and less likely to be noticed by Martha.

"I will always get up at five," she said to herself. "It was quite too
awfully pretty for anything."

Her heart was beating very fast, for she was carrying out a plan quite
her own. She could not be sure that it was a good plan, but she was
quite sure that it would not be any better if she were to tell the
others about it. And she had a feeling that, right or wrong, she would
rather go through with it alone. She put on her shoes under the iron
verandah, on the red-and-yellow shining tiles, and then she ran straight
to the sand-pit, and found the Psammead's place, and dug it out; it was
very cross indeed.

"It's too bad," it said, fluffing up its fur as pigeons do their
feathers at Christmas time. "The weather's arctic, and it's the middle
of the night."

"I'm so sorry," said Anthea gently, and she took off her white pinafore
and covered the Sand-fairy up with it, all but its head, its bat's ears,
and its eyes that were like a snail's eyes.

"Thank you," it said, "that's better. What's the wish this morning?"

"I don't know," she said; "that's just it. You see we've been very
unlucky, so far. I wanted to talk to you about it. But--would you mind
not giving me any wishes till after breakfast? It's so hard to talk to
anyone if they jump out at you with wishes you don't really want!"

"You shouldn't say you wish for things if you don't wish for them. In