ark.' The Lamb came with his pretty hair all tumbled and his face all dusty from the destruction of Pompeii, and instantly became a baby snake, hissing and wriggling and creeping in Anthea's arms, as she said-- 'I love my little baby snake, He hisses when he is awake, He creeps with such a wriggly creep, He wriggles even in his sleep.' 'Crocky,' said the Lamb, and showed all his little teeth.

So Anthea went on-- 'I love my little crocodile, I love his truthful toothful smile; It is so wonderful and wide, I like to see it--FROM OUTSIDE.' 'Well, you see,' Cyril was saying; 'it's just the old bother.

Mother can't believe the real true truth about the carpet, and--' 'You speak sooth, O Cyril,' remarked the Phoenix, coming out from the cupboard where the blackbeetles lived, and the torn books, and the broken slates, and odd pieces of toys that had lost the rest of themselves.