ring the room and
leading by the hand a young gnome about a foot high. He had on a ruffled
jacket and trousers, and a little peaked cap. His royal grandmother led
him to Selma.

"You will take him," she said, "for a session of ten months. At the end
of that time we shall expect him to be thoroughly posted in emergencies.
While he is away, he will drop all his royal titles and be known as
Class 81, Q. His parents and I have taken leave of him. Good-bye!"

And she left the room, with her little handkerchief to her eyes.

"Now, then," said the housekeeper, "the sooner you are off, the better.
The bear is waiting."

So saying, she hurried Selma and the Prince through the school-room,
and, when they opened the door, there stood the bear, all ready. Selma
mounted him, and the housekeeper handed up the Prince, first kissing
him good-bye. Then off they started.

The Prince, or, as he must now be called, Class 81, Q, was a very quiet
and somewhat bashful little fellow; and, although Selma talked a good
deal to him, on the way, he did not say much. The bear carried them to
the edge of the woods, and then Selma took the little fellow in her arms
and ran home with him.

It may well be supposed that the appearance of their daughter with the
young gnome in her arms greatly astonished the worthy cottagers, and
they were still more astonished when they heard her story.

"You must do your best, my dear," said her mother, "and this may prove a
very good thing for you, as well as for this little master here."

Selma promised to do as well as she could, and her father said he would
try and think of some good emergencies, so that the little fellow could
be well trained.

Everybody seemed to be highly satisfied, even Class 81, Q, himself, who
sat cross-legged on a wooden chair surveying everything about him; but
when Jules Vatermann came home, he was very much dissatisfied, indeed.

"Confound it!" he said, when he heard the story. "I should have done
all this. That should have been my pupil, and the good luck should have
been mine. The gnome-man came first to me, and, if he had waited a
minute, I should have thought of the right thing to do. I could teach
that youngster far better than you, Selma. What do you know about
emergencies?"

Selma and her parents said nothing. Jules had been quite cross-grained
since the twenty-fifth of January, when he had met the gnome, and they
had learned to pay but little attention to his fault-fi