Hortense and Andy were too depressed to enjoy jokes, and Highboy, with tears streaming down his cheeks, was composing a poem bidding a sad farewell to home and friends. Hortense could hear him trying rhymes to find one which would fit—"home, moan, bone, lone."
"Those don't rhyme," said Hortense irritably. "It must end with m, not n."
"But so few good words end in m," Highboy protested. "There's roam of course. That might do. For instance,
If once again I see my home
Never more at night I'll roam.
Not bad is it?"
Hortense thought it very bad indeed but didn't say so, for Highboy was finding pleasure in his rhymes and she hadn't the heart to depress him. She held tight to Andy's hand and walked on without speaking.
They were marched into a little glade, brightly lighted with glowworms and fireflies imprisoned in crystal lamps. The Queen sat upon her throne, but the King walked up and down in front of his and tugged at his tawny beard, and he looked very fierce.
"Here are the prisoners, your Majesty," said the captain of the guard, saluting.
"Ha," said the King. "Good, we'll try and condemn them at once."