"I don't want to go," she admitted; "but my Prince says as how I have to."
"Your what?"
"My Prince!"
"Your Prince! Who's your Prince?" demanded Brimbecomb.
"Him, back in there," replied Flea, casting her head backward in the direction of the library.
"You mean Mr. Shellington?"
"Yep!"
Everett burst into a loud laugh. At the sound, Horace stepped to his study-door and looked out. His face darkened as he discerned Flea standing against the wall and Brimbecomb looking down at her. He came forward and stationed himself at the girl's side, placing one hand upon her shoulder.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Why, little Miss—I'm sure I don't know the child's name," cried Everett breaking into merriment again, "she says you're a—Prince, Horace."