'Oh, yes, you do,' Cyril contradicted. 'When people's houses are
burnt down the Phoenix gives them new houses. Father told me; I
asked him.'

'The house, then, like the Phoenix, rises from its ashes? Well
have my priests dealt with the sons of men!'

'The sons of men pay, you know,' said Anthea; 'but it's only a
little every year.'

'That is to maintain my priests,' said the bird, 'who, in the hour
of affliction, heal sorrows and rebuild houses. Lead on; inquire
for the High Priest. I will not break upon them too suddenly in
all my glory. Noble and honour-deserving are they who make as
nought the evil deeds of the lame-footed and unpleasing
Hephaestus.'

'I don't know what you're talking about, and I wish you wouldn't
muddle us with new names. Fire just happens. Nobody does it--not
as a deed, you know,' Cyril explained. 'If they did the Phoenix
wouldn't help them, because its a crime to set fire to things.
Arsenic, or something they call it, because it's as bad as
poisoning people. The Phoenix wouldn't help THEM--father told me
it wouldn't.'

'My priests do well,' said the Phoenix. 'Lead on.'

'I don't know what to say,' said Cyril; and the Others said the
same.