The gate was unbarred, and the Prince dismounted gravely from his horse and gave it to the herald to hold.

“Is His Majesty at home?” he inquired of the under-doorkeeper.

“His Majesty is at home, Sire, but he is about going a-hunting, and loves not to be delayed.”

“Never mind,” said the Prince boldly, “I demand an audience.” “By what right?” said the fellow sullenly.

“By my own right,” sternly answered the Prince. “By the right of courtesy.” And he handed the under-doorkeeper a polished mahogany tablet with PRINCE COURTESY engraved on it.

“Take this to your master,” he said, and turned away.

The under-doorkeeper louted low and went into the Castle. In a few moments the head- doorkeeper appeared and said with a low reverence:

“His Majesty awaits you, Sire, in the guest-chamber.” Prince Courtesy followed the head- doorkeeper into the Castle, across the courtyard, and up a flight of fine stone steps to the guest- chamber, where the King was waiting.

“Your Majesty,” said the Prince, “is doubtless aware that I am heir to the throne of the neighbouring kingdom of Dravidia. The King, my Father, has sent me abroad to seek adventures and to choose a maiden to be my Queen.”

“Well,” said the King, “it all depends what you mean by adventures. We have no dragons at Mountainy Castle, nor riddles to be solved, nor ogres to be slain, and the nearest thing we have to a witch is old Miss Thomson, who, though she is not of the Blood Royal, is a kindly old body and would not willingly harm a mouse. Besides, she doesn’t live in the Castle. As to the second part of your request—I have two daughters. Need I say more?”

“Have I your consent then, Sire, to the hand of one of them?”

“You may have the hand of either of them, provided that you first win her heart, but that,” said the King, rising from his chair, “is your job and not mine.” And he went off hunting.

Prince Courtesy was rather dumbfounded at being left alone in a strange Castle. He did not know where to go, so he decided to stay where he was (until something happened), and sitting down patiently on a chair he began to ponder deeply how he could best follow his Father’s instructions.

“Hullo, you!” said a voice.

Prince Courtesy looked up astonished, but saw no one. “Hullo, you,” said the voice again. “Who are you?”

This time the Prince saw who had spoken. Deep in the very biggest and reddest arm-chair in the room was sitting a stout little Dwarf all dressed in red, so that you could hardly see him.

“I have been watching you think for ten minutes,” said the Dwarf. “Does it hurt, and who are you?”

“I am Prince Courtesy,” answered the Prince politely. “And may I perhaps inquire your name?”

“Oh, me!” said the Dwarf—and he climbed down off the chair, planted his minikin legs apart, and stuck out both his arms in one long, tremendous yawn—"I am the Little Fat Podger." “I see,” said the Prince, who was very much surprised indeed, “and will it be inquisitive to ask what you do?”

“Not in the least,” answered the Little Fat Podger; “I am Curator of the Royal Dump.” “You are—?” said the Prince.

“I cure the King’s megrims, you know.” “Oh!” said Courtesy.

“Wit, you know—wit,” said the Dwarf, “jokes, practical jokes, chestnuts, japes, jests, gibes, pranks, cheek, balder-dash, noodledum, nincompoopery, somersaults, tumbling, twinkling, capers, and the sidestep step, and the sidestep step, and the sidestep, sidestep, sidestep step.”

As he said the last words he danced solemnly up and down the room keeping time to them and flopping his arms and legs about all loosely. He looked so absurd that the Prince leaned back in his chair and shouted with laughter. But the Little Fat Podger himself never even smiled. He stopped at last quite out of breath and looked across at the Prince.

“The Grotesque, you know—anything Gothic,” he said gently.

Now the Prince was so polite that, as soon as he saw that the Dwarf wasn’t joining in the laughter, he stopped, although it very much hurt his sides. And then the Dwarf came up to him and shook hands with him as though they had only just met.

“Can I be of any use to you?” he said. “Advice good and better, criticism of life, information about the Castle, introduction to the daughters of the house, etc., etc.”

It was very curious. The Dwarf spoke so fast and used such funny long words that the Prince understood a good deal less than half of what he said. And yet he somehow felt in his bones that this queer little creature was good and meant kindly by him. HE FELT IT IN HIS BONES.

“Advice,” he said thoughtfully, “yes, tell me where to find adventures. My father sent me out to seek adventures and choose a Queen, and I do feel the adventures ought to come first.”

The Dwarf suddenly stood very still with his head perked on one side, like a startled sparrow.

“Did I understand you to say you were looking for adventures?” he said slowly. “Yes.”

“Looking for them?”

“Yes, looking for them,” said the Prince.

“Looking for them?” said the Dwarf again, waggling his head. The Prince began to get rather angry with this rude little man.

“You offered me your advice,” he said. “I asked you a question, and all you do is to pretend you are deaf. It is unkind.”

The Little Fat Podger bowed: “Apologies,” he said, “amends, repentance, genuflexion, the amende honorable—anything refined. But—looking for them! Poor fellow, poor fellow.” He came close up to the Prince, whisked on to the arm of his chair, and standing on tiptoe, whispered in his ear:

“Take my advice and don’t make yourself absolutely hot over it!” “Very well, then, can you take me to the Princesses?” said Courtesy.

“Follow me,” said the Little Fat Podger, “to the West Corner of the Queen’s Garden.” And off they went.