"I'll larn you, you young varmint!" he said, and went off to pick up his loaves and go about his business. Cyril, impeded by Jane, could do nothing without hurting her, for she clung round his legs with the strength of despair. The baker's boy went off red and damp about the face; abusive to the last, he called them a pack of silly idiots, and disappeared round the corner. Then Jane's grasp loosened. Cyril turned away in silent dignity to follow Robert, and the girls followed him, weeping without restraint. It was not a happy party that flung itself down in the sand beside the sobbing Robert. For Robert was sobbing--mostly with rage. Though of course I know that a really heroic boy is always dry-eyed after a fight. But then he always wins, which had not been the case with Robert. Cyril was angry with Jane; Robert was furious with Anthea; the girls were miserable; and not one of the four was pleased with the baker's boy. There was, as French writers say, "a silence full of emotion." Then Robert dug his toes and his hands into the sand and wriggled in his rage. "He'd better wait till I'm grown up--the cowardly brute! Beast!--I hate him! But I'll pay him out. Just because he's bigger than me." "You began," said Jane incautiously. "I know I did, silly--but I was only jollying--and he kicked me--look here"-- Robert tore down a stocking and showed a purple bruise touched up with red. "I only wish I was bigger than him, that's all." He dug his fingers in the sand, and sprang up, for his hand had touched something furry. It was the Psammead, of course--"On the look-out to make sillies of them as usual," as Cyril remarked later. And of course the next moment Robert's wish was granted, and he was bigger than the baker's boy. Oh, but much, much bigger! He was bigger than the big policeman who used to be at the crossing at the Mansion House years ago,--the one who was so kind in helping old ladies over the crossing,--and he was the biggest man _I_ have ever seen, as well as the kindest. No one had a foot-rule in its pocket, so Robert could not be measured--but he was taller than your father would be if he stood on your mother's head, which I am sure he would never be unkind enough to do. He must have been ten or eleven feet high, and as broad as a boy of that height ought to be. His suit had fortunately grown too, and now he stood up in it--with one of his enormous stockings turned down to show the gigantic bruise on his vast leg. Immense tears of fury still stood on his flushed giant face. He looked so surprised, and he was so large to be wearing a turned down collar outside of his jacket that the others could not help laughing. "The Sammyadd's done us again," said Cyril. [Illustration: "The Sammyadd's done us again," said Cyril] "Not us--_me_," said Robert. "If you'd got any decent feeling you'd try to make it make you the same size. You've no idea how silly it feels," he added thoughtlessly.