“Send ’em in,” said Bud, promptly; and while Margaret went to meet her new maids the king held his first conference with his high counselors.
“‘I HAVE ORDERED TWENTY SUITS FOR YOUR MAJESTY AND FORTY GOWNS FOR THE PRINCESS.’”
In answer to Tallydab’s summons the other four periwigs, pompous and solemn, filed into the room and stood in a row before Bud, who looked upon them with a sensation of awe.
“Your Majesty,” began the venerable Tullydub, in a grave voice, “we are here to instruct you, with your gracious consent, in your new and important duties.”
Bud shifted uneasily in his chair. It all seemed so unreal and absurd—this kingly title and polite deference bestowed upon a poor boy by five dignified and periwigged men—that it was hard for Bud to curb his suspicion that all was not right.
“See here, all of you,” said he, suddenly, “is this thing a joke? tell me, is it a joke?”
“A joke?” echoed all of the five counselors, in several degrees of shocked and horrified tones; and Tellydeb, the lord high executioner, added reproachfully:
“Could we, by any chance, have the temerity to joke with your mighty and glorious Majesty?”
“That’s just it,” answered the boy. “I am not a mighty and glorious Majesty. I’m just Bud, the ferryman’s son, and you know it.”