it. So there was nothing to do but to send
for Tur-il-i-ra. When Ting-a-ling heard this, he was disheartened, and
hung his little head. "The best thing to do," remarked Alcahazar, the
oldest of the magicians, "would be to inform the King and his army of
the place where the Princess is confined, and let them go and take her
out."

"O no!" cried Ting-a-ling, who, if his body was no larger than a very
small pea-pod, had a soul as big as a water-melon. "If the King knows
it, up he will come with all his drums and horns, and the dwarf will
hear him a mile off and either kill the Princess, or hide her away. If
we were all to go to the castle, I should think we could do something
ourselves." This was the longest speech that Ting-a-ling had ever made;
and when he was through, the youngest magician said to the others that
he thought it was growing cooler, and the others agreed that it was.
After some conversation among themselves in an exceedingly foreign
tongue, these kind magicians agreed to go up to the castle, and see what
they could do. So Zamcar put Ting-a-ling in the folds of his turban, and
the whole party started off for the dwarf's castle. They looked like a
company of travelling merchants, each one having a package on his back
and a great staff in his hand. When they reached the outer gate of the
castle, Alcahazar, the oldest, knocked at it with his stick, and it was
opened at once by a shiny black slave, who, coming out, shut it behind
him, and inquired what the travellers wanted.

"Is your master within?" asked Alcahazar.

"I don't know," said the slave.

"Can't you find out?" asked the magician.

"Well, good merchant, perhaps I might; but I don't particularly want to
know," said the slave, as he leaned back against the gate, leisurely
striking with his long sword at the night-bugs and beetles that were
buzzing about.

"My friend," said Alcahazar, "don't you think that is rather a careless
way of using a sword? You might cut somebody."

"That's true," said the slave. "I didn't think of it before;" but he
kept on striking away, all the same.

"Then stop it!" said Alcahazar, the oldest magician, striking the sword
from his hand with one blow of his staff. Upon this, up stepped
Ormanduz, the next oldest, and whacked the slave over his head; and then
Mahallah, the next oldest, struck him over the shoulders; and Akbeck, the
next oldest, cracked him on the shins; and Zamcar, the youngest, punched
him in the sto