hieroglyphics might be deciphered.

He had a large and ragged staff; on his back he carried a vast Budget,
and he was always asking everybody, 'Won't you put something in the
Budget?'

'Father,' said Leonora, in a respectful tone, 'canst thou tell us the
way to the land of the people called Lo-grolla, and the place of the
Rolling of Logs.'

He stroked his beautiful white beard, and smiled faintly.

'Indeed, child, we not only know it, but ourselves discovered it and
wrote it up--we mean, sent our representative,' he answered.

It was a peculiarity of this man that he always spoke, like royalty, in
the first person plural.

'And if a daughter may ask,' said Leonora, 'what is the name of my
father?'

Stedfastly regarding her, he answered, 'Our name is Pellmelli.'

'And whither go we, my father?'

'That you shall see--as soon, that is, as the fog lifts, or as our
representative has made interest with a gas company.'

With these words he furnished an unequalled supply of litter, which
came, he said, 'from the office,' where there was plenty, and we were
borne rapidly in a westward direction.

As we journeyed, old Pellmelli gave us a good deal of information about
the Lo-grollas, whom he did not seem to like.

They were, he said, a savage and treacherous tribe, inhabiting for the
most part the ruined abodes of some kingly race of old.

The names of their chief dwellings, he told us, were still called, in
some ancient and long-lost speech,

'The Academy,' and 'The Athenaeum.'

Leonora, whose knowledge of languages was extensive and peculiar, told
Pellmelli that these names were derived from the old Greek.

'Ah,' said he, 'you have clearly drunk of the wisdom of the past, and
thy hands have held the water of the world's knowledge. Know you Latin
also?'

'Yes, O Pellmelli,' replied Leonora, and Pellmelli said he preferred
modern tongues, though it would often be useful to him if he did in his
dealings with the Lo-grollas.

'However, if our Greek is a little to seek, our Russian is O.K.,' he
said proudly.

He was very bitter against the Lo-grollas.

The Lo-grollas' favourite weapon, he told us, was the club, and he even
proposed to show us this instrument.

Our litter presently stopped outside a stately palace.

The street was dark, as always in this strange city, but old Pellmelli
paused, sniffed, and, bending his ear to the ground, listened intently.

'I smell the incense,' he said, 'and hear the