"Ingratitude," said the Psammead, "is a dreadful vice." "We're not ungrateful," Jane made haste to say, "but we didn't _really_ want that wish. Robert only just said it. Can't you take it back and give us a new one?" "No--I can't," the Sand-fairy said shortly; "chopping and changing--it's not business. You ought to be careful what you _do_ wish. There was a little boy once, he'd wished for a Plesiosaurus instead of an Ichthyosaurus, because he was too lazy to remember the easy names of everyday things, and his father had been very vexed with him, and had made him go to bed before tea-time, and wouldn't let him go out in the nice flint boat along with the other children,--it was the annual school-treat next day,--and he came and flung himself down near me on the morning of the treat, and he kicked his little prehistoric legs about and said he wished he was dead. And of course then he was." "How awful! said the children all together. "Only till sunset, of course," the Psammead said; "still it was quite enough for his father and mother. And he caught it when he woke up--I tell you. He didn't turn to stone--I forget why--but there must have been some reason. They didn't know being dead is only being asleep, and you're bound to wake up somewhere or other, either where you go to sleep or in some better place. You may be sure he caught it, giving them such a turn. Why, he wasn't allowed to taste Megatherium for a month after that. Nothing but oysters and periwinkles, and common things like that." All the children were quite crushed by this terrible tale. They looked at the Psammead in horror. Suddenly the Lamb perceived that something brown and furry was near him. "Poof, poof, poofy," he said, and made a grab. [Illustration: "Poof, poof, poofy," he said, and made a grab] "It's not a pussy," Anthea was beginning, when the Sand-fairy leaped back. "Oh, my left whisker!" it said; "don't let him touch me. He's wet." Its fur stood on end with horror--and indeed a good deal of the ginger-beer had been spilt on the blue smock of the Lamb. The Psammead dug with its hands and feet, and vanished in an instant and a whirl of sand. The children marked the spot with a ring of stones. "We may as well get along home," said Robert. "I'll say I'm sorry; but anyway if it's no good it's no harm, and we know where the sandy thing is for to-morrow." The others were noble. No one reproached Robert at all. Cyril picked up the Lamb, who was now quite himself again, and off they went by the safe cart-road. The cart-road from the gravel-pits joins the road almost directly.