"What's that?" inquired Marjorie. "Don't interrupt," said Dick. "Guy Fawkes is an effigy, you know--an old stuffed thing, with a mask on. Go on, please." "Well, then," continued the Executioner, "having made an effigy, as near like my subject as possible, I just chop its head off, and there is an end of the matter." He looked around at the company, and smiled triumphantly. Marjorie gave a sigh of relief. She didn't so much mind the execution taking place if the poor Dodo was not to be killed. To her great surprise, however, on looking at that interesting bird, she discovered that he was weeping copiously, and wiping with an elaborate lace handkerchief, which had evidently been concealed about his person, the tears which trickled slowly down his great beak. "What's the matter, poor goosey, goosey, gander?" said Fidge, sympathetically. "Don't!" snapped the Dodo, crossly. "I'm _not_ a goose." "Well, what _is_ the matter, anyhow?" said Dick. "They are not going to chop your head off it appears; so you ought to be glad, and not snivel like that." "I d--don't want to--to be--e m--made a guy of," sobbed the Dodo. "What _do_ you mean?" asked the Executioner. "Why, you said you would have to make an effigy of me; and he" (pointing to Dick) "said it was a kind of Guy Fawkes, didn't you?" he added appealing to Dick. "Well, never mind," said the Archaeopteryx, sympathetically; "you have the consolation that they couldn't make you a bigger guy than you are." Strangely enough, the Dodo seemed to derive a considerable amount of comfort from this idea, and, wiping away the few remaining tears, he began to take an active interest in the manufacture of the effigy, which the others set about constructing without further delay. "Is it like me?" he asked, conceitedly, as they bound some cloths to a piece of stick, in such a way that they bore some slight resemblance to a bird. "Dear me, what a pity! I'm not moulting, or you might have had one or two of my feathers to stick on for a tail," he added. "H'm! I shouldn't have thought you had any to spare for moulting purposes," said the Archaeopteryx. "Don't be unkind," retorted the Dodo; "_you_ haven't many to boast of." "I've more than you have, anyhow," said the Archaeopteryx. "Oh, for goodness' sake leave off quarreling. What on earth does it matter how many feathers you have?" said Dick. "Not to a _boy_, I suppose," remarked the Dodo, somewhat insolently; "but no respectable bird would care to be seen about with less than five; though, undoubtedly, too many are vulgar"--this with a scornful glance at the Archaeopteryx's tail, which was decorated with quite a number of curious flat feathers. I don't know how much longer this wrangling would have gone on, had not the Court Glover just then made his appearance. "Time's up!" he announced, sternly. "Are you prepared for execution, Dodo?"