The others quietly pulled, and the moment the feet of the burglar were planted on the carpet Anthea wished: 'I wish we were all on the sunny southern shore where cook is.' And instantly they were.

There were the rainbow sands, the tropic glories of leaf and flower, and there, of course, was the cook, crowned with white flowers, and with all the wrinkles of crossness and tiredness and hard work wiped out of her face.
'Why, cook, you're quite pretty!' Anthea said, as soon as she had got her breath after the tumble-rush-whirl of the carpet.

The burglar stood rubbing his eyes in the brilliant tropic sunlight, and gazing wildly round him on the vivid hues of the tropic land.
'Penny plain and tuppence coloured!' he exclaimed pensively, 'and well worth any tuppence, however hard-earned.' The cook was seated on a grassy mound with her court of copper-coloured savages around her.

The burglar pointed a grimy finger at these.
'Are they tame ?' he asked anxiously.

'Do they bite or scratch, or do anything to yer with poisoned arrows or oyster shells or that ?' 'Don't you be so timid,' said the cook.