t do anything!" cried Pollyooly with indignant heat. "He did it
_himself_! He _would_ fall into the dyke! He's the most aggravating
little boy I ever knew!"

"You trow 'im into ze dyke! You id on purpose did!" cried the furious
baron.

"Bollyooly didn't," said his little charge stolidly.

"Do try and have a little sense, Baron von Habelschwert," said the
Honourable John Ruffin, smiling upon the hope of the house of
Lippe-Schweidnitz. "Pollyooly wouldn't throw any one into dykes."

"Bud look at 'im!" cried the baron. "'e will the enteric fever haf!"

"Oh, no. He didn't get any water into his mouth," said Pollyooly
quickly. "I made him open it and looked, because Mr. Ruffin told me the
marsh water gave people fever. It's only mud on his clothes."

"Moodd! Onlie moodd!" howled the baron. "His cloze, zey are spoiled!
Ze cloze of the bezd dailor of Schweidnitz!"

That was a misfortune which appealed deeply to Pollyooly. She looked at
the spoiled suit of the prince very sadly, and said generously:

"Well, I'll give him half of the mushrooms--though really he didn't
gather them; and I had to carry the basket."

"Mooshrooms!" howled the baron. "Vhat is mooshrooms wiz cloze? Zeze
English, zey are all mad!"

In his emotion the baron had not kept his usual wary watch on his young
charge, and so failed to observe the light of battle gather and gleam in
his eyes. But as he finished the prince sprang at him, cried angrily:
"Bollyooly isn't!" and kicked him on the shin.

The kick was stiff and lacked its usual snap; but it was sufficiently
vigorous to dislodge a good deal of the mud from the once white
trouser-leg and bespatter the legs of the baron, who uttered a short howl
and bent like a bow, holding off his little charge, and gazing wildly
round the marsh. This time Pollyooly did not come to his aid; she gazed
at him with a cold eye.

"It serves you right--talking like that about people when they try to
make up," she said coldly.

The prince, encouraged by this quite unexpected approval, made another
fine effort to plant a second kick of remonstrance on the shin of his
preceptor. His foot missed it; but plenty of mud hit it.

"That's enough, Adalbert. Stop it!" said the magnanimous Pollyooly
sharply.

Adalbert stopped it.

The baron ground his teeth at this new familiarity; but was glad to be
loosed by his admonished charge; and the procession took its triumphant
way back to the village.

Th