For the Phoenix was not wanting in intelligence.
'We were just saying--' Cyril began, and I hope he was not going to say anything but the truth.

Whatever it was he did not say it, for the Phoenix interrupted him, and all breathed more freely as it spoke.
'I gather,' it said, 'that you have some tidings of a fatal nature to communicate to our degraded black brothers who run to and fro for ever yonder.' It pointed a claw at the cupboard, where the blackbeetles lived.
'Canary TALK,' said the Lamb joyously; 'go and show mammy.' He wriggled off Anthea's lap.
'Mammy's asleep,' said Jane, hastily.

'Come and be wild beasts in a cage under the table.' But the Lamb caught his feet and hands, and even his head, so often and so deeply in the holes of the carpet that the cage, or table, had to be moved on to the linoleum, and the carpet lay bare to sight with all its horrid holes.
'Ah,' said the bird, 'it isn't long for this world.' 'No,' said Robert; 'everything comes to an end.

It's awful.' 'Sometimes the end is peace,' remarked the Phoenix.

'I imagine that unless it comes soon the end of your carpet will be pieces.' 'Yes,' said Cyril, respectfully kicking what was left of the carpet.