p, and sank up to his
knees in the thick mud. He burst into a terrified bellow; and Pollyooly
hurried down the steep bank to help him out. But destiny had arranged
that he should be just out of her reach; and he was too frightened to
make the effort to struggle to her helping hand.

For a while Pollyooly, for all her power of resource, was at a loss; and
the bellowing of the prince did nothing to clear her wits. Then she saw
how she could reach him. She dug her feet into the bank, hugged the
plank over the dyke with her left arm, and leaning forward, succeeded in
getting a grip of his left wrist, and began to tug. Her grip seemed to
inspirit him, for he began to struggle hard toward the bank. It was not
an easy business in the thick mud, but thanks to the purchase afforded by
the plank, Pollyooly could put most of her strength into the effort and
slowly dragged him on to the firmer mud at the edge and then on to the
bank.

Still blubbering a little, he followed Pollyooly up the bank; on the top
of it she turned and surveyed him with horrified eyes. He was wrapped
nearly up to his waist in a smooth, dripping garment of greenish mud; and
patches of it adorned the rest of him. It would have been difficult to
imagine anything more unlike a Hohenzollern in a white sailor suit; and
his face was hardly attractive enough to justify you in comparing him to
the dripping, weed-be-draped Lorelei of his native land.

"Well! You _are_ an aggravating little boy! Whatever am I to do with
you?" cried Pollyooly in a tone of despair.

The prince uttered an apologetic grunt.

"The only thing to do is to get you home as quick as I can," she said
heavily.

She carried the Lump back across the dyke, then the basket of mushrooms.
Then she led the prince across it. They took their slow way back to the
village, the prince leaving behind him a trail which would have gladdened
the heart of the last, or any other, of the Cherokees.

The Baron von Habelschwert, sleeping peacefully beside a sweet work of
genius, called "Dove Wifie," which had fallen from his hand, missed the
departure of his young charge in the wake of Pollyooly. He slept for an
hour; and when he did awake, her friends had moved a long way down the
beach. He struggled to his feet, and set out in search of the prince,
assured that he was somewhere on the sands playing with his active, but
socially impossible, protector. At first he sought him with careless
eyes,