Mary Poppins Comes Back

could hardly refrain from letting the King know they knew he had no wisdom. They didn't dislike him, they merely felt a contempt for him.

It was not the King's fault that he was so stupid. He had tried and tried to learn wisdom ever since he was a boy. But, in the middle of his lessons, even when he was grown up, he would suddenly burst into tears and, wiping his eyes on his ermine train, would cry—

'I know I shall never be any good at it — never! So why nag at me?'

But still his teachers continued to make the effort. Professors came from all over the world to try to teach the King of the Castle something — even if it was only Twice-Times-Two or C-A-T cat. But none of them had the slightest effect on him.

Then the Queen had an idea.

'Let us,' she said to the Lord High Chancellor, 'offer a reward to the Professor who can teach the King a little wisdom! And if, at the end of a month, he has not succeeded, his head shall be cut off and spiked on the Castle gates as a warning to other Professors of what will happen if they fail.'

And, as most of them were rather poor and the reward was a large money-prize, the Professors kept on coming and failing and losing hope, and also their heads. And the spikes of the Castle gates became rather crowded.

Things went from bad to worse. And at last the Queen said to the King—

'Ethelbert,' (That was the King's private name) 'I really think you had better leave the government of the Kingdom to me and the Lord High Chancellor, as we both know a good deal about everything!'

'But that wouldn't be fair!' said the King, protesting. 'After all, it's my Kingdom!'

However, he gave in at last because he knew she was cleverer than he. But he so much resented being ordered about in his own Castle and having to use the bent sceptre because he always chewed the knob of the best one, that he went on receiving the Professors and trying to learn wisdom and weeping when he found he couldn't. He wept for their sakes as well as his own for it made him unhappy to see their heads on the gate.

Each new Professor arrived full of hope and assurance and began with some question that the last had not asked.

'What are six and seven, Your Majesty?' enquired a young and handsome Professor who had come from a great distance.

And the King, trying his hardest, thought for a moment. Then he leant forward eagerly and answered—

'Why, twelve, of course!'

'Tch, tch, tch!' said the Lord High Chancellor, standing behind the King's Chair.

The Professor groaned.

'Six and seven are thirteen, Your Majesty!'

'Oh, I'm so sorry! Try another question, please, Professor! I am sure I shall get the next one right.'

'Well, then, what are five and eight?'

'Um — er — let me see! Don't tell me, it's just at the tip of my tongue. Yes! Five and eight are eleven!'

'Tch, tch, tch!' said the Lord High Chancellor.

'THIRTEEN,' cried the young Professor hopelessly.

'But, my dear fellow, you just said that six and seven were thirteen, so how can five and eight be? There aren't two thirteens, surely?'

But the young Professor only shook his head and loosened his collar and went dejectedly away with the Executioner.

'Is there more than one thirteen, then?' asked the King nervously.

The Lord High Chancellor turned away in disgust.

'I'm sorry,' said the King to himself. 'I liked his face so much. It's a pity it has to go on the gate.'

And after that he worked very hard at his Arithmetic, hoping that when the next Professor came, he would be able to give the right answers.

He would sit at the top of the Castle steps, just by the draw-bridge, with a book of Multiplication Tables on his knees, saying them over to himself. And while he was looking at the book everything went well but when he shut his eyes and tried to remember them everything went wrong.

'Seven ones are seven, seven twos are thirty-three, seven threes are forty-five—' he began one day. And when he found he was wrong he threw the book away in disgust and buried his head in his cloak.

'It's no good, it's no good! I shall never be wise!' he cried in despair.

Then, because he could not go on weeping for ever, he wiped his eyes and leant back in his golden chair. And as he did that he gave a little start of surprise. For a stranger had pushed past the sentry at the gate and was walking up the path that led to the Castle.

'Hullo,' said the King, 'who are you?' For he had no memory for faces.

'Well, if it comes to that,' replied the Stranger, 'Who are you?'

'I'm the King of the Castle,' said the King, picking up the bent sceptre and trying to look important.

'And I'm the Dirty Rascal,' was the reply.

The King opened his eyes wide with astonishment.

'Are you really, though? That's interesting! I'm very pleased to meet you. Do you know seven times seven?'

'No. Why should I?'

At that the King gave a great cry of delight and, running down the steps, embraced the Stranger.

'At last, at last!' cried the King, 'I have found a friend. You shall live with me! What is mine shall be yours! We shall spend our lives together!'

'But, Ethelbert,' protested the Queen, 'this is only a Common Person. You cannot have him here.'

'Your Majesty,' said the Lord High Chancellor, sternly, 'IT WOULD NOT DO.'

But for once the King defied him.

'It will do very nicely!' he said royally. 'Who is King here — you or I?' 'Well, of course, in a manner of speaking, you are, as it were, Your Majesty, but—'

'Very well. Put this man in cap and bells and he can be my Fool!'

'Fool!' cried the Queen, wringing her hands. 'Do we need any more of these?'

But the King did not answer. He flung his arm round the Stranger's neck and the two went dancing to the Castle door.

'You first!' said the King politely.

'No, you!' said the Stranger.

'Both together, then!' said the King generously, and they went in side by side.

And from that day the King made no attempt to learn his lessons. He made a pile of all his books and burnt them in the courtyard while he and his new friend danced round it singing—

'I'm the King of the Castle,

And you're the Dirty Rascal!'

'Is that the only song you can sing?' asked the Fool one day.

'Yes, I'm afraid it is!' said the King, rather sadly. 'Do you know any others?'

'Oh, dear, yes!' said the Fool. And he sang sweetly.

'Bright, bright

Bee in your flight,

Drop down some Honey

For Supper tonight!'

and

'Sweet and low, over the Snow,