"It's not a plant--it's a kind of bird.
It begins with 'P, h,'-- and you think of Dublin." "Let me see--Phelim?
No, I have it! Phoenix." "That's it--Phoenix.

And when it's going to die it lights a fire and sits down upon it and another springs up from the ashes." "But I don't see how that applies to the Major." "No-o ?" queried Miss Marty, dubiously.

"Well, not in every particular; but the point is, there's only one at a time." "The same might be said," urged the Doctor, delicately, "of other individual members of the Town Council; with qualifications, of course." "And somehow I feel--I can't help a foreboding--that if ever we lose him it will be in some such way." "Miss Marty!" The Doctor stood up, with horror-stricken face.
"There, now! You may call me fanciful, but I can't help it.
And you've spilled the Fra Angelico! Let me pour you out another glassful." "We must all die," answered the Doctor inconsequently, not yet master of himself.
"Except a few Bible characters," said Miss Marty, filling his glass.
"But what the town would do without _him_ I can't think.

In a sense he _is_ the town." A moment before the Doctor had all but denied it; but now, overcome by the thought of a world without the Major, he hid his face.

For a moment, if but in thought, he had been disloyal to his friend, his hero! Miss Marty said afterwards that, although not accustomed to prophesy and humbly aware that it was out of her line, she must have spoken under inspiration.