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.

Then, while I am immersed in the sacred preliminary rites, do ye prepare sweet-smelling woods and spices for the last act of parting.' The children spread out what was left of the carpet.

And, after all, though this was just what they would have wished to have happened, all hearts were sad.

Then they put half a scuttle of coal on the fire and went out, closing the door on the Phoenix--left, at last, alone with the carpet.
'One of us must keep watch,' said Robert, excitedly, as soon as they were all out of the room, 'and the others can go and buy sweet woods and spices.