duchess Annunciata hardly
thrilled him. Unluckily he made an observation to that effect, and got
five off in Miss Braithwaite's little book.

The King did not approve of birthday gifts. The expensive toys which the
Court would have offered the child were out of key with the simplicity
of his rearing. As a matter of fact, the Crown Prince had never heard of
a birthday gift, and had, indeed, small experience of gifts of any kind,
except as he made them himself. For that he had a great fondness. His
small pocket allowance generally dissipated itself in this way.

So there were no gifts. None, that is, until the riding-hour came, and
Nikky, subverter of all discipline. He had brought a fig lady, wrapped
in paper.

"It's quite fresh," he said, as they walked together across the Place.
"I'll give it to you when we get to the riding-school. I saw the woman
myself take it out of her basket. So it has no germs on it."

But, although he spoke bravely, Nikky was the least bit nervous. First
of all he was teaching the boy deception. "But why don't they treat
him like a human being?" he demanded of himself. Naturally there was no
answer. Maria Menrad's son had a number of birthdays in his mind, real
birthdays with much indulgence connected with them.

Second, suppose it really had a germ or two on it? Anxiously, having
unwrapped it, he examined it in the sunlight of a window of the ring.
Certainly, thus closely inspected, it looked odd. There were small
granules over it.

The Crown Prince waited patiently. "Miss Braithwaite says that if you
look at them under a glass, there are bugs on them," he observed, with
interest.

"Perhaps, after all, you'd better not have it."

"They are very small bugs," said Prince Ferdinand William Otto
anxiously. "I don't object to them at all."

So, after all, Nikky uneasily presented his gift; and nothing untoward
happened. He was rewarded, however, by such a glow of pleasure and
gratitude from the boy that his scruples faded.

No Hedwig again, to distract Nikky's mind. The lesson went on; trot,
canter, low jumps. And then what Nikky called "stunts," an American word
which delighted the Crown Prince.

But, Nikky, like the big child he was himself, had kept his real news to
the last.

Already, he was offering himself on the altar of the child's safety.
Behind his smiles lay something of the glow of the martyr. His eyes were
sunken, his lips drawn. He had not slept at all, nor eaten. But t