"Who taught you to sing that song about me?" demanded the King.
"The magician," answered Eyebright; "and he told me to sing it every day until you came. But you have been a long time coming!"
"I'm very sorry," replied his Majesty, apologetically; "you see, the magician did not tell me to come. In fact, I don't even know who the magician is."
"Are you not the King, then?" asked Eyebright, opening her great brown eyes as wide as they would go.
The little King felt it was hardly necessary to answer this; but he set his heels together and took off his crown and made her the best bow he had learned at his dancing-class, just to show beyond any doubt that he was the King. Eyebright still looked a little doubtful.
"Then how is it that you do not know the magician?" she asked him. "What is the use of being King, if you do not know everybody who lives in your kingdom?"
"It isn't any use; I never said I wanted to be King, did I?" said his Majesty, a little crossly. It was not pleasant to find that somebody else, and only a little girl in a sunbonnet, knew more about his kingdom than he did.
"What a very funny boy you are!" remarked Eyebright, without noticing his crossness. "I always thought it must be so splendid to be a King, and to have a banquet whenever you like, and never to go out without a procession, and to wear a crown instead of a sunbonnet, and—"
"That's all you know about it," interrupted the King, somewhat impolitely. "There aren't any banquets; and when there are, you only have stupid things with long names to eat, and you never know whether to eat them with a fork or a spoon, and it's always wrong whichever you do. And if you ask for jumbles or chocolate creams or plum-cake, you're told you mustn't spoil your dinner. And all the procession you ever get is a procession of nurses, who won't even let you step in a puddle if you want to!"