So they put Olly up on a tall piece of rock, and he sang “The Minstrel Boy,” and “Bonnie Dundee,” and “Hot Cross Buns,” just as if he were a little musical box, and you had nothing to do but to wind him up.  He had a sweet, clear, little voice, and he looked a delightful brown gipsy, as he sat perched up on the rock with his long legs dangling, and his curls blowing about his face.

“There!” said Olly, when he had shouted out the last note of “Hot Cross Buns.”  “I have singed three whole songs; and now, Aunt Emma, tell us about the king and the fairies.  Krick, please.”

“It must be ‘krick’ indeed,” said Aunt Emma, “if we want to get home to-night.”

For the sun had almost sunk behind the mountains at their back, and the wind blowing across the lake was beginning to get a little cold, while over their heads the rooks went flying, singing “caw, caw,” on their way to bed.  And how the sun was turning the water to gold!  It seemed to be making a great golden pathway across the lake, and the mountains were turning a deep blue, and plash, plash, went the little waves on the rocks, so softly they seemed to be saying “Good-night! good-night!”

“Well,” said Aunt Emma, settling herself on a soft piece of heather, and putting her arms round Milly and Olly, “Once upon a time there was a great king.  He was a good king and a wise man, and he tried to make all the people round about him wiser and better than they were before he came to rule over them; and for a long time he was very powerful and happy, and he and the brave men who helped him and were his friends did a great deal of good, and kept the savage people who lived all about him in order, and taught them a great many things.  But at last some of the savage people got tired of obeying the king, and they said they would not have him to reign over them any more; so they made an army, and they came together against the king to try and kill him and his friends.  And the king made an army too, and there was a great battle; and the savage people were the strongest, and they killed nearly all the king’s brave men, and the king himself was terribly hurt in the fight.  And at last, when night came on, there were left only the king and one of his friends—­his knights, as they were called.  The king was hurt so much that he could not move, and his friend thought he was dying.  They were left alone in a rocky desert place, and close by there was a great lake with mountains round it—­like this, Olly.  It was very cold, and the moon was shining, and the king lay so still that once or twice his friend almost thought that he was dead.  But at last, about the middle of the night, he began to speak, and he told his friend to take his sword that was by his side and to go down to the side of the lake and throw it as far as he could into the water.  Now, this sword was a magic sword.  Long before, the king was once walking beside this lake, when he suddenly saw an arm in a long white sleeve rising out of the lake, and in the