“Brother mine, and Sister mine!” the Warden began, in a clear voice that was heard all through that vast hall. “I come not to disturb you. Rule on, as Emperor, and rule wisely. For I am chosen King of Elfland. Tomorrow I return there, taking nought from hence, save only—save only—” his voice trembled, and with a look of ineffable tenderness, he laid his hands in silence on the heads of the two little ones who clung around him.
But he recovered himself in a moment, and beckoned to the Emperor to resume his place at the table. The company seated themselves again—room being found for the Elfin-King between his two children—and the Lord Chancellor rose once more, to propose the next toast.
“The next toast—the hero of the day—why, he isn’t here!” he broke off in wild confusion.
Good gracious! Everybody had forgotten Prince Uggug!
“He was told of the Banquet, of course?” said the Emperor.
“Undoubtedly!” replied the Chancellor. “That would be the duty of the Gold Stick in Waiting.”
“Let the Gold Stick come forwards!” the Emperor gravely said.
The Gold Stick came forwards. “I attended on His Imperial Fatness,” was the statement made by the trembling official. “I told him of the Lecture and the Banquet—.”
“What followed?” said the Emperor: for the unhappy man seemed almost too frightened to go on.
“His Imperial Fatness was graciously pleased to be sulky. His Imperial Fatness was graciously pleased to box my ears. His Imperial Fatness was graciously pleased to say ‘I don’t care!’ ”
“ ‘Don’t-care’ came to a bad end,” Sylvie whispered to Bruno. “I’m not sure, but I believe he was hanged.”
The Professor overheard her. “That result,” he blandly remarked, “was merely a case of mistaken identity.”
Both children looked puzzled.
“Permit me to explain. ‘Don’t-care’ and ‘Care’ were twin-brothers. ‘Care,’ you know, killed the Cat. And they caught ‘Don’t-care’ by mistake, and hanged him instead. And so ‘Care’ is alive still. But he’s very unhappy without his brother. That’s why they say ‘Begone, dull Care!’ ”
“Thank you!” Sylvie said, heartily. “It’s very extremely interesting. Why, it seems to explain everything!”
“Well, not quite everything,” the Professor modestly rejoined. “There are two or three scientific difficulties—”
“What was your general impression as to His Imperial Fatness?” the Emperor asked the Gold Stick.
“My impression was that His Imperial Fatness was getting more—”
“More what?”
All listened breathlessly for the next word.
“More prickly!”
“He must be sent for at once!” the Emperor exclaimed. And the Gold Stick went off like a shot. The Elfin-King sadly shook his head. “No use, no use!” he murmured to himself. “Loveless, loveless!”
Pale, trembling, speechless, the Gold Stick came slowly back again.
“Well?” said the Emperor. “Why does not the Prince appear?”
“One can easily guess,” said the Professor. “His Imperial Fatness is, without doubt, a little preoccupied.”
Bruno turned a look of solemn enquiry on his old friend. “What do that word mean?”
But the Professor took no notice of the question. He was eagerly listening to the Gold Stick’s reply.
“Please your Highness! His Imperial Fatness is—” Not a word more could he utter.
The Empress rose in an agony of alarm. “Let us go to him!” she cried. And there was a general rush for the door.
Bruno slipped off his chair in a moment. “May we go too?” he eagerly asked. But the King did not hear the question, as the Professor was speaking to him. “Preoccupied, your Majesty!” he was saying. “That is what he is, no doubt!”
“May we go and see him?” Bruno repeated. The King nodded assent, and the children ran off. In a minute or two they returned, slowly and gravely. “Well?” said the King. “What’s the matter with the Prince?”
“He’s—what you said,” Bruno replied, looking at the Professor. “That hard word.” And he looked to Sylvie for assistance.
“Porcupine,” said Sylvie.
“No, no!” the Professor corrected her. “ ‘Preoccupied,’ you mean.”
“No, it’s porcupine,” persisted Sylvie. “Not that other word at all. And please will you come? The house is all in an uproar.” (“And oo’d better bring an uproar-glass wiz oo!” added Bruno.)
We got up in great haste, and followed the children upstairs. No one took the least notice of me, but I wasn’t at all surprised at this, as I had long realised that I was quite invisible to them all—even to Sylvie and Bruno.
All along the gallery, that led to the Prince’s apartment, an excited crowd was surging to and fro, and the Babel of voices was deafening: against the door of the room three strong men were leaning, vainly trying to shut it—for some great animal inside was constantly bursting it half open, and we had a glimpse, before the men could push it back again, of the head of a furious wild beast, with great fiery eyes and gnashing teeth. Its voice was a sort of mixture—there was the roaring of a lion, and the bellowing of a bull, and now and then a scream like a gigantic parrot. “There is no judging by the voice!” the Professor cried in great excitement. “What is it?” he shouted to the men at the door. And a general chorus of voices answered him “Porcupine! Prince Uggug has turned into a Porcupine!”
“A new Specimen!” exclaimed the delighted Professor. “Pray let me go in. It should be labeled at once!”
But the strong men only pushed him back. “Label it, indeed! Do you want to be eaten up?” they cried.
“Never mind about Specimens, Professor!” said the Emperor, pushing his way through the crowd. “Tell us how to keep him safe!”
“A large cage!” the Professor promptly replied. “Bring a large cage,” he said to the people generally, “with strong bars of steel, and a portcullis made to go up and down like a
