The Baron gazed in astonishment. “He held the bow so awkwardly, it seemed impossible!” he muttered. But there was no room for doubt: there was the arrow, right in the centre of the bull’s-eye!
“The lake is close by,” continued the Vice-Warden. “Bring his Highness’ fishing-rod!” And Uggug most unwillingly held the rod, and dangled the fly over the water.
“A beetle on your arm!” cried my Lady, pinching the poor Baron’s arm worse than if ten lobsters had seized it at once. “That kind is poisonous,” she explained. “But what a pity! You missed seeing the fish pulled out!”
An enormous dead cod-fish was lying on the bank, with the hook in its mouth.
“I had always fancied,” the Baron faltered, “that cod were salt-water fish?”
“Not in this country,” said the Vice-Warden. “Shall we go in? Ask my son some question on the way—any subject you like!” And the sulky boy was violently shoved forwards, to walk at the Baron’s side.
“Could your Highness tell me,” the Baron cautiously began, “how much seven times nine would come to?”
“Turn to the left!” cried the Vice-Warden, hastily stepping forwards to show the way—so hastily, that he ran against his unfortunate guest, who fell heavily on his face.
“So sorry!” my Lady exclaimed, as she and her husband helped him to his feet again. “My son was in the act of saying ‘sixty-three’ as you fell!”
The Baron said nothing: he was covered with dust, and seemed much hurt, both in body and mind. However, when they had got him into the house, and given him a good brushing, matters looked a little better.