“I am the purest of the pure. 
     I have but kindest thoughts each day. 
     I give my riches to the poor,
     And follow in the Master’s way.”

This elicited tokens of approval from the Child King Arthur, and he bade Maurice “stand forth” and come near the throne, a command obeyed with the easy grace of conscious merit.

It was Penrod’s turn.  He stepped back from his chair, the table between him and the audience, and began in a high, breathless monotone: 

     “I hight Sir Lancelot du Lake, the Child,
     Gentul-hearted, meek, and mild. 
     What though I’m but a littul child,
     Gentul-heartud, meek, and mild,
     I do my share though but—­though but——­”

Penrod paused and gulped.  The voice of Mrs. Lora Rewbush was heard from the wings, prompting irritably, and the Child.  Sir Lancelot repeated: 

     “I do my share though but—­though but a tot,
     I pray you knight Sir Lancelot!”

This also met the royal favour, and Penrod was bidden to join Sir Galahad at the throne.  As he crossed the stage, Mrs. Schofield whispered to Margaret: 

“That boy!  He’s unpinned his mantle and fixed it to cover his whole costume.  After we worked so hard to make it becoming!”

“Never mind; he’ll have to take the cape off in a minute,” returned Margaret.  She leaned forward suddenly, narrowing her eyes to see better.  “What is that thing hanging about his left ankle?” she whispered uneasily.  “How queer!  He must have got tangled in something.”

“Where?” asked Mrs. Schofield, in alarm.

“His left foot.  It makes him stumble.  Don’t you see?  It looks—­it looks like an elephant’s foot!”

The Child Sir Lancelot and the Child Sir Galahad clasped hands before their Child King.  Penrod was conscious of a great uplift; in a moment he would have to throw aside his mantle, but even so he was protected and sheltered in the human garment of a man.  His stage-fright had passed, for the audience was but an indistinguishable blur of darkness beyond the dazzling lights.  His most repulsive speech (that in which he proclaimed himself a “tot”) was over and done with; and now at last the small, moist hand of the Child Sir Galahad lay within his own.  Craftily his brown fingers stole from Maurice’s palm to the wrist.  The two boys declaimed in concert: 

     “We are two chuldrun of the Tabul Round
     Strewing kindness all a-round. 
     With love and good deeds striving ever for the best,
     May our littul efforts e’er be blest. 
     Two littul hearts we offer.  See
     United in love, faith, hope, and char—­ow!”

The conclusion of the duet was marred.  The Child Sir Galahad suddenly stiffened, and, uttering an irrepressible shriek of anguish, gave a brief exhibition of the contortionist’s art. ("He’s TWISTIN’ my wrist!  Dern you, Leggo!”)