“No, no,” said I, “if you promised I’d much rather.  It won’t bother me at all.”

(It is certainly a much pleasanter kind of dispute when the struggle is to give, and not to take!)

“You can’t fit him in now?” said Philip doubtfully.

“Oh yes, I can.”  I felt sure that I could.  I have often been short of temper for our amusements, but never of ideas.  Philip tucked the properties under one arm, and me under the other, and as we ran homewards over the marsh, I threaded Mr. Clinton into the plot with perfect ease.

“We’ll have a second Prince, and he shall have an enchanted shield, which shall protect him from you—­though he can’t kill you—­for Charles must do that.  He shall be in love with the Princess too, but just when he and Charles are going to fight for her, the Fairy Godmother shall sprinkle him with the Waters of Memory, and break a spell which had made him forget his own Princess in a distant land.  You know, Philip, if he does act well, he may make a capital part of it.  It will be a splendid scene.  We have two real metal swords, and as they are flashing in the air—­enter the Fairy with the carved claret jug.  When he is sprinkled he must drop his sword, and put his hands to his head.  He will recall the picture of his own Princess, and draw it out and kiss it (I can lend him my locket miniature of great-grandpapa).  Charles and he must swear eternal friendship, and then he will pick up his sword, and exit right centre, waving the golden shield, to find his Princess.  It will look very well, and as he goes out the Princess can enter left in distraction about the combat, and she and Charles can fall in each other’s arms, and be blessed by the Fairy.”

“Capital!” said Philip.  “What a head you have!  But you’re out of breath?  We’re running too fast.”

“Not a bit,” said I, “it refreshes me.  Do you remember when you and I used to run hand in hand from the top to the bottom of Breakneck Hill?  Oh, Philip, I do wish we could never quarrel any more!  I think we might keep our tempers if we tried.”

“You might,” said Philip, “because you are good.  But I shall always be a brute.”

(Just what I said to Aunt Isobel!  Must every one learn his own lessons for himself?  I had a sort of unreasonable feeling that my experience ought to serve for the rest of our ill-tempered family into the bargain.)

Philip’s spirits rose higher and higher.  Of course he was delighted to be out of the scrape.  I am sure he was glad to be friendly again, and he was hotter than ever for the theatricals.