est I have, Highness. I wish to offer my best."

Prince, Ferdinand William Otto almost choked with excitement. "I have
always wanted one," he cried. "If you are certain you can spare him,
I'll be very good to him. No one," he said, "ever gave me a dog before.
I'd like to have him now, if I may."

The crowd was growing. It pressed closer, pleased at the boy's delight.
Truly they were participating in great things. A small cheer and many
smiles followed the lifting of the dog through the open window of the
carriage. And the dog was surely a dog to be proud of. Already it shook
hands with the Crown Prince.

Perhaps, in that motley gathering, there were some who viewed the scene
with hostile eyes, some who saw, not a child glowing with delight over a
gift, but one of the hated ruling family, a barrier, an obstacle in the
way of freedom. But if such there were, they were few. It was, indeed,
as the Terrorists feared. The city loved the boy.

Annunciata, followed by an irritated Hilda, came out of the shop.
Hilda's wardrobe had been purchased, and was not to her taste.

The crowd opened, hats were doffed, backs bent. The Archduchess moved
haughtily, looking neither to the right nor left. Her coming brought
no enthusiasm. Perhaps the curious imagination of the mob found her
disappointing. She did not look like an Archduchess. She looked, indeed,
like an unnamiable spinster of the middle class. Hilda, too, was shy
and shrinking, and wore an unbecoming hat. Of the three, only the Crown
Prince looked royal and as he should have looked.

"Good Heavens," cried the Archduchess, and stared into the carriage.
"Otto!"

"He is mine," said the Crown Prince fondly. "He is the cleverest dog. He
can do all sorts of things."

"Put him out."

"But he is mine," protested Ferdinand William Otto. "He is a gift. That
gentleman there, in the corduroy jacket--"

"Put him out," said the Archduchess Annunciata.

There was nothing else to do. The Crown Prince did not cry. He was much
too proud. He thanked the donor again carefully, and regretted that he
could not accept the dog. He said it was a wonderful dog, and just the
sort he liked. And the carriage drove away.

He went back to the Palace, and finding that the governess still had a
headache, settled down to the burnt-wood frame. Once he glanced up at
the woolen dog on its shelf at the top of the cabinet. "Well, anyhow,"
he said sturdily, "I still have you."

CHAPTER XXI. AS