"Oh," said David. "What's that?"
"Well—a pyre, you know—a sort of fire, as it were."
"Oh, fire. I thought you said—oh, yes. Fire. Isn't it awfully warm for a fire?"
"The weather is unusually tropical," said the Phoenix, cocking one eye toward the sun. "This fire, however, is necessary—but I shall explain later. Meanwhile, if you will just aid me with this branch—" And for the next fifteen minutes they worked over the heap, adding to it and shaping it up. David kept his thoughts to himself. He could see that the Phoenix knew what it was doing, so everything must be all right.
"By the way, my boy," said the Phoenix casually, when they had finished, "my prediction was correct. I knew it would be. The inevitable has occurred."
"What are you talking about, Phoenix?"
"The Scientist, my boy. He is in our midst once more."
David clutched a branch in the heap and said "Oh, Phoenix!" in a frightened voice.
"Now, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. He is not nearby at present. I sent him back."
"Sent him back? How?"