"Better save thy wits, sir knight! Thou wilt have a plentiful lack of them ere the honeymoon be out of the comb. A pleasant roost in thy bachelor's hall, and many of them!" and the vagabond sprung upon the back of a green lizard creeping silently through the grass, and sticking his heels into his astonished charger, dragoon-fashion, disappeared down the bank of the brook.
The old king and his good wife, Sweetbine, were very much grieved at the foolish trifling of their daughter, Dewbell—for they were well assured that Dewbell loved the noble knight, Sir Timothy, and that it was only a spirit of mere wantonness that led her to vex and torment him. Long into the night did the royal couple converse, striving to devise some means of bringing their wayward daughter to her senses. They at last hit upon a plan, which they fondly hoped might be the means of securing the happiness of their child, and settling her comfortably in life.
The next morning his majesty sent for the dwarf, Puck, to his private cabinet, and received him with an unusually grave and troubled aspect.
"Venerable sire," said Puck, making a mock reverence, and scarcely able to suppress a chuckle at the solemn looks of his master, "what facetious dream hath been playing its mad pranks about thy sacred pillow? Never saw I kingly face so mirthfully beprankt."
"Come hither, good Puck," said the king, patiently, "and when thou hast made thy breakfast of fun upon thy poor master, listen to him seriously."
"Dear prince", said the dwarf, suddenly running up to the king and casting himself weeping at his feet, "art thou, then, really troubled? Forgive thy poor slave!" and he began blubbering in the most pitiable manner, while he looked up into the face of the king with such a look of wo-begone and ludicrous despair, that Paterflor himself could scarce refrain from bursting into laughter.
"Thou hast done nothing wrong, good Puck—handsome Puck," said the king, chucking his favorite under the chin. "I have need of thee. Here is my signet-ring. Bring me straight hither a young and handsome peasant, one who has never been seen by the court, nor any inhabitant of the palace. He must be intelligent, conscientious, and trustworthy. Dost thou know of such a one?"
"Yes, your majesty, I think I do. My friend, young Paudeen O'Rafferty, the son of the old forest-keeper, has just returned from Ireland, where he was carried by the fairies at his christening, and has been kept ever since until now, trying to get through the rent made by Mr. O'Connell in the pockets of his relatives. He's as tight an Irish lad as your majesty ever saw; and as for his honesty, I'll endorse it with both hands. The O'Raffertys are constitutionally honest."
"Well, bring him hither at once. I shall be ready to receive him."
Puck, with his funny face entirely restored to good humor, left the palace by a private gate, and running across a beautiful meadow, disappeared in the dark green forest. Idle lingerer as he was, he felt a strong inclination, at every hazel-copse he passed, to stop and have a chat with the rabbits he knew were hid beneath it; and more than once he was on the point of running up to a friendly deer and kissing his cold, black nose, just for auld lang syne. But, for a wonder, he was constant to his errand, and ran straight on—not stopping even to throw stones at a squirrel by the way—till he came to the forester's hut.