He's a second-rate sort of fellow,
I'm sure, and I'm sorry I promised to let him act. But I'll get out of
it, you shan't be bothered by him."
"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.
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