n much the same way, yet most of us have fared
rather well."

"O God of mercy!" prayed the pastor, "grant me the wisdom to speak
to the unhappy father. Would I might stay his fleeing wits--!"

Sexton Blackie, standing there with Jan, now cleared his throat.
The pastor rose at once, went up to Jan, and took him by the hand.

"My dear Jan!" he said feelingly. The pastor was tall and fair and
handsome. When he came up to you, with his kindly blue eyes beaming
benevolence, and spoke to you in his deep sympathetic voice, it was
not easy to resist him. In this instance, however, the only thing
to do was to set him right at the start, which Jan did of course.

"Jan is no more, my good Pastor," he said. "Now we are Emperor
Johannes of Portugallia, and he who does not wish to address us by
our proper title, him we have nothing to say to."

With that, Jan gave the pastor a stiff' imperial nod of dismissal,
and put on his cap. They looked rather foolish, did the three men
who stood in the vestry, when Jan pushed open the door and walked
out.

BOOK THREE

THE EMPEROR'S SONG

In the wooded heights above Loby there was still a short stretch of
an old country road where in bygone days all teams had to pass, but
which was now condemned because it led up and down the worst hills
and rocky slopes instead of having the sense to go round them. The
part that remained was so steep that no one in driving made use of
it any more though foot-farers climbed it occasionally, as it was a
good short cut.

The road ran as broad as any of the regular crown highways, and was
still covered with fine yellow gravel. In fact, it was smoother now
than formerly, being free from wheel tracks, and mud, and dust.
Along the edge bloomed roadside flowers and shrubs; dogwood,
bittervetch, and buttercups grew there in profusion even to this
day, but the ditches were filled in and a whole row of spruce trees
had sprung up in them. Young evergreens of uniform height, with
branches from the root up, stood pressing against each other as
closely as the foliage of a boxwood hedge; their needles were not
dry and hard, but moist and soft, and their tips were all bright
with fresh green shoots. The trees sang and played like humming
bees on a fine summer day, when the sun beams down upon them from a
clear sky.

When Jan of Ruffluck walked home from church the Sunday he had
appeared there for the first time in his royal regalia, he turned
in on the old fo