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 one of the others their wish without their having to come here to ask for it. Oh, don't!"

But it was too late. The Psammead had blown itself out to about three times its proper size, and now it collapsed like a pricked bubble, and with a deep sigh leaned back against the edge of the sand-pool, quite faint with the effort.

"There!" it said in a weak voice; "it was tremendously hard—but I did it. Run along home, or they're sure to wish for something silly before you get there."

They were—quite sure; Robert felt this, and as he ran home his mind was deeply occupied with the sort of wishes he might find they had wished in his absence. They might wish for rabbits, or white mice, or chocolate, or a fine day to-morrow, or even—and that was most likely—someone might have said, "I do wish to goodness Robert would hurry up." Well, he was hurrying up, and so they would have had their wish, and the day would be wasted. Then he tried to think what they could wish