"We must think of a plan," said Udo, and he came and sat meekly beside her again. He could conceal it from himself no longer that he was not a lion. The fact depressed him.

"I suppose I have been weak," went on Hyacinth, "but ever since the men went away she has been the ruling spirit of the country. I think she is plotting against me; I _know_ she is robbing me. I asked you here so that you could help me to find her out."

Udo nodded his head importantly.

"We must watch her," he announced.

"We must watch her," agreed Hyacinth. "It may take months----"

"Did you say months?" said Udo, turning to her excitedly.

"Yes, why?"

"Well, it's----" he gave a deprecating little cough. "I know it's very silly of me but--oh, well, let's hope it will be all right."

"Why, whatever is the matter?"

Udo was decidedly embarra.s.sed. He wriggled. He drew little circles with his hind paw on the ground and he shot little coy glances at her.

"Well, I"--and he gave a little nervous giggle--"I have a sort of uneasy feeling that I may be one of those animals"--he gave another conscious little laugh--"that have to go to sleep all through the winter. It would be very annoying--if I"--his paw became very busy here--"if I had to dig a little hole in the ground, just when the plot was thickening."

"Oh, but you won't," said Hyacinth, in distress.

They were both silent for a moment, thinking of the awful possibilities. Udo's tail had fallen across Hyacinth's lap, and she began to play with it absently.

"Anyway," she said hopefully, "it's only July now."

"Ye--es," said Udo. "I suppose I should get--er--busy about November.

We ought to find out something before then. First of all we'd better---- Oh!" He started up in dismay. "I've just had a _horrible_ thought. Don't I have to collect a little store of nuts and things?"

"Surely----"

"I should have to start that pretty soon," said Udo thoughtfully.

"You know, I shouldn't be very handy at it. Climbing about after nuts," he went on dreamily, "what a life for a----"

"Oh, don't!" pleaded Hyacinth. "Surely only squirrels do that?"

"Yes--yes. Now, if I were a squirrel. I should--may I have my tail for a moment?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Hyacinth, very much confused as she realised the liberty she had been taking, and she handed his tail back to him.

"Not at all," said Udo.

He took it firmly in his right hand. "Now then," he said, "we shall see. Watch this."

Sitting on his back legs he arched his tail over his head, and letting go of it suddenly, began to nibble at a sandwich held in his two front paws. . . .

A pretty picture for an artist.

But a bad model. The tail fell with a thud to the ground.

"There!" said Udo triumphantly. "That proves it. I'm _not_ a squirrel."

"Oh, I'm so glad," said Hyacinth, completely convinced, as any one would have been, by this demonstration.

"Yes, well, that's all right then. Now we can make our plans. First of all we'd better----" He stopped suddenly, and Hyacinth saw that he was gazing at his tail.

"Yes?" she said encouragingly.

He picked up his tail and held it out in front of him. There was a large knot in the middle of it.

"Now, _what_ have I forgotten?" he said, rubbing his head thoughtfully.

Poor Hyacinth!

"Oh, dear Prince Udo, I'm so sorry. I'm afraid I did that without thinking."

Udo, the gallant gentleman, was not found wanting.

"A lover's knot," he said, with a graceful incli--no, he stopped in time. But really, those ears of his made ordinary politeness quite impossible.

"Oh, Udo," said Hyacinth impulsively, "if only I could help you to get back to your proper form again."

"Yes, if only," said Udo, becoming practical again; "but how are we going to do it? Just one more watercress sandwich," he said apologetically; "they go with the ears so well."

"I shall threaten the Countess," said Hyacinth excitedly. "I shall tell her that unless she makes the enchanter restore you to your proper form, I shall put her in prison."

Udo was not listening. He had gone off into his own thoughts.

"Banana fritters _and_ watercress sandwiches," he was murmuring to himself. "I suppose I must be the only animal of the kind in the world."

"Of course," went on Hyacinth, half to herself, "she might get the people on her side, the ones that she's bribed. And if she did----"

"That's all right, that's all right," said Udo grandly. "Leave her to me. There's something about your watercress that inspires me to do terrible deeds. I feel a new--whatever I am."

One gathers reluctantly from this speech that Udo had partaken too freely.

"Of course," said Hyacinth, "I could write to my father, who might send some of his men back, but I shouldn't like to do that. I shouldn't like him to think that I had failed him."

"Extraordinary how I take to these things," said Udo, allowing himself a little more room on the seat. "Perhaps I am a rabbit after all. I wonder what I should look like behind wire netting." He took another bite and went on, "I wonder what I should do if I saw a ferret. I suppose you haven't got a ferret on you, Princess?"

"I beg your pardon, Prince? I'm afraid I was thinking of something else. What did you say?"

"Nothing, nothing. One's thoughts run on." He put his hand out for the plate, and discovered that it was empty. He settled himself more comfortably, and seemed to be about to sink into slumber when his attention was attracted suddenly by the knot in his tail. He picked it up and began lazily to undo it. "I wish I could lash my tail," he murmured; "mine seems to be one of the tails that don't lash." He began very gingerly to feel the tip of it. "I wonder if I've got a sting anywhere." He closed his eyes, muttering, "Sting Countess neck, sting all over neck, sting lots stings," and fell peacefully asleep.

It was a disgraceful exhibition. Roger Scurvilegs tries to slur it over; talks about the great heat of the sun, and the notorious effect of even one or two watercress sandwiches on an empty on a man who has had nothing to eat for several days. This is to palter with the facts. The effect of watercress sandwiches upon Udo's arrangements (however furnished) we have all just seen for ourselves; but what Roger neglects to lay stress upon is the fact that it was the effect of twenty-one or twenty-two watercress sandwiches. There is no denying that it was a disgraceful exhibition. If I had been there, I should certainly have written to his father about it.

Hyacinth looked at him uneasily. Her first feeling was one of sympathy. "Poor fellow," she thought, "he's had a hard time lately."

But it is a strain on the sympathy to gaze too long on a mixture of lion, rabbit, and woolly lamb, particularly when the rabbit part has its mouth open and is snoring gently.