“Ask him for Montesango’s Cave, grandmother!” cried Bojohn.
“Dear me,” said the Queen, “I hardly know what to— It’s a very pleasant room you have here, Solario; do you ever play dominoes here? Dear me!”
“I’ll tell you what I should like,” said the Princess Dorobel. “I should like to hear how the goldsmith’s son won the Princess. Bojohn has been telling us about Alb and the Princess Hyla, and I understand there is a story, a love story—you know I dearly like love stories.”
“It isn’t precisely a love story,” said Solario, “but if her majesty will permit me, I will—”
“Dear me, yes,” said the Queen. “A very comfortable room it is, to be sure.”
Solario, after receiving the Queen’s permission to be seated, sat himself cross-legged on his table, and all of the others, Mortimer the Executioner, Bodkin, Prince Bilbo, Bojohn, the Princess Dorobel, and the Queen, drew up their chairs before him in a row.
“I will relate to you, seeing that you wish it,” said Solario, “the story told me by Alb, the goldsmith’s son, regarding the winning of the Princess Hyla. Shall I proceed?”
“I wish I had brought my knitting,” said the Queen, “but never mind.”
Solario picked up his shears, and gazing at them thoughtfully for a moment, cleared his throat.
“This, then,” said he, “is the story told me by Alb, regarding