“I _am_ so sorry, poor, dear Squirrel,” said Anthea; “and you were looking so lovely. I’ll get a wet rag. Bobs, go and hold your hand under the hot-water tap. It’s what ballet girls do with their legs when they hurt them. I saw it in a book.” “What book?” said Robert disagreeably. But he went. When he came back Cyril’s head had been bandaged by his sisters, and he had been brought to the state of mind where he was able reluctantly to admit that he supposed Robert hadn’t done it on purpose. Robert replying with equal suavity, Anthea hastened to lead the talk away from the accident. “I suppose you don’t feel like going anywhere through the Amulet,” she said. “Egypt!” said Jane promptly. “I want to see the pussy cats.” “Not me—too hot,” said Cyril. “It’s about as much as I can stand here—let alone Egypt.” It was indeed, hot, even on the second landing, which was the coolest place in the house. “Let’s go to the North Pole.” “I don’t suppose the Amulet was ever there—and we might get our fingers frost-bitten so that we could never hold it up to get home again. No thanks,” said Robert. “I say,” said Jane, “let’s get the Psammead and ask its advice. It will like us asking, even if we don’t take it.” The Psammead was brought up in its green silk embroidered bag, but before it could be asked anything the door of the learned gentleman’s room opened and the voice of the visitor who had been lunching with him was heard on the stairs. He seemed to be speaking with the door handle in his hand. “You see a doctor, old boy,” he said; “all that about thought-transference is just simply twaddle. You’ve been over-working. Take a holiday. Go to Dieppe.” “I’d rather go to Babylon,” said the learned gentleman. “I wish you’d go to Atlantis some time, while we’re about it, so as to give me some tips for my _Nineteenth Century_ article when you come home.” “I wish I could,” said the voice of the learned gentleman. “Goodbye. Take care of yourself.” The door was banged, and the visitor came smiling down the stairs—a stout, prosperous, big man. The children had to get up to let him pass. “Hullo, Kiddies,” he said, glancing at the bandages on the head of Cyril and the hand of Robert, “been in the wars?” “It’s all right,” said Cyril. “I say, what was that Atlantic place you wanted him to go to? We couldn’t help hearing you talk.” “You talk so _very_ loud, you see,” said Jane soothingly. “Atlantis,” said the visitor, “the lost Atlantis, garden of the Hesperides. Great continent—disappeared in the sea. You can read about it in Plato.” “Thank you,” said Cyril doubtfully. “Were there any Amulets there?” asked Anthea, made anxious by a sudden thought. “Hundreds, I should think. So _he’s_ been talking to you?” “Yes, often. He’s very kind to us. We like him awfully.”