d this out almost without knowing that
he spoke; and blushed furiously when George laughed. "I mean--I'm
sure--" he began to explain.

"If you can see it," said Honoria, "you had better describe George's
property for him." She yawned. "He can't tell the story himself--
not one little bit."

"Right you are, miss," George agreed. "Fire away, Taffy."

Taffy thought for a minute, then, still with a red face, began.
"It is all true, as George says. A fine city lies there, covered
with the sands; and this was what happened. The King of Langona had
a son, a handsome young Prince, who lived at home until he was
eighteen, and then went on his travels. That was the custom, you
know. The Prince took only his foster-brother, whose name was John,
and they travelled for three years. On their way back, as they came
to Langona Creek, they saw the convicts at work, and in one of the
fields was a girl digging alone. She had a ring round her ankle,
like the rest, with a chain and iron weight, but she was the most
beautiful girl the Prince had ever seen. So he pulled up his horse
and asked her who she was, and how she came to be wearing the chain.
She told him she was no convict, but the daughter of a convict, and
it was the law for the convict's children to wear these things.
'To-night,' said the Prince, 'you shall wear a ring of gold and be a
Princess,' and he commanded John to file away the ring and take her
upon his horse. They rode across the creak and came to the palace;
and the Prince, after kissing his father and mother, said, 'I have
brought you all kinds of presents from abroad; but best of all I have
brought home a bride.' His parents, who wondered at her beauty, and
never doubted but that she must be a king's daughter, were full of
joy, and set the bells ringing in all the seven churches. So for a
year everybody was happy, and at the end of that time a son was
born."

"You're making it up," said Honoria. Taffy's _own_ stories always
puzzled her, with hints and echoes from other stories she
half-remembered, but could seldom trace home. He had too cunning a
gift.

George said, "Do be quiet! Of course he's making it up, but who wants
to know _that?_"

"Two days afterward," Taffy went on, "the Prince was out hunting with
his foster-brother. The Princess in her bed at home complained to
her mother-in-law, 'Mother, my feet are cold. Bring me another rug
to wrap them in.' The Queen did so, but as she covere