with a row of windows opening on to a wide crevasse.

The room was filled with a flickering green light that yet rendered
everything distinctly visible.

On a carved maple chair on the top of a dais sat the Goat-King--a
snow-white Goat with mauve eyes and beard; completely surrounded with
cuckoo clocks, and festoons of yellow wood table-napkin rings, and
paper-cutters. The walls seemed to be covered with them, and the
pendulums of the clocks were swinging in every direction.

"The King thinks it right to patronize native art," said the
Goat-Queen, who with three of the Princesses had come forward
graciously to welcome the visitors.

"I find the striking rather trying at times, especially as they don't
all do it at once, and sometimes one cuckoo hasn't finished _ten_
before the others are at _twelve_ again."

"I wish all the works would go wrong!" muttered one of the Princesses
crossly. "An ice-cavern full of cuckoo clocks is a poor fate for one
of the Royal Family!"

"We _must_ encourage industries," said the Queen. "It is a duty of our
position. I should rather the industries were noiseless, but we can't
choose."

"Bead necklaces and Venetian glass would have been more suitable,"
said the Princess, who had been very well educated, "or even
brass-work and embroidered table-cloths. We might have draped the
cavern with _them_."

At this moment there was a violent whirring amongst the clocks; doors
flew open in all directions, and cuckoos of every size and description
darted out, shook themselves violently, and the air was filled with
such a deafening noise that the Goat-mother threw her apron over her
head, and the Goat-children buried their ears in her skirts, and clung
round her in terror.

"Merely four o'clock; nothing to make such a fuss about," said the
Goat-King. "And now, when we can hear ourselves speak, you shall tell
me what you have come for."

As the voice of the last cuckoo died away in a series of jerks, the
Goat-mother advanced, and threw herself on her knees before the Royal
Family, first spreading out her homespun apron to keep the cold off.

The King listened to her tale with interest, and his mauve eyes
sparkled.

"If this is true," he cried fiercely, "the Chamois shall be crushed!
My official pen, Princess; and a large sheet of note paper!"

"Rest yourself, petitioner, you must be tired," said the Queen, and
pointed to a row of carved and inlaid Tyrolese chairs that stood
against the