fly
busy trying to soothe him.

When at last she detached him from her skirt and bade him good-bye, and
climbed into the wagonette, he tried to climb into it to go with her;
and the Baron von Habelschwert had to lift him down and hold him firmly.

The wagonette drove off amid a loud chorus of farewells; and little
given to the softer emotions as Pollyooly was, there were tears in her
eyes as she looked back on the friends she was leaving. Her last sight
of the prince was somewhat depressing: in a final access of despair he
was kicking the baron's shins.

Pollyooly said, with far more indulgence than she had generally shown
him:

"I don't suppose he'll break out like that very often."

"Still, after all your training, it is sad to see him massacring his
faithful mentor," said the Honourable John Ruffin.

"Yes: it isn't nice of him," said Pollyooly without any great annoyance
in her tone. "But really it's the baron's fault; he'd only have to
smack him about twice."

"I expect he has conscientious scruples against smacking princes of the
blood royal. Many people undoubtedly have," said the Honourable John
Ruffin.

"Perhaps he has. But I think he'll miss me," said Pollyooly in a tone
of sufficient satisfaction.

The baron would indeed miss her; and he was one of the saddest men in
Pyechurch that day. With the departure of Pollyooly his hours of ease
came to an end. No longer could he in his sunnily disposed deck-chair
read the sweet books he loved in a perfect serenity. Once more he must
follow his royal charge up and down the sands and keep an ever watchful
eye on him.

The change from Pyechurch to the Temple was trying; but the unrepining
Pollyooly soon grew used to it, though she missed for a while the wide
spaces of the sea and marsh, and the inspiriting breezes from the sea.

The Honourable John Ruffin made some changes: she was to continue to
call him John, or Cousin John; she was to do her work in gloves; and
she was always to wear a large apron. The use of a large apron, though
it might prevent her from working with her wonted speed, was to enable
her to wear under it always a nice linen frock. Then, when any one
knocked at the door of the chambers, she could slip off the apron, and
let them in no longer in the guise of the Honourable John Ruffin's
housekeeper, but as a member of his family.

He did not for a moment dream of relieving her altogether of her
housework. In the first place he c