Margaret and Frances then jumped down again, and running to where the King and the Archbishop still sat on the grass, rubbing their heads and staring at each other, they stretched out their hands and pulled them both to their feet again.
"Where's my mitre?" asked the Archbishop, looking all about on the ground. "Oh, it's up there, is it? Did you hang it up? Thank you, ever so much. I'm glad to be rid of it: it's precious heavy and uncomfortable."
"Mitres and crowns are heavy," assented Coco Bolo. "That's the worst of being somebody of importance. But it's no reason why we shouldn't have some refreshment, all the same. So, sit down here at this table, and we'll all have some cookies and aëro-plane water."
"Thank you," said Margaret. "But, if you don't mind, we should like some milk instead. We're a little afraid of the aëro-plane water."
"Very well," said the King, graciously. "And here's a saucerful for Periwinkle. If that foolish cat had only behaved himself he might have had some, too."
"Mi-ow!" said Thomas A'Becket in a plaintive tone, his voice sounding so muffled and indistinct that neither the King nor the Archbishop could tell which direction it came from. They both jumped up and looked under their chairs, but, of course, there was no cat there, so they sat down again.
They had hardly settled themselves in their chairs once more, when the policeman and the Court Crier and the Admiral and the courtiers all came back to say that Thomas A'Becket could not be found.
"What's to be done, then?" asked the King. "What's the law in the case, Policeman?"
"How should I know?" asked the policeman.
"Why, that's your business. You're the guardian of the law, aren't you?"