Then everyone put on its outdoor things, the Phoenix fluttered on to the mantelpiece and arranged its golden feathers in the glass, and then all was ready. Everyone got on to the carpet. "Please go slowly, dear carpet," Anthea began; "we like to see where we're going." And then she added the difficult wish that had been decided on. Next moment the carpet, stiff and raft-like, was sailing over the roofs of Kentish Town. "I wish----No, I don't mean that. I mean it's a _pity_ we aren't higher up," said Anthea, as the edge of the carpet grazed a chimney-pot. "That's right. Be careful," said the Phoenix, in warning tones. "If you wish when you're on a Wishing Carpet, you _do_ wish, and there's an end of it." So for a short time no one spoke, and the carpet sailed on in calm magnificence over St. Pancras and King's Cross stations and over the crowded streets of Clerkenwell. "We're going out Greenwich way," said Cyril, as they crossed the streak of rough, tumbled water that was the Thames. "We might go and have a look at the Palace." On and on the carpet swept, still keeping much nearer to the chimney-pots than the children found at all comfortable. And then, just over New Cross, a terrible thing happened. Jane and Robert were in the middle of the carpet. Part of them was on the carpet, and part of them--the heaviest part--was on the great central darn. "It's all very misty," said Jane; "it looks partly like out of doors and partly like in the nursery at home. I feel as if I was going to have measles; everything looked awfully rum then, I remember." "I feel just exactly the same," Robert said. "It's the hole," said the Phoenix; "it's not measles, whatever that possession may be." And at that both Robert and Jane suddenly and at once made a bound to try and get on to the safer part of the carpet, and the darn _gave way_ and their boots went up, and the heavy heads and bodies of them went down _through the hole_, and they landed in a position something between sitting and sprawling on the flat leads on the top of a high, grey, gloomy, respectable house whose address was 705, Amersham Road, New Cross. The carpet seemed to awaken to new energy as soon as it had got rid of their weight, and rose high in the air. The others lay down flat and peeped over the edge of the rising carpet. [Illustration: "'ARE YOU HURT?' CRIED CYRIL."] "Are you hurt?" cried Cyril, and Robert shouted "No," and next moment the carpet had sped away, and Jane and Robert were hidden from the sight of the others by a stack of smoky chimneys. "Oh, how awful!" said Anthea. "It might have been worse," said the Phoenix. "What would have been the sentiments of the survivors if that darn had given way when we were crossing the river?"