y be, and he can go on electing, and
polling his vote in peace and quietness, at home. Just wait till I spot
the places."

The prince ran up to the turret, fetched the magic spy-glass, and looked
up London, Rome, and Hanover, as you would in a map.

"Well, Dick, but how do you mean to do it?"

"Do it?--nothing simpler! I just take my Seven-league Boots, run over to
Rome, pick up Prince Charles, put him on the magic carpet, fly to London,
clap the Cap of Darkness on him so that nobody can see him, set him down
on the throne of his fathers; pick up the Elector, carry him over to his
beloved Hanover, and the trick is done--what they call a bloodless
revolution in the history books."

"But if the English don't like Prince Charles when they get him?"

"Like him? they're sure to like him, a young fellow like that! Besides,
I'll take the sword with me in case of accidents."

"But, Dick, it is your father's rule that you are never to meddle in the
affairs of other countries, and never to start on an expedition when he
is not at home."

"Oh, he won't mind this time! There's no kind of danger; and I'm sure he
will approve of the _principle_ of the thing. Kings must stick up for
each other. Why, some electing characters might come here and kick _us_
out!"

"Your father is not the sort of king who is kicked out," said Jaqueline.

But there was no use in talking to Dick. He made his simple
preparations, and announced that he would be back in time for luncheon.

What was poor Jaqueline to do? She was extremely anxious. She knew, as
we saw, what King Prigio had intended about changing the fairy things for
others that would not work. She was certain Dick would get himself into
a scrape; how was she to help him? She made up her mind quickly, while
Dick was putting his things together. She told the queen (it was the
nearest to the truth she could think of) that she "was going for a turn
with Dick." Then she changed herself into a mosquito--a kind of gnat
that bites--and hid herself under a fold of Dick's coat. Of course he
knew nothing about her being there. Then he started off in his Seven-
league Boots, and before you could say "Jack Robinson" he was in Rome, in
the grounds of a splendid palace called the Villa Borghese.

There he saw an elderly gentleman, in a great curled wig, sound asleep on
a seat beneath a tree. The old gentleman had a long, pale, melancholy
face, and across his breast was a broad blue