|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmdkl
 

reesontheislandwhereyou
can't have whooping-cough.'
'Prettyisland'saidtheLamb;'paint-boxsandsandseaallshiny
sparkly.'
Hisbrothersandsistershadoftenwonderedwhetherhereme mbered
that island. Now they knew that he did.
'Yes'saidCyril;'nomorecheapreturntripsbycarpetforu s—that'sa
dead cert.'
Theywerealltalkingaboutthecarpetbutwhattheywereall thinking
about was the Phoenix.
Thegoldenbirdhadbeensokindsofriendlysopolitesoinst ruct-
ive—and now it had set fire to a theatre and made mother ill.
153
Nobodyblamedthebird.Ithadactedinaperfectlynaturalm anner.
Buteveryonesawthatitmustnotbeaskedtoprolongitsvisi t.Indeed
in plain English it must be asked to go!
Thefourchildrenfeltlikebasespiesandtreacherousfrie nds;andeach
initsmindwassayingwhooughtnottobetheonetotellthePh oenix
thattherecouldnolongerbeaplaceforitinthathappyhome inCam-
denTown.Eachchildwasquitesurethatoneofthemoughttos peakout
in a fair and manly waybut nobody wanted to be the one.
Theycouldnottalkthewholethingoverastheywouldhaveli kedto
dobecausethePhoenixitselfwasinthecupboardamongtheb lack-
beetles and the odd shoes and the broken chessmen.
But Anthea tried.
'It'sveryhorrid.Idohatethinkingthingsaboutpeoplean dnotbeing
abyilai：
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On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmbme