“For good—for your whole life?” asked Bumpo in a low voice.

For some moments the Doctor, frowning, made no answer.

“I don’t know,” he said at last—“Anyhow for the present there is certainly no hope of my leaving. It wouldn’t be right.”

The sad silence that followed was broken finally by a knock upon the door.

With a patient sigh the Doctor got up and put on his crown and cloak again.

“Come in,” he called, sitting down in his chair once more.

The door opened and a footman—one of the hundred and forty-three who were always on night duty—stood bowing in the entrance.

“Oh, Kindly One,” said he, “there is a traveler at the palace-gate who would have speech with Your Majesty.”

“Another baby’s been born, I’ll bet a shilling,” muttered Polynesia.

“Did you ask the traveler’s name?” enquired the Doctor.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the footman. “It is Long Arrow, the son of Golden Arrow.”