mistaken."

Their tempers were rising rapidly, and the Chancellor of Barodia was
just about to give the Chancellor of Euralia a push when Merriwig
intervened.

"Never mind about that," he said impatiently. "Tell us what happened
when our--our ancestors fought."

"It happened in this way, your Majesty. Your Majesty's
grandfather----"

"Great-grandfather," said a small voice.

The Chancellor cast one bitter look at his opponent and went on:

"The ancestors of your two Majesties arranged to settle the war of
that period by personal combat. The two armies were drawn up in full
array. In front of them the two monarchs shook hands. Drawing their
swords and casting their Magic Cloaks around them, they----"

"Well?" said Merriwig eagerly.

"It is rather a painful story, your Majesty."

"Go on, I shan't mind."

"Well, your Majesty, drawing their swords and casting their Magic
Cloaks around them they--h'r'm--returned to the wassail bowl."

"Dear, dear," said Merriwig.

[Illustration: _When the respective armies returned to camp they found
their Majesties asleep_]

"When the respective armies, who had been waiting eagerly the whole of
the afternoon for some result of the combat, returned to camp, they
found their Majesties----"

"Asleep," said the Chancellor of Euralia hastily.

"Asleep," agreed the Chancellor of Barodia. "The excuse of their two
Majesties that they had suddenly forgotten the day, though naturally
accepted at the time, was deemed inadequate by later historians." (By
Roger and myself, anyway.)

Some further details were discussed, and then the conference closed.
The great fight was fixed for the following morning.

The day broke fine. At an early hour Merriwig was up and practising
thrusts upon a suspended pillow. At intervals he would consult a
little book entitled _Sword Play for Sovereigns_, and then return to
his pillow. At breakfast he was nervous but talkative. After
breakfast he wrote a tender letter to Hyacinth and a still more tender
one to the Countess Belvane, and burnt them. He repeated his little
rhyme, "Bo, Boll, Bill, Bole," several times to himself until he was
word perfect. It was just possible that it might be useful. His last
thoughts as he rode on to the field were of his great-grandfather.
Without admiring him, he quite saw his point.

The fight was a brilliant one. First Merriwig aimed a blow at the
King of Barodia's head which the latter parried. Then the