‘Oh, come along, come along, good old beautiful Phoenix!’
‘Not perfect, I admit—but not bad for a boy of his age.’
‘Well, now then,’ said Robert, stepping back on to the carpet with the golden Phoenix on his wrist.
‘You look like the king’s falconer,’ said Jane, sitting down on the carpet with the baby on her lap.
Robert tried to go on looking like it. Cyril and Anthea stood on the carpet.
‘We shall have to get back before dinner,’ said Cyril, ‘or cook will blow the gaff.’
‘She hasn’t sneaked since Sunday,’ said Anthea.
‘She—’ Robert was beginning, when the door burst open and the cook, fierce and furious, came in like a whirlwind and stood on the corner of the carpet, with a broken basin in one hand and a threat in the other, which was clenched.
‘Look ‘ere!’ she cried, ‘my only basin; and what the powers am I to make the beefsteak and kidney pudding in that your ma ordered for your dinners? You don’t deserve no dinners, so yer don’t.’
‘I’m awfully sorry, cook,’ said Anthea gently; ‘it was my fault, and I forgot to tell you about it. It got broken when we were telling our fortunes with melted lead, you know, and I meant to tell you.’