"His majesty is not pleased," repeated the owl, severely.
But the humble-bee, who could sing but one tune, began again: "If it please your majesty, the weasel asked me to say——"
"What?" said the king, in a terrible rage. "What did he say?"
"If it please your majesty," said the humble-bee, who must begin over again every time he was interrupted, "the weasel asked me to say that he sent his humble, his most humble, loyal, and devoted obedience, and begged that you would forgive his absence from the council, as he has just met with a severe accident in the hunting-field, and cannot put one paw before the other."
"I do not believe it," said King Kapchack. "Where is he?"
"If it please your majesty," said the humble-bee, "he is lying on a bank beyond the copse, stretched out in the sunshine, licking his paw, and hoping that rest and sunshine will cure him."
"Oh, what a story!" said Bevis.
"Hush," said the squirrel.
"Somebody said it was a story," said the owl.
"So it is," said Te-te. "I have made it my business to search out the goings-on of the weasel, who has kept himself in the background of late, suspecting that he was up to no good, and with the aid of my lieutenant, the tree-climber, I have succeeded in discovering his retreat, which he has concealed even from your majesty."