"What are we to do with him then?" said the King, scratching his head. "I don't want to keep him here, or he will eat me out of house and home--I know what boys are." "Let me go, your Majesty!" cried Billy hopefully. "And lose $5.99--twice the national debt--oh! no. Has anyone else any suggestions to make?" "Let me cast his horoscope again, sire--maybe the stars will show us a way out," said the Astrologer. "Good," said O'Fudge, "begin at once." "By daylight?" "Why, of course, you can see better by day--do not argue but away." And off the Astrologer trotted, shaking his head in perplexity. Billy felt Barker stirring uneasily in his pocket, and in order to shift his position took him out into his arms. As soon as O'Fudge saw him he said: "Ho! a dog--this changes things. Astrologer, include the Dog star in your calculations." Billy had been idly scraping his foot on the dirty floor, so that he really had made a little hole there, when, greatly to his surprise, Barker wriggled out of his arms and barked into the hole. Up sprang the Singing Tree and at once began to sing in a soft, dreamy voice a sleep song. A strange and sudden silence fell over the room. O'Fudge sank back onto his throne and closed his eyes, while a contented smile came over his face. Swash Buckler's hand dropped from Billy's arm, his head nodded and he fell in a heap. So it was throughout the Palace--slumber overpowered all who heard the song excepting Billy and Barker. In a moment all that Billy heard was the Singing Tree and a loud chorus of snores. You can imagine that it didn't take him long to run out of the door with Barker in his arms and jump away from the land of O'Fudge, the Comic Paper Irish King. CHAPTER XIII. BILLY PLAYS A TRICK ON BOREAS. "Br-r-r-r, it's cold," said Billy the next morning when he arose: "if my suit were not full of hot air I believe I should freeze. I wish, though, I had some warm things to put on; it looks like snow." And he swung his arms and blew on his blue fingers and rubbed the tip of his nose to be sure it was still there. "Why, hello, what's this?" for while he was exercising, the Singing Tree had sung softly: "By lo, Baby Bunting, Papa's gone a-hunting, To get a little rabbit skin To wrap his Baby Bunting in,"