"God bless you, Princess," said the Apostle. "Oh but listen," the Prince of Naples shrieked, jumping up and down; "He knows all the words ezattually, just like my own father. He said to me 'boy,' and to Yolanda 'princess.' Now go you too, Mafalda, and I will listen again." The tiny maid went. "God bless you, little Princess;" the Apostle said. "That is right," the boy cried: "he said 'little princess' because----" There he stopped a moment. Then, "White Father, why for have You--no,--why did not You say 'prince' to me? I am Prince Filiberto, aged five, Quirinale, Rome. Do You know that, White Father?" "Yes, Prince. But you are a boy." "Well, I think so. Also I am a sailor, like Uncle Luigi. Cannot You see that, White Father? Do You know what thing is a sailor?" He stood by the chair, leaning against Hadrian's knee, deliciously rosily maritime in white flannel. "Oh yes: We know many sailors:" the Pope responded. "Are they English?" The question possessed importance. His Royal Highness evidently was by way of verifying certain information. "Most of them are English." "My father says that all good sailors are English, or like English." "And are you a good sailor?" The Pope switched the argument away from the Majesty of Italy, for reasons. "But yes, I am very good this morning. But I always am a sailor--even when I am--not quite good;" the candid baby said with a little hesitation. "Do you like being 'not quite good'?" "Oh but yes--I should say, sometimes. I think I like it then: but not now. No--I do not like being 'not quite good.'" He settled the matter like that; and nobly lifted himself upon it. "Won't you try to be a good sailor?" (Hadrian hated Himself for preaching. But such a chance! To make a white mark on the heir to a throne!) "But of course I always try,--except----" and there seemed to be the difficulty. The child drooped a little. "You always do try to be a good sailor--and to give no trouble----" "Give no trouble? What not to father?" the prince inquired, as though the very notion clashed with his preconceived idea of the uses of fathers. "No: not to your father." "Nor to Missy?" The round face became a little longer. "No: never to ladies on any account." "To whom then may I give trouble, if I may not give it to father nor to Missy?" He felt that he had put a poser. "Don't give it." "What not to anybody?" This was a matter, a dreadful matter, which anyhow must be pursued to the bitter end. "Not to anybody." The child's great brave eyes considered the Apostle attentively: then they wandered to his sisters, to the governess, to the nurses; and came back again. Hadrian returned his gaze, very gently, quite inflexibly. The boy must learn his lesson now. Prince Filiberto pondered the novel doctrine from all his little points of view; and at last he grasped the consequence like a man. "Ah well, then I suppose I had better keep it myself. I am sorry that I gave it to you, Missy, yesterday."