The Phoenix and the Carpet E. Nesbit (read more books .TXT) 📖

from its ashes? Well have my priests dealt with the sons of men!”

“The sons of men pay, you know,” said Anthea; “but it’s only a little every year.”

“That is to maintain my priests,” said the bird, “who, in the hour of affliction, heal sorrows and rebuild houses. Lead on; inquire for the High Priest. I will not break upon them too suddenly in all my glory. Noble and honour-deserving are they who make as nought the evil deeds of the lame-footed and unpleasing Hephaestus.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I wish you wouldn’t muddle us with new names. Fire just happens. Nobody does it⁠—not as a deed, you know,” Cyril explained. “If they did the Phoenix wouldn’t help them, because its a crime to set fire to things. Arsenic, or something they call it, because it’s as bad as poisoning people. The Phoenix wouldn’t help them⁠—father told me it wouldn’t.”

“My priests do well,” said the Phoenix. “Lead on.”

“I don’t know what to say,” said Cyril; and the others said the same.

“Ask for the High Priest,” said the Phoenix. “Say that you have a secret to unfold that concerns my worship, and he will lead you to the innermost sanctuary.”

So the children went in, all four of them, though they didn’t like it, and stood in a large and beautiful hall adorned with Doulton tiles, like a large and beautiful bath with no water in it, and stately pillars supporting the roof. An unpleasing representation of the Phoenix in brown pottery disfigured one wall. There were counters and desks of mahogany and brass, and clerks bent over the desks and walked behind the counters. There was a great clock over an inner doorway.

“Inquire for the High Priest,” whispered the Phoenix.

An attentive clerk in decent black, who controlled his mouth but not his eyebrows, now came towards them. He leaned forward on the counter, and the children thought he was going to say, “What can I have the pleasure of showing you?” like in a draper’s; instead of which the young man said⁠—

“And what do you want?”

“We want to see the High Priest.”

“Get along with you,” said the young man.

An elder man, also decent in black coat, advanced.

“Perhaps it’s Mr. Blank” (not for worlds would I give the name). “He’s a Masonic High Priest, you know.”

A porter was sent away to look for Mr. Asterisk (I cannot give his name), and the children were left there to look on and be looked on by all the gentlemen at the mahogany desks. Anthea and Jane thought that they looked kind. The boys thought they stared, and that it was like their cheek.

The porter returned with the news that Mr. Dot Dash Dot (I dare not reveal his name) was out, but that Mr.⁠—

Here a really delightful gentleman appeared. He had a beard and a kind and merry eye, and each one of the four knew at once that this was a man who had kiddies of his own and could understand what you were talking about. Yet it was a difficult thing to explain.

“What is it?” he asked. “Mr. ⸻”⁠—he named the name which I will never reveal⁠—“is out. Can I do anything?”

“Inner sanctuary,” murmured the Phoenix.

“I beg your pardon,” said the nice gentleman, who thought it was Robert who had spoken.

“We have something to tell you,” said Cyril, “but”⁠—he glanced at the porter, who was lingering much nearer than he need have done⁠—“this is a very public place.”

The nice gentleman laughed.

“Come upstairs then,” he said, and led the way up a wide and beautiful staircase. Anthea says the stairs were of white marble, but I am not sure. On the corner-post of the stairs, at the top, was a beautiful image of the Phoenix in dark metal, and on the wall at each side was a flat sort of image of it.

The nice gentleman led them into a room where the chairs, and even the tables, were covered with reddish leather. He looked at the children inquiringly.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said; “tell me exactly what you want.”

“May I shut the door?” asked Cyril.

The gentleman looked surprised, but he shut the door.

“Now,” said Cyril, firmly, “I know you’ll be awfully surprised, and you’ll think it’s not true and we are lunatics; but we aren’t, and it is. Robert’s got something inside his Norfolk⁠—that’s Robert, he’s my young brother. Now don’t be upset and have a fit or anything sir. Of course, I know when you called your shop the ‘Phoenix’ you never thought there was one; but there is⁠—and Robert’s got it buttoned up against his chest!”

“If it’s an old curio in the form of a Phoenix, I dare say the Board⁠—” said the nice gentleman, as Robert began to fumble with his buttons.

“It’s old enough,” said Anthea, “going by what it says, but⁠—”

“My goodness gracious!” said the gentleman, as the Phoenix, with one last wriggle that melted into a flutter, got out of its nest in the breast of Robert and stood up on the leather-covered table.

“What an extraordinarily fine bird!” he went on. “I don’t think I ever saw one just like it.”

“I should think not,” said the Phoenix, with pardonable pride. And the gentleman jumped.

“Oh, it’s been taught to speak! Some sort of parrot, perhaps?”

“I am,” said the bird, simply, “the Head of your House, and I have come to my temple to receive your homage. I am no parrot”⁠—its beak curved scornfully⁠—“I am the one and only Phoenix, and I demand the homage of my High Priest.”

“In the absence of our manager,” the gentleman began, exactly as though he were addressing a valued customer⁠—“in the absence of our manager, I might perhaps be able⁠—What am I saying?” He turned pale, and passed his hand across his brow. “My dears,” he said, “the weather is unusually warm for the time of year, and I don’t feel quite myself. Do you know, for a moment I really thought that that remarkable bird of yours had spoken and said it was the Phoenix, and,