conducted the negotiations, making the best of her year's
acquaintance with the language of the country.

"Don't tell him why we are in such a hurry," cautioned King. "He may be
a Marlanx sympathiser."

"You have nothing in your cart but melons," she said to the farmer,
peeping under the corner of the canvas covering.

"I am not going through Ronn, but by the high road to Edelweiss," he
protested. "A good ten kilometers."

"But carry us until we come up with some one who can give us horses."

"Horses!" he croaked. "Every horse in the valley is in Edelweiss by this
time. This is the great day there. The statue of--"

"Yes, yes, I know. We are bound for Edelweiss. Can you get us there in
two hours?"

"With these beasts, poor things? Never!"

"It will be worth your while. A hundred gavvos if you carry us to a
place where we can secure quicker transportation."

In time she won him over. He agreed to carry them along the way, at his
best speed, until they came up with better beasts or reached the city
gates. It was the best he could do. The country was practically deserted
on this day. At best there were but few horses in the valley; mostly
oxen. They climbed up to the seat and the tortuous journey began. The
farmer trotted beside the wheel nearly all of the way, descanting warmly
in painful English on the present condition of things in the hills.

"The rascals have made way with the beautiful Miss Tullis. She is the
American lady stopping at the Castle. You should see her, sir. Excepting
our dear Princess Yetive--God rest her soul--she is the most beautiful
creature Graustark has ever seen. I have seen her often. Not quite so
grand as the Countess Ingomede, but fairer, believe me. She is beloved
by everyone. Many a kind and generous word has she spoken to me. My
onion beds are well known to her. She has come to my farm time and
again, sir, with the noble personages, while riding, and she has in
secret bought my little slips of onions. She has said to me that she
adores them, but that she can only eat them in secret. Ah, sir, it is a
sad day for Graustark that evil has happened to her. Her brother, they
say, is off in the Dawsbergen hills searching for her. He is a grand
man."

His passengers were duly interested. She nudged the lugubrious Truxton
when the man spoke of the onions. "What a fibber! I hate onions."

"She is to be married to the Count Vos Engo; a fine lad, sir. Now she is
gone, I don't know what he