romancing and lying were not at all
the same; only it was important to know what you were playing at. So
Oswald accepted his apology, and went on.

'We were hiding among the furze-bushes one day, and we saw him do it. He
took off his collar, and he put on a clean one, and he threw the other
among the furze-bushes. We picked it up afterwards, and it was a beastly
paper one!'

'Thank you,' said the Editor, and he got up and put his hand in his
pocket. 'That's well worth five shillings, and there they are. Would you
like to see round the printing offices before you go home?'

I pocketed my five bob, and thanked him, and I said we should like it
very much. He called another gentleman and said something we couldn't
hear. Then he said good-bye again; and all this time Noel hadn't said a
word. But now he said, 'I've made a poem about you. It is called "Lines
to a Noble Editor." Shall I write it down?'

The Editor gave him the blue pencil, and he sat down at the Editor's
table and wrote. It was this, he told me afterwards as well as he could
remember--

May Life's choicest blessings be your lot
I think you ought to be very blest
For you are going to print my poems--
And you may have this one as well as the rest.

'Thank you,' said the Editor. 'I don't think I ever had a poem addressed
to me before. I shall treasure it, I assure you.'

Then the other gentleman said something about Maecenas, and we went off
to see the printing office with at least one pound seven in our pockets.

It _was_ good hunting, and no mistake!

But he never put Noel's poetry in the Daily Recorder. It was quite a
long time afterwards we saw a sort of story thing in a magazine, on the
station bookstall, and that kind, sleepy-looking Editor had written it,
I suppose. It was not at all amusing. It said a lot about Noel and me,
describing us all wrong, and saying how we had tea with the Editor;
and all Noel's poems were in the story thing. I think myself the Editor
seemed to make game of them, but Noel was quite pleased to see them
printed--so that's all right. It wasn't my poetry anyhow, I am glad to
say.

CHAPTER 6. NOEL'S PRINCESS

She happened quite accidentally. We were not looking for a Princess at
all just then; but Noel had said he was going to find a Princess all by
himself; and marry her--and he really did. Which was rather odd, because
when people say things are going to befall, very often they don't. It
was differ