“Oh, rot!” interrupted Tibbs, but he looked slightly uncomfortable all the same. “Yes, it was! I shall be dreadfully angry if you say it’s ‘rot.’ It’s a warning that time is getting short, and I’ve simply got to find that old December day as fast as ever I can.” “Look!” cried Kiddiwee. “What funny sand!” The others looked, and saw, to their surprise, that letters were being written on the sand, as though by some great invisible finger. Spelling it letter by letter, it read-- FOLLOW THE EAST WIND TO INDIA: HE SAYS A PRAYER AT THE TAJ MAHAL EACH MORN. [Illustration: The East Wind.] “Now, then, you see! I was right!” cried Coppertop, as soon as she had breath to speak. “There’s something very, very mysterious about all this. I wonder what the third thing will be.” “Why should there be a ‘third thing’? Girls are always so superstitious!” said Tibbs. He felt decidedly uncomfortable, and did not like mysterious things in any shape or form. “I don’t know, but there always is,” answered Coppertop gravely. “I wonder why the East Wind prays at the Taj Mahal? It’s the grave of an old Indian Queen-woman called Nur Mahal--which means Light of the Harem. Daddy told me all about it.” “Where is it?” asked Tibbs. “At Agra,” replied Coppertop. “And I’ve seen it. It’s simply gorgeous!” “Well, if we’ve to go to India, let’s start. It’s a jolly long way. Come on, Kiddiwee.” “But however am I to go?” cried Coppertop. “My wings are gone!” “I forgot that!” said Tibbs, ashamed of his thoughtlessness. “Couldn’t we carry you?” “It would take ages that way,” she replied. And they sat down on the sand again to think the matter over. “If the old Big Bed hadn’t been shipwrecked, we might have sailed over the sand on that.” “Or if we could find some camels,” suggested Tibbs; “they call them the ‘ships of the desert,’ you know.” “Miss Smiler is a camel,” said Coppertop, fingering the little bronze animal that hung on a chain round her neck. “But she’s so very small, I don’t suppose she’d do.” “That little thing!” laughed Tibbs. “Lor, no!” “You’ve no business to laugh at her, anyway,” pouted Coppertop. “Daddy gave her to me, and she’s a very dear little person,” and, so saying, she took the little bronze camel from the chain and kissed it. No sooner had she done this, than it began to grow. “Oh, look!” she cried. “How perfectly wonderful! It’s coming to life! It’s turning into a real one!” And so it was. It raised its head, and looked round in a calm and dignified way, opening its languid eyes a little wider, and then--catching sight of the children--smiled broadly. “What a duckie little thing!” exclaimed Coppertop. “Oh, do look! It’s simply screaming with laughter now!” “Oh, crikey!” laughed Tibbs. “It’s a lively little beggar!” “Yes. It’s tiggling so!” giggled Coppertop. “I can hardly hold it!” For Miss Smiler was now racing round and round her hand as fast as her legs would carry her.