And then Anthea knew it was hopeless.
'Are you going away for long ?' asked Anthea.
'I've got a cold,' said mother, 'and daddy's anxious about it, and the Lamb's cough.' 'He hasn't coughed since Saturday,' the Lamb's eldest sister interrupted.
'I wish I could think so,' mother replied.

'And daddy's got to go to Scotland.

I do hope you'll be good children.' 'We will, we will,' said Anthea, fervently.

'When's the bazaar ?' 'On Saturday,' said mother, 'at the schools.

Oh, don't talk any more, there's a treasure! My head's going round, and I've forgotten how to spell whooping-cough.' Mother and the Lamb went away, and father went away, and there was a new cook who looked so like a frightened rabbit that no one had the heart to do anything to frighten her any more than seemed natural to her.
The Phoenix begged to be excused.