A Tangled Tale

grimly. “We can begin here,” she said, as they paused before a gigantic picture, which the catalogue informed them was the Portrait of Lieutenant Brown, Mounted on His Favorite Elephant.
“He looks awfully conceited!” said Clara. “I don’t think he was the elephant’s favorite Lieutenant. What a hideous picture it is! And it takes up room enough for twenty!”
“Mind what you say, my dear!” her aunt interposed. “It’s by an R.A.!”
But Clara was quite reckless. “I don’t care who it’s by!” she cried. “And I shall give it three bad marks!”
Aunt and niece soon drifted away from each other in the crowd, and for the next half-hour Clara was hard at work, putting in marks and rubbing them out again, and hunting up and down for suitable pictures. This she found the hardest part of all. “I can’t find the one I want!” she exclaimed at last, almost crying with vexation.
“What is it you want to find, my dear?” The voice was strange to Clara, but so sweet and gentle that she felt attracted to the owner of it, even before she had seen her; and when she turned, and met the smiling looks of two little old ladies, whose round dimpled faces, exactly alike, seemed never to have known a care, it was as much as she could do⁠—as she confessed to Aunt Mattie afterwards⁠—to keep herself from hugging them both.
“I was looking for a picture,” she said, “that has a good subject⁠—and that’s well arranged⁠—but badly coloured.”
The little old ladies glanced at each other in some alarm. “Calm yourself, my dear,” said the one who had spoken first, “and try to remember which it was. What was the subject?”
“Was it an elephant, for instance?” the other sister suggested. They were still in sight of Lieutenant Brown.
“I don’t know, indeed!” Clara impetuously replied. “You know it doesn’t matter a bit what the subject is, so long as it’s a good one!”
Once more the sisters exchanged looks of alarm, and one of them whispered something to the other, of which Clara caught only the one word “mad.”
“They mean Aunt Mattie, of course,” she said to herself⁠—fancying, in her innocence, that London was like her native town, where everybody knew everybody else. “If you mean my aunt,” she added aloud, “she’s there⁠—just three pictures beyond Lieutenant Brown.”
“Ah, well! Then you’d better go to her, my dear!” her new friend said, soothingly. “She’ll find you the picture you want. Goodbye, dear!”
“Goodbye, dear!” echoed the other sister, “Mind you don’t lose sight of your aunt!” And the pair trotted off into another room, leaving Clara rather perplexed at their manner.
“They’re real darlings!” she soliloquised. “I wonder why they pity me so!” And she wandered on, murmuring to herself “It must have two good marks, and⁠—”



Knot VI
Her Radiancy


“One piecee thing that my have got,

Maskee 1 that thing my no can do.

You talkee you no sabey what?

Bamboo.”


They landed, and were at once conducted to the Palace. About half way they were met by the Governor, who welcomed them in English⁠—a great relief to our travellers, whose guide could speak nothing but Kgovjnian.
“I don’t half like the way they grin at us as we go by!” the old man whispered to his son. “And why do they say ‘Bamboo!’ so often?”
“It alludes to a local custom,” replied the Governor, who had overheard the question. “Such persons as happen in any way to displease Her Radiancy are usually beaten with rods.”
The old man shuddered. “A most objectional local custom!” he remarked with strong emphasis. “I wish we had never landed! Did you notice that black fellow, Norman, opening his great mouth at us? I verily believe he would like to eat us!”
Norman appealed to the Governor, who was walking at his other side. “Do they often eat distinguished strangers here?” he said, in as indifferent a tone as he could assume.
“Not often⁠—not ever!” was the welcome reply. “They are not good for it. Pigs we eat, for they are fat. This old man is thin.”
“And thankful to be so!” muttered the elder traveller. “Beaten we shall be without a doubt. It’s a comfort to know it won’t be Beaten without the B! My dear boy, just look at the peacocks!”
They were now walking between two unbroken lines of those gorgeous birds, each held in check, by means of a golden collar and chain, by a black slave, who stood well behind, so as not to interrupt the view of the glittering tail, with its network of rustling feathers and its hundred eyes.
The Governor smiled proudly. “In your honour,” he said, “Her Radiancy has ordered up ten thousand additional peacocks. She will, no doubt, decorate you, before you go, with the usual Star and Feathers.”
“It’ll be Star without the S!” faltered one of his hearers.
“Come, come! Don’t lose heart!” said the other. “All this is full of charm for me.”
“You are young, Norman,” sighed his father; “young and lighthearted. For me, it is Charm without the C.”
“The old one is sad,” the Governor remarked with some anxiety. “He has, without doubt, effected some fearful crime?”
“But I haven’t!” the poor old gentleman hastily exclaimed. “Tell him I haven’t, Norman!”
“He has not, as yet,” Norman gently explained. And the Governor repeated, in a satisfied tone, “Not as yet.”
“Yours is a wondrous country!” the Governor resumed, after a pause. “Now here is a letter from a friend of mine, a merchant, in London. He and his brother went there a year ago, with a thousand pounds apiece; and on New-Year’s-day they had sixty thousand pounds between them!”
“How did they do it?” Norman eagerly exclaimed. Even the elder traveller looked excited.
The Governor handed him the open letter. “Anybody can do it, when once they know how,” so ran this oracular document. “We borrowed nought: we stole nought. We began the year with only a thousand pounds apiece: and last New-Year’s-day we had sixty thousand