“Just scramble around in the sand,” replied Harry, and suiting the action to the word, he gave such a funny scrambling performance that they all applauded.

“Right well done, noble Sand Crab,” commented the smiling Queen.  “And thou, O Sandow?”

“I do all the strong-arm work required in the palace,” said Dick, doubling up his little fist, and trying to make it look large and powerful.

“Now, thee, my fair lady-in-waiting, what dost thou do in this, my court?”

Hester shook back her mop of red curls, and her eyes danced as she answered, gaily: 

“I am the Court Sand Witch!  I cut up tricks of all sorts, as doth become a witch.  Aye, many a time will I cause enchantments to fall upon thee, one and all!  I am a magic witch, and I can cast spells!”

Hester waved her arms about, and swayed from side to side, her eyes fixed in a glassy stare, and her red curls bobbing.

“Good gracious!” cried Marjorie.  “You’re like a witch I saw on the stage once in a fairy pantomime.  Say, Hester, let’s have a pantomime entertainment some day.”

“All right.  My mother’ll help us.  She’s always getting up private theatricals and things like that.  She says I inherit her dramatic talent.”

“All right,” said Tom, warningly; “but don’t you turn your dramatic talent toward tearing down our palace again.”

“Of course I won’t, now I’m a member.”

“Of course she won’t,” agreed Marjorie.  “Now, my courtiers, and lady-in-waiting, there’s another subject to come before your royal attention.  We must have a Court Journal.”

“What’s that?” inquired Harry.

“Why, a sort of a paper, you know, with all the court news in it.”

“There isn’t any.”

“But there will be.  We’re not fairly started yet.  Now who’ll write this paper?”

“All of us,” suggested Tom.

“Yes; but there must be one at the head of it,—­sort of editor, you know.”

“Guess it better be King,” said Tom, thoughtfully.  “He knows the most about writing things.”

“All right,” agreed King.  “I’ll edit the paper, only you must all contribute.  We’ll have it once a week, and everybody must send me some contribution, if it’s only a little poem or something.”

“I can’t write poems,” said Harry, earnestly, “but I can gather up news,—­and like that.”

“Yes,” said Marjorie, “that’s what I mean.  But it must be news about us court people, or maybe our families.”

“Can’t we make it up?” asked Hester.

“Yes, I s’pose so, if you make it real court like and grand sounding.”

“What shall we call our paper?” asked King.

“Oh, just the Court Journal,” replied Midget.

“I don’t think so,” objected Hester.  “I think it ought to have a name like The Sand Club.”

“The Jolly Sandboy,” exclaimed Tom.  “How’s that?”

“But two of us are girls!” said Marjorie.