stood up on the very tip of his ear and put my tiny golden trumpet to my lips. (And Oh! how that Lion did roll up his eyes to try to catch a glimpse of me!) And I played this tune to call my Fairy Workers:

Then the Fairy Workers came flying in clouds. In three minutes and three quarters they were swarming all over the Huge Green Hill and into the Lion's Cave, every one of them with a little sack on his green back. They swarmed here and they swarmed there. Some were cooks and brought tiny pots and kettles and stoves and they began to cook Breakfast Foods as fast as lightning. The Lion sat up. (I forgot to say that he had turned un–pale long before this and was the right color again.) And his mouth fell wide open, just with surprise and amazement. What amazed him most was that one out of all those thousands of little Workers in their green caps and smocks was the least bit afraid of him. Why, what do you think! My little Skip just jumped up and stood on the end of the Lion's nose while he asked me a question. You never saw anything as funny as that Lion looking down the bridge of his nose at him until he squinted awfully. He was so interested in him.

"Does he take it with sugar and cream, your Royal Silver–cross–bell–ness?" Skip asked me, taking off his green cap and bowing low.

"Try him with it in both ways," I said.

When the Workers had made a whole lot of all the kinds together they poured it into a hollow stone and covered it with sugar and cream.

"Ready, your Highnesses!" they all called out in chorus.

"Is that it?" said the Lion. "It looks very nice. How does one eat it? Must I bite it?"

"Dear me, no," I answered. "Lap it."

So he began. If you'll believe me, he simply reveled in it. He ate and ate and ate, and lapped and lapped and lapped and he did not stop until the hollow stone was quite clean and empty and his sides were quite swelled and puffed out. And he looked as pleased as Punch.

"I never ate anything nicer in my life," he said. "There was a Sunday School picnic I once went to."

"A Sunday School picnic!" I shouted so fiercely that he blushed all over. The very tuft on his tail was deep rose color. "Who invited you?"

He hung his head and stammered.

"I was not exactly invited," he said, "and didn't go with the school to the picnic grounds—but I should have come back with it— at least some of it—but for some men with guns!"

I stamped on his ear as hard as ever I could.

"Never let me hear you mention such a subject again," I said. "Nobody in Society would speak to you if they knew of it!"

He quite shook