From some invisible source fresh wardrobe was supplied, and from a plain, ordinary Brownie he was transformed into a handsome, dashing little prince as pert and pretty a sprig of royalty as one could see in many a long journey over lands where there were kings and queens with large, flourishing families—in trunks, doublet, and cape, with a cap that perched jauntily upon his roguish curls.
Filled with gratitude was he over this great, this unexpected honor that had befallen him and he expressed his thanks as best he could feeling that the words he used were poor at best, but vowing loyalty and obedience in all things evermore to his gracious foster-parent.
“It will not be so very long, my son, before you occupy the throne,” said King Stanislaus, and his voice took on a rather pensive tone. “A few short years—a couple of thousands or so—and I shall have passed away. When I am gone I shall leave to you all-out-doors and the love of children, a priceless heritage which you must treasure tenderly and never lose.”
Then came the Brownies with pledges of fealty to their prince, and Florimel smiled back into their smiling faces, while all were glad.
The Policeman limping slightly came and offered him his club, but Florimel good-humoredly refused it, and waved him aside. The Sailor came next with his spy-glass, but Florimel laughingly declined it also.
Each of the band in a free-hearted way evinced a desire to surrender to him his most cherished possession, and much touched was he by their expressions of good will. But the most he would accept was an eagle’s feather which had been dropped by one of the birds to the ground, and which the Dude stuck in his cap.
Soon matters took on their usual routine, and, noticing that the Policeman limped, King Stanislaus asked:
“I fell off the palace-wall last night, Your Majesty, when I was tacking up the placard.”