extravagantly fragrant, cigar in his mouth, could spend the sunny hours
in the perusal of the works of the English novelists who appealed most
strongly to his idealistic Teutonic sensibilities.

Sometimes however he was disturbed in this resigned acceptance of the
situation. One afternoon he raised his head from the enthralled perusal
of "Maiden Sweet" to find that the sands were empty of his charge. He
struggled up from his chair, dropped the luscious masterpiece into it,
and hurried in search of him. Pollyooly was a good sixty yards away; and
he was breathless when he reached her. He clamoured wheezily for
information as to the whereabouts of the prince. Pollyooly told him,
indifferently enough, that he had gone to the village. The baron sought
the village at his best, but curious, toddling rush. In the middle of it
he met his young charge plodding along with an air of perfect content.
In his hand he bore a paper bag.

"Vot 'af your 'ighness been doing?" cried his richly purple preceptor.

"Bollyooly zent me to buy bebbermints," said his charge stolidly, without
stopping.

"Mein Gott!" cried the baron. "And now that she-devil-child uses you as
a lackey!"

"She wanted zem," said his charge stolidly, pursuing his way without
turning his head.

"Bud bebbermints you do not like!" cried the baron.

"Bollyooly wanted bebbermints," said the prince stolidly.

The baron said no more because there was no more to say.

He followed his charge to the beach and sought his chair; his charge
sought Pollyooly. Gloomily the baron resumed his perusal of "Maiden
Sweet." He had not read half a page when the thoughtful Pollyooly sent
the prince to offer him a peppermint. The baron refused it with the
proper cold scorn. The prince put it into his own mouth.

"Bud bebbermints you do not like!" said the baron again.

"Bollyooly says bebbermints is goot," said the prince stolidly; and he
turned on his heel.

The baron searched the far-smiling sea with wild, questioning eyes. It
offered neither explanation nor comfort.

It chanced a few days later that the Honourable John Ruffin put
Pollyooly's skilful cooking to the further test of grilling mushrooms
along with his bacon. They came from the marsh. Presently to
Pollyooly's prudent mind it seemed foolish to pay for vegetables which
might be gathered for nothing. She resolved to gather them herself; and
one afternoon with that end in view she came down to the sand