"It's too bad," it said, fluffing up its fur as pigeons do their feathers at Christmas time. "The weather's arctic, and it's the middle of the night." "I'm so sorry," said Anthea gently, and she took off her white pinafore and covered the Sand-fairy up with it, all but its head, its bat's ears, and its eyes that were like a snail's eyes. "Thank you," it said, "that's better. What's the wish this morning?" "I don't know," she said; "that's just it. You see we've been very unlucky, so far. I wanted to talk to you about it. But--would you mind not giving me any wishes till after breakfast? It's so hard to talk to anyone if they jump out at you with wishes you don't really want!" "You shouldn't say you wish for things if you don't wish for them. In the old days people almost always knew whether it was Megatherium or Ichthyosaurus they really wanted for dinner." "I'll try not to do so," said Anthea, "but I do wish"-- "Look out!" said the Psammead in a warning voice, and it began to blow itself out. "Oh, this isn't a magic wish--it's just--I should be so glad if you'd not swell yourself out and nearly burst to give me anything just now. Wait till the others are here." "Well, well," it said indulgently, but it shivered. "Would you," asked Anthea kindly--"would you like to come and sit on my lap? You'd be warmer, and I could turn the skirt of my frock up around you. I'd be very careful." Anthea had never expected that it would, but it did. "Thank you," it said; "you really are rather thoughtful." It crept on to her lap and snuggled down, and she put her arms round it with a rather frightened gentleness. "Now then!" it said. "Well then," said Anthea, "everything we have wished has turned out rather horrid. I wish you would advise us. You are so old, you must be very wise." "I was always generous from a child," said the Sand-fairy. "I've spent the whole of my waking hours in giving. But one thing I won't give--that's advice." "You see," Anthea went on, "it's such a wonderful thing--such a splendid, glorious chance. It's so good and kind and dear of you to give us our wishes, and it seems such a pity it should all be wasted just because we are too silly to know what to wish for." Anthea had meant to say that--and she had not wanted to say it before the others. It's one thing to say you're silly, and quite another to say that other people are. "Child," said the Sand-fairy sleepily, "I can only advise you to think before you speak"-- "But I thought you never gave advice." "That piece doesn't count," it said. "You'll never take it! Besides, it's not original. It's in all the copy-books." "But won't you just say if you think wings would be a silly wish?"