"Well," said the Sand-fairy, "the fact is, I was keeping back a little strength to give the rest of you your wishes with. If you'll be contented with one wish a day among the lot of you I daresay I can screw myself up to it. Do you agree to that?" "Yes, oh yes!" said Jane and Anthea. The boys nodded. They did not believe the Sand-fairy could do it. You can always make girls believe things much easier than you can boys. It stretched out its eyes farther than ever, and swelled and swelled and swelled. "I do hope it won't hurt itself," said Anthea. "Or crack its skin," Robert said anxiously. Everyone was very much relieved when the Sand-fairy, after getting so big that it almost filled up the hole in the sand, suddenly let out its breath and went back to its proper size. "That's all right," it said, panting heavily. "It'll come easier to-morrow." "Did it hurt much?" said Anthea. "Only my poor whisker, thank you," said he, "but you're a kind and thoughtful child. Good day." It scratched suddenly and fiercely with its hands and feet, and disappeared in the sand. Then the children looked at each other, and each child suddenly found itself alone with three perfect strangers, all radiantly beautiful. They stood for some moments in silence. Each thought that its brothers and sisters had wandered off, and that these strange children had stolen up unnoticed while it was watching the swelling form of the Sand-fairy. Anthea spoke first-- "Excuse me," she said very politely to Jane, who now had enormous blue eyes and a cloud of russet hair, "but have you seen two little boys and a little girl anywhere about?" "I was just going to ask you that," said Jane. And then Cyril cried-- "Why, it's _you_! I know the hole in your pinafore! You _are_ Jane, aren't you? And you're the Panther; I can see your dirty handkerchief that you forgot to change after you'd cut your thumb! The wish _has_ come off, after all. I say, am I as handsome as you are?" "If you're Cyril, I liked you much better as you were before," said Anthea decidedly. "You look like the picture of the young chorister, with your golden hair; you'll die young, I shouldn't wonder. And if that's Robert, he's like an Italian organ-grinder. His hair's all black." "You two girls are like Christmas cards, then--that's all--silly Christmas cards," said Robert angrily. "And Jane's hair is simply carrots." It was indeed of that Venetian tint so much admired by artists. "Well, it's no use finding fault with each other," said Anthea; "let's get the Lamb and lug it home to dinner. The servants will admire us most awfully, you'll see." Baby was just waking up when they got to him, and not one of the children but was relieved to find that he at least was not as beautiful as the day, but just the same as usual. "I suppose he's too young to have wishes naturally," said Jane. "We shall have to mention him specially next time." Anthea ran forward and held out her arms. "Come, then," she said.