begged at the door
of one of the houses in the village; and all day he followed the river,
until near evening he came to the gray seashore and the huts of the
fisher folk.

"What is the name of the river I have been following?" he asked of a
wrinkled old fisherman who was mending his net in the sunset.

"It is called Laf," the old man answered. "It is the eastern border of
Jolliland, as the coast is the northern."

"Oh, bother boundaries!" Vance exclaimed, "I hate them. Can you give me
something to eat?"

"We are poor folk," said the old man, "but I suppose we can give ye a
bite if ye pays for it."

"Pay for it!" cried Vance, in astonishment. "Do you know who I am?"

"Not rightly," said the fisherman; "but from yer look and from yer box I
take ye for a travelling showman. What have ye got in yer box?"

"My family," answered the Prince, before he thought. "Do you know where
the Crushed Strawberry Wizard lives?"

"Not rightly," the other replied again; "but I think somewhere
alongshore. What sort of a family have ye got? A happy family?"

"I'm sure I hope they're happy," was Vance's response. "I know that I am
not. Perhaps they may like being carried better than I like carrying
them."

"What can they do?" the fisherman persisted. "Can they dance and eat
buns like a bear, or do they fight and knock each other about like Punch
and Judy?"

"They do nothing of the sort," began the Prince, angrily. "It is not a
show at all; it is--"

Then remembering that if he was rude to the fisherman he should
certainly lose all chance of getting a supper, he became more polite,
and ended by saying,--

"They are--I mean they act out a king and queen and their court."

"Truly," cried the fisherman; "that is a rare show indeed! I never saw
the like. Come in and get your supper, and afterward we will have out
the puppets."

Upon this he led the way into his hut, and bade the Prince follow him.
It was a very poor little hut indeed, with rude walls, in which the
cracks were stuffed with seaweed to keep out the wind, and with a small
fire burning on the heap of flat stones which served for a fireplace.
The fisherman's wife, who was old and quite crooked with rheumatism, was
hobbling about getting the supper, which she said was all but ready.
When it was all ready, without the but, they sat down, though the poor
Prince, hungry as he was, found it hard work to swallow the dry red
herring, the rasping oaten cakes, and the bracki