“No,” piped the little boy.  “It isn’t Coronus and Capricorna.”

A marvellous sensation of relief invaded the Prophet.

“Thank Heaven!” he ejaculated in a sigh.  “I thought it must be.”

“It’s Corona and Capricornus,” continued the little boy.  “And we’ve brought you a letter from pater familias.”

“And mater familiaris,” added the little girl.

“Milias, Corona,” corrected the little boy.  “Here it is, Mr. Vivian,” he added, drawing a large missive from the breast of his blue-and-white sailor’s blouse.  “Pater and mater familias couldn’t bring it themselves, because he said it wasn’t safe for him to come, and she’s lying down ill at what you sent to her.  It wasn’t kind of you, was it?”

So saying, he handed the missive to the Prophet, who took it anxiously.

“Would you like some cake, my lit—­I mean, my dears, while I read this?”

“No, thank you.  Cake is bad for us in the morning,” replied the little boy.  “You shouldn’t eat it so early.”

The Prophet was about to reply that he never did when it struck him that argument would probably be useless.  He, therefore, hastened to open the letter, which proved to be from Mr. Sagittarius, and which ran as follows:—­

“SIR,—­Your terrible and mysterious wire, coming after your equally terrible and mysterious silence, has caused devastation in a hitherto peaceful and happy family.  To what peril do you allude?  What creature can there be so base as to wish to take my life merely on account of my sending you telegrams?  Madame has been driven to despair by your announcement, and I, myself, although no ordinary man, am, very rightly and properly, going about in fear of my life since receipt of your last telegram.  Under these circs, and being unable to wait upon you ourselves for a full explanation, we are sending our very life-blood to you—­per rail and ’bus—­with strict orders to bring you at once to the banks of the Mouse, there to confer with Madame and self and arrange such measures of precaution as are suited to the requirements of the situation as indicated by you.

“JUPITER SAGITTARIUS.

“P.S.—­You are to bring with you, according to solemn oath, all prophecy concerning grandmother, Crab, etc., gathered up to date, together with full details of same’s removal from the bottle, cutting of her first tooth, short-coating, going into skirts, putting of hair up, day of marriage and widowhood, illnesses—­especially rashes—­and so forth. Ab origino.

“MADAME SAGITTARIUS.”

On reading this communication the Prophet felt that all further struggle was useless.  Fate—­cruel and remorseless Fate—­had him in her grasp.  He could only bow his head and submit to her horrible decrees.  He could only go upstairs and at once prepare for the journey to the Mouse.

He laid the letter down and got up, fixing his eyes upon the kids, who sat solemnly awaiting his further procedure.