In quick succession princesses were hurried to the font, and the unromantic ears of the congregation were astonished by a list of beautiful names--Sexta, Septima, Octava, Nona of the wonderful eyes, and Decima of the sunny hair. But when the eleventh princess was brought to church a serious difficulty arose. A perfect understanding existed between His Majesty and the court chaplain. The father had no idea what the name of his new daughter was to be when she was handed into the scholar's arms. The rector did not use the formula, "Name this child," but substituted the question, "What is her number?" or words to that effect. On this occasion, when the question was put, and King Heathman had answered, "Eleven, sir," the rector paused. Then he whispered, "Would you like Undecima?" "Aw, sir, proper. Let's ha' 'en," was the eager answer. The rector hesitated. Across his classical mind flashed the Latin numbers ahead. The twelfth princess would have to be christened Duodecima, and after that such names became impossible. So he whispered, "Undecima is too much like Decima. We must think of something else." "As yew like, sir," said his accommodating Majesty, although in distinctly disappointed tones. "Now there will be an Annie," murmured those villagers who were nearest the font and had overheard the discussion. While the rector was deliberating his eyes fell among flowers, the church happening to be decorated for a festival, and bunches of the white cluster-rose known as the Seven Sisters being twined about the font; and he suggested that, if King Heathman was agreeable, a bevy of flower-named princesses would be a pleasing relief after the dull monotony of numbers. "Twill do fine, sir," said King Heathman. And that is how the Princess Rosa came to be christened. But princesses went on filling the palace, and names were soon running short again. Rosa had been followed by Lilia, Viola, and Veronica. King Heathman was becoming fastidious. He had imbibed so much raw material of knowledge from the court chaplain that he was beginning to regard himself as a scholar of some importance. Then his royalty was increasing in Lew; and he always wore a hard hat, which, in this part of the country, is a sign, not exactly of majesty, but of stability and respectability. He still hankered after the numbers, and was looking forward to the birth of a twentieth princess who could be called Vicesima. The fifteenth princess had just made her appearance, and the father continued to disregard the petition of the neighbours praying him to call her Annie before it was too late. It happened one day that he cast his eyes upon two flowering shrubs which grew in pots, one at each side of the palace gates. King Heathman could not remember the name of these shrubs, though he had been told often enough, so he called Tertia, and asked her to enlighten him. "The name is on the tip of my tongue, but I can't get it out," said Tertia. "I'll call Una."