"When is a door not a-jar?" asked the out-o'-work sovereign.
"Don't ask me riddles. Show me the door!" ordered Cedric in his best royal-command manner, and looked so threatening that the little old man quickly pointed over his shoulder.
Cedric walked off in that direction without a word, and to his joy he discovered the door just a little way in front of him.
"Thank goodness!" he exclaimed, as he ran up to it—and then he suddenly realised that he no longer possessed the Golden Key with which to open it. How was he to escape? He turned and looked back at what now was an immeasurable distance—so very far away did it seem—and there was once more bustling activity about the palace. Another Coronation ceremony was beginning all over again.
"I really do look every inch a king!"
The boy flung himself against the door, and banged and kicked at it with all his might. It was of no use.
"Oh, the key, the key!" he cried. "If they would only spare it from their silly triumphing for a moment, and let me out!"
He put his eye to the keyhole, and with longing gaze he saw his kite on the spot he had left it, with its lazy tail gently stirred by the breeze.