o was regarding the children with the pleasantest expression possible.

"Ha!" shouted the figure as it strode along. "Ha! I say, Ha!"

King Charles still smiled gravely and took no notice. The striding
figure that shouted "Ha!" might never have uttered a word for all the
notice King Charles took of him.

"Ha!" shouted the figure for the last time.

Then, seeing that nobody took any notice of him, the figure looked
glum, and folding his arms espied the Griffin peacefully asleep, the
white dinner napkin covering his fond, foolish face, waiting to be
awakened, so the Griffin fondly hoped--awakened by a gentle tap as
Beauty. The Griffin's slumber seemed to annoy the sombre man
intensely, for without uttering a syllable he drew his sword and smote
the Griffin hard upon the red flannel paws that were folded with a view
to pictorial effect beside the Griffin's covered face.

There was a shriek of anguish, and the Griffin awoke.

The pain the Griffin suffered from the blow upon his tender paws was as
nothing compared to the blow to the Griffin's feelings when he realised
that his ineffably touching picture of the Sleeping Beauty had been
spoiled for the evening. A great surge of sudden hatred swept over the
Griffin at the swaggering intruder who had dared to strike him, and
simultaneously the Griffin remembered something he had once heard said
by a man in blue wearing a helmet close to where he always stood in
Fleet Street.

The Griffin seized Carry-on-Merry's golden wand for the second time
that evening and approached the sombre man of the top boots and the
slouch hat menacingly. "Move on," shouted the Griffin, giving a
lifelike imitation of the man in blue with a helmet. "Move on, d'ye
hear?"

The sombre figure backed a little way in astonishment.

"Move on," said the Griffin, "out of this; we don't want you here.
Orff you go!" The sombre figure retreated a little more. "If I catch
you here again," said the Griffin pompously, "I will run you in; no
loafing here!" The sombre man gave one scowl, sheathed his sword with
a clank, and hurriedly took his departure without once looking back or
uttering any further remark.

"Bravo!" muttered the Lion, "that is the first useful thing the Griffin
has done all the evening."

"Who was that dismal looking man muffled up like a brigand?" asked
Ridgwell.

The Lion smiled. "That was Oliver Cromwell. He came to try and spoil
the party."

"Why?" asked Ridgwell.