No one understands everything, and mothers are not angels, though a good many of them come pretty near it.

The children knew that mother always WANTED to do what was best for them, even if she was not clever enough to know exactly what was the best.

That was why all of them, but much more particularly Anthea, felt rather uncomfortable at keeping the great secret from her of the wishing carpet and the Phoenix.

And Anthea, whose inside mind was made so that she was able to be much more uncomfortable than the others, had decided that she MUST tell her mother the truth, however little likely it was that her mother would believe it.
'Then I shall have done what's right,' said she to the Phoenix; 'and if she doesn't believe me it won't be my fault--will it ?' 'Not in the least,' said the golden bird.

'And she won't, so you're quite safe.' Anthea chose a time when she was doing her home-lessons--they were Algebra and Latin, German, English, and Euclid--and she asked her mother whether she might come and do them in the drawing-room--'so as to be quiet,' she said to her mother; and to herself she said, 'And that's not the real reason.