“My lord,” said Mr. Noun, coming forward and speaking in a solemn voice, “I accuse Mr. Adjective of stealing, and wish him to be sent to prison.”
“Indeed!” said the Judge; “but he must be tried first, and you must prove him guilty before I have him punished. What do you say he has stolen?”
“My lord, he is constantly stealing my words, and only just now he used these without my leave, in open court: love, grace, beauty, use, home, duty.”
“Enough,” said the Judge. “I certainly heard him use some such words only just now. Critics,” he called to the policemen, for that is the name they have in Grammar-land, “seize Mr. Adjective, and keep him safe until the court meets again, when he shall be tried for stealing.” Then turning to the people of Schoolroom-shire, the Judge continued, “My friends, I shall be much obliged if you will look over the following story, and strike out of it all the words belonging to Mr. Adjective. I cannot allow them to remain side by side with other words, until it is proved that Mr. Adjective is not guilty of stealing them.”
The Judge then rose, and poor Mr. Adjective was led out of the court, with his hands bound.
The following is the story which the Judge sent to the people of Schoolroom-shire.
A long, long time ago, there lived in a grey old castle, a widowed queen, who had one only child, a beautiful bright boy. “My good husband was killed in the terrible war,” said the timid queen, “and if my dear son grows up to be a strong man, I fear that he will go to the cruel wars, too, and be killed. So he shall learn nothing about rough war, but shall be brought up like a simple maiden.” So she taught him all maidenly duties, to spin, and to weave, and to sew, and she thought he was too simple and quiet to wish to go to war; but one day there came to the great castle gate a noble knight riding a gallant charger. “Come,” he cried to the young prince, “come, follow me. I ride to fight with the wicked and strong who are oppressing the weak and the poor.” Up sprang, in a moment, the fair young boy, flung aside his girlish work, seized his father’s battered sword, and leaped into the saddle behind the noble knight. “Farewell, dear mother,” he cried, “no more girlish work for me. I must be a brave man, as my father was, and conquer or die in the rightful cause.” Then the foolish queen saw that it was useless to try to make a daring boy into a timid maiden.
