"Fire! Fire!" The curtain went down--the lights went up. "Fire!" cried everyone, and made for the doors. "A magnificent idea!" said the Phoenix, complacently. "An enormous altar--fire supplied free of charge. Doesn't the incense smell delicious?" The only smell was the stifling smell of smoke, of burning silk, or scorching varnish. The little flames had opened now into great flame-flowers. The people in the theatre were shouting and pressing towards the doors. "Oh, how _could_ you!" cried Jane. "Let's get out." "Father said stay here," said Anthea, very pale, and trying to speak in her ordinary voice. "He didn't mean stay and be roasted," said Robert; "no boys on burning decks for me, thank you." "Not much," said Cyril, and he opened the door of the box. [Illustration: "HE OPENED THE DOOR OF THE BOX."] But a fierce waft of smoke and hot air made him shut it again. It was not possible to get out that way. They looked over the front of the box. Could they climb down? It would be possible, certainly, but would they be much better off? "Look at the people," moaned Anthea; "we couldn't get through." And, indeed, the crowd round the doors looked thick as flies in the jam-making season. "I wish we'd never seen the Phoenix," cried Jane. Even at that awful moment Robert looked round to see if the bird had overheard a speech which, however natural, was hardly polite or grateful. The Phoenix was gone. "Look here," said Cyril, "I've read about fires in papers; I'm sure it's all right. Let's wait here, as father said." "We can't do anything else," said Anthea, bitterly. "Look here," said Robert, "I'm _not_ frightened--no, I'm not. The Phoenix has never been a skunk yet, and I'm certain it'll see us through somehow. I believe in the Phoenix!" "The Phoenix thanks you, O Robert," said a golden voice at his feet, and there was the Phoenix itself, on the Wishing Carpet. "Quick!" it said, "stand on those portions of the carpet which are truly antique and authentic--and----" A sudden jet of flame stopped its words. Alas! the Phoenix had unconsciously warmed to its subject, and in the unintentional heat of the moment had set fire to the paraffin with which that morning the children had anointed the carpet. It burned merrily. The children tried in vain to stamp it out. They had to stand back and let it burn itself out. When the paraffin had burned away it was found that it had taken with it all the darns of Scotch heather-mixture fingering. Only the fabric of the old carpet was left--and that was full of holes. "Come," said the Phoenix, "I'm cool now." The four children got on to what was left of the carpet. Very careful they were not to leave a leg or a hand hanging over one of the holes. It was very hot--the theatre was a pit of fire. Everyone else had got out. Jane had to sit on Anthea's lap.