‘Unfortunately,’ the bird rejoined, ‘I never studied Bosh.’
Jane sobbed noisily, but the others were calm with what is sometimes called the calmness of despair. The Lamb was gone—the Lamb, their own precious baby brother—who had never in his happy little life been for a moment out of the sight of eyes that loved him—he was gone. He had gone alone into the great world with no other companion and protector than a carpet with holes in it. The children had never really understood before what an enormously big place the world is. And the Lamb might be anywhere in it!
‘And it’s no use going to look for him.’ Cyril, in flat and wretched tones, only said what the others were thinking.
‘Do you wish him to return?’ the Phoenix asked; it seemed to speak with some surprise.
‘Of course we do!’ cried everybody.
‘Isn’t he more trouble than he’s worth?’ asked the bird doubtfully.
‘No, no. Oh, we do want him back! We do!’
‘Then,’ said the wearer of gold plumage, ‘if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just pop out and see what I can do.’
Cyril flung open the window, and the Phoenix popped out.
‘Oh, if only mother goes on sleeping! Oh, suppose she wakes up and wants the Lamb! Oh, suppose the servants come! Stop crying, Jane. It’s no earthly good. No, I’m not crying myself—at least I wasn’t till you said so, and I shouldn’t anyway if—if there was any mortal thing we could do. Oh, oh, oh!’