Head Cook (shouting furiously): Sir!

Prince: Oh—­oh, yes, I beg your pardon (humbly, laughing), sir.

Head Cook: Vell, zen, I must know vy you leave.

Prince: Why—­sir—­my master has fallen in love with the Princess Fadeaway—­and so I thought I would come and see what sort of a princess she was—­for my master in his love-sick fever is sad company for any one.

Head Cook: But if he is so in lof, vy does not your master come to woo the Princess?

Prince: Why, sir (bowing), he had heard of too many who had been denied admittance, and as my master is proud and determined, he made up his mind he would not risk being turned away like the others.  But, sir, if you will let me stay and work for you, in whatever post, however humble, I promise you if my answers do not satisfy, my service shall.

Head Cook: You are villing—­ah, but zey all say that.  H’m—­let me see what you can do.  Vash up these. (Points to dirty plates.)

Prince: Those!  Why, that is scullion’s work!

Head Cook: Yes, and there is a scullion’s place all ready.

Prince (indignantly): A scullion!  I had meant a place with horses—­in the garden—­where I might work out-of-doors.

Kitchen: O dear, kind young man, pray, pray do not speak like that.

Cooklet: Oh, we beseech you, take the place! (Both fall on knees before him.)

Prince:  Why, what’s the matter?

Kitchen:  If there’s no scullion here we have to guard the Christmas pie, and if we guard the pie we d-d-die!

Prince:  What danger threatens you?

Both:  The Brownies!

Prince:  Brownies!  What are Brownies?

Head Cook:  Vy, vat sort of kitchen have you lived in, if you have never seen ze Brownies?

Prince:  Oh, I was more like a friend than a page to my master, sir, and the fact is, I’ve never been in a kitchen before.  Er—­what are Brownies?

(Brownies cackle with laughter outside.)

Head Cook:  Zey are ze evilest leetle beasts in all ze vorld!  Venever you sink you are rid of zem, zere zey are at your elbow. (Brownies laugh again.) Vey steal, zey pinch, zey poke, zey pry, and at night, ven all ze house is still, zey come out, and if you do not keep your eyes ver’ wide awake zey vill pinch you till you die—­zat is, ven you guard the Christmas pie.

Prince:  I?  Oh, this pleasant little job is meant for me—­me?  I thank you, sir? (Indignantly takes up his cap, preparing to go.)

Head Cook:  Not so fast, young man.  Zey will come, yes; zey vill try to steal, yes—­but zere is vun sing zat vill send them avay quick—­slick—­like zat.  It is—­RED PEPPER!

Prince:  Red Pepper!  How dare you call me that?