'To sand?' Jane repeated.

'Where I sleep. You go to bed. I go to sand.'

Jane yawned; the mention of bed made her feel sleepy.

'All right,' said the Psammead, in offended tones. 'I'm sure _I_
don't want to tell you a long tale. A man caught me, and I bit
him. And he put me in a bag with a dead hare and a dead rabbit.
And he took me to his house and put me out of the bag into a
basket with holes that I could see through. And I bit him again.
And then he brought me to this city, which I am told is called
the Modern Babylon--though it's not a bit like the old
Babylon--and he sold me to the man you bought me from, and then I
bit them both. Now, what's your news?'

'There's not quite so much biting in our story,' said Cyril
regretfully; 'in fact, there isn't any. Father's gone to
Manchuria, and Mother and The Lamb have gone to Madeira because
Mother was ill, and don't I just wish that they were both safe
home again.'

Merely from habit, the Sand-fairy began to blow itself out, but
it stopped short suddenly.

'I forgot,' it said; 'I can't give you any more wishes.'

'No--but look here,' said Cyril, 'couldn't we call in old Nurse
and get her to say SHE wishes they were safe home. I'm sure she