earching for you in all parts of the--" began Truxton,
coming to his feet. "I really must be going. Please excuse me, your--"

"Oh, don't go! I'll not let 'em do anything to you," said the Prince
staunchly. "I like Americans better than anybody else," he went on with
deft persuasiveness. "They ain't--aren't afraid of anything. They're not
cowards."

Truxton sat down at once. He could not turn tail in the face of such an
exalted opinion.

"I'm not supposed to ever go out alone," went on the Prince
confidentially. "You see, they're going to blow me up if they get a
chance."

"Blow you up?"

"Haven't you heard about it? With dynamite bums--bombs. Yes, sir! That's
the way they do to all princes." He was quite unconcerned. Truxton's
look of horror diminished. No doubt it was a subterfuge employed to
secure princely obedience, very much as the common little boy is brought
to time by mention of the ubiquitous bogie man.

"That's too bad," commiserated Truxton, baiting the pin once more.

"It's old Count Marlanx. He's going to blow me up. He hated my mother
and my father, so I guess he hates me. He's turrible, Uncle Caspar
says."

King was very thoughtful for a moment. Something vivid yet fleeting had
shot through his brain--something that he tried to catch and analyse,
but it was gone before he could grasp its significance. He looked with
new interest upon this serene, lovable little chap, who was growing up,
like all princes, in the shadow of disaster.

Suddenly the fisherman's quick little ears caught a sound that caused
him to reveal a no-uncertain agitation. He dropped his rod incontinently
and crawled to the opening in the shrubbery, peering with alarmed eyes
down the path along the bank.

"What is it? A dynamiter?" demanded Truxton uneasily.

"Worse'n that," whispered his royal Highness. "It's Aunt Loraine. Gee!"
To King's utter dismay, the Prince scuttled for the underbrush.

"Here!" he called in consternation. The Prince stopped, shamefaced on
the instant. "I thought you were going to protect me."

"I shall," affirmed Bobby, manfully resuming his ground. "She's coming
up the path. Don't run," he exclaimed scornfully, as Truxton started for
the rocks. "She can't hurt you. She's only a girl."

"All right. I won't run," said the big culprit, who wished he had the
power to fly.

"And there's Saffo and Cors over there watching us, too. We're caught.
I'm sorry, mister."

On the opposite bank of the pool