‘I votes we do,’ said Robert. ‘It’ll stop all this jaw, anyway. And it’s not bad to have surprises. Perhaps it’s a Turkey carpet, and it might bring us Turkish delight.’
‘Or a Turkish patrol,’ said Robert.
‘Or a Turkish bath,’ said Anthea.
‘Or a Turkish towel,’ said Jane.
‘Nonsense,’ Robert urged, ‘it said beautiful and delightful, and towels and baths aren’t THAT, however good they may be for you. Let it go. I suppose it won’t give us the slip,’ he added, pushing back his chair and standing up.
‘Hush!’ said the Phoenix; ‘how can you? Don’t trample on its feelings just because it’s only a carpet.’
‘But how can it do it—unless one of us is on it to do the wishing?’ asked Robert. He spoke with a rising hope that it MIGHT be necessary for one to go and why not Robert? But the Phoenix quickly threw cold water on his new-born dream.
‘Why, you just write your wish on a paper, and pin it on the carpet.’
So a leaf was torn from Anthea’s arithmetic book, and on it Cyril wrote in large round-hand the following:
We wish you to go to your dear native home, and bring back the most beautiful and delightful productions of it you can—and not to be gone long, please.