honso had done.

"Sleepy old chap you are, Enrico," said the prince; "but come on,
Alphonso will have finished the grub unless we look smart."

So back they came, in time to get their share of what was going; and they
drank the Remora's very good health, when Prigio told them about the
fight. But neither of them ever knew that they had been dead and done
for; because Prigio invented a story that the mountain was enchanted, and
that, as long as the Firedrake lived, everyone who came there fell
asleep. He did tell them about the flying carpet, however, which of
course did not much surprise them, because they had read all about it in
the _Arabian Nights_ and other historical works.

"And now I'll show you fun!" said Prigio; and he asked them both to take
their seats on the carpet, and wished to be in the valley of the Remora.

There they were in a moment, among the old knights whom, if you remember,
the Remora had frozen into stone. There was quite a troop of them, in
all sorts of armour--Greek and Roman, and Knight Templars like Front de
Boeuf and Brian du Bois Gilbert--all the brave warriors that had tried to
fight the Remora since the world began.

Then Prigio gave each of his brothers some of the water in their caps,
and told them to go round pouring a drop or two on each frozen knight.
And as they did it, lo and behold! each knight came alive, with his
horse, and lifted his sword and shouted:

"Long live Prince Prigio!"

in Greek, Latin, Egyptian, French, German, and Spanish,--all of which the
prince perfectly understood, and spoke like a native.

So he marshalled them in order, and sent them off to ride to Falkenstein
and cry:

"Prince Prigio is coming!"

Off they went, the horses' hoofs clattering, banners flying, sunshine
glittering on the spear-points. Off they rode to Falkenstein; and when
the king saw them come galloping in, I can tell you he had no more notion
of hanging Prigio.

{Riding off to Falkenstein: p136.jpg}

CHAPTER XVIII.

_The Very Last_.

The princes returned to Gluckstein on the carpet, and went to the best
inn, where they dined together and slept. Next morning they, and the
ambassador, who had been told all the story, and Lady Rosalind, floated
comfortably on the carpet back to Falkenstein, where the king wept like
anything on the shoulders of Alphonso and Enrico. They could not make
out why he cried so, nor why Lady Molinda and Lady Kathleena cried; but
soon they