“There’s not quite so much biting in our story,” said Cyril regretfully; “in fact, there isn’t any. Father’s gone to Manchuria, and Mother and The Lamb have gone to Madeira because Mother was ill, and don’t I just wish that they were both safe home again.”
Merely from habit, the Sand-fairy began to blow itself out, but it stopped short suddenly.
“I forgot,” it said; “I can’t give you any more wishes.”
“No—but look here,” said Cyril, “couldn’t we call in old Nurse and get her to say she wishes they were safe home. I’m sure she does.”
“No go,” said the Psammead. “It’s just the same as your wishing yourself if you get some one else to wish for you. It won’t act.”
“But it did yesterday—with the man in the shop,” said Robert.
“Ah yes,” said the creature, “but you didn’t ask him to wish, and you didn’t know what would happen if he did. That can’t be done again. It’s played out.”
“Then you can’t help us at all,” said Jane; “oh—I did think you could do something; I’ve been thinking about it ever since we saved your life yesterday. I thought you’d be certain to be able to fetch back Father, even if you couldn’t manage Mother.”
And Jane began to cry.
“Now don’t,” said the Psammead hastily; “you know how it always upsets me if you cry. I can’t feel safe a moment. Look here; you must have some new kind of charm.”