the fort in which he kept
all his tin soldiers in the nursery at home that he was not at all
surprised when a sentinel without a head came out in answer to his
knock. He remembered melting off the head of that particular tin
soldier only two days before, and he was much relieved when he showed
no signs of recognising him. As the poor tin fellow had no head, this
was hardly to be wondered at.

"Make haste, and let down the drawbridge," said the Prince, banging
away at the wooden gate with his fists; "I want to see if the Lady
Emmelina is inside."

He thought he could do what he liked with his own property, but the
soldier without a head was evidently of another opinion. He did not
attempt to let down the drawbridge, and he answered the Prince in a
rhyme which he seemed to have made up for the occasion:

"What a ridiculous clatter
Over _such_ a small matter!
I was peacefully napping
When you came with your tapping;
You are vastly mistaken
If you think I've forsaken
My official position
Because no physician
Could give me a cranium
Like a pot of geranium.
And these are my orders--
No one passes these borders
Unless he is able,
In song, rhyme, or fable,
The real, true intention
Of his coming to mention!"

To be sure, it was not much of a rhyme, but it was not bad for a
soldier who had no head. When he had finished it he went away again,
and the Prince sat down disconsolately under the silver birch tree. He
felt more convinced than before that the Lady Emmelina was inside the
fort; but although he thought as much as most people would over an
ordinary arithmetic lesson, he could not think of a single rhyme.

"Good-day to you," said a voice that seemed to come from the very top
of the birch tree. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"I am Prince Perfection, and I want what you are thinking about,"
answered the Prince, although he hardly hoped, this time, that he would
get what he wanted.

"Do you really mean it?" remarked the voice. "I was just composing a
song about a charming little lady in a white silk frock, who lives
behind that drawbridge over there. It is not very likely you can want
that!"

"Hurrah!" shouted the little Prince, standing on his head for joy.
"Then, it is the Lady Emmelina!"

"The fact is," continued the voice, without noticing the interruption,
"I always make poetry when there is nothing else to do. So does the
tin soldier. He can't help i