"The King's Pie!" exclaimed the surprised monarch. "Pray, what do you mean by that?" "It is another story, Your Majesty," said Harold, grinning. "I think it is the best story of all. But I suppose you would not care to hear it to-morrow." "Oh, go along with you and your stories, you young beguiler!" cried Red Rex with a great roar, at the same time poking Harold playfully with the point of his sword. "I see that you would keep me here forever at the walls of your city, listening to your tales." "Not forever," said Harold, with an air of candor. "I do not think that even the library of Kisington could furnish new books for as long a time as that,--though, to be sure, you might hear some of the same ones over again. But, indeed, you have no idea what treasures still remain in that casket! This tale of the King's Pie is one of the rarest, I think." Red Rex seemed to be thinking very earnestly about something. "The King's Pie," he murmured, more than once. "H'm! H'm! It is of a deliciousness! Ha! Ho!" And he smacked his lips again, thinking of the tantalizing wedge which was now no more. Suddenly he spoke: "I have decided to wait yet another day," he announced. "I will hear that tale to-morrow. And if it contains a recipe for the famous pie, I shall want you to copy it off for me. Bring pen and paper, my lad." "That I will!" said Harold joyously. For this meant still another day's delay; and the time was now near at hand when they might expect to see help coming from the Capital City where their good King Victor lived. This was Wednesday, when he took leave of the Red King. XIV: THE ROBBER Harold was very weary when he returned to the cottage that evening; and he was still more weary before he tumbled into bed. For in the mean time he had to learn his school lessons for the following day, and tell the other boys all about his adventures. He slept like a top; quite like a top,--for sometimes during the night there came from his little room beyond the kitchen a sound like a humming top. It was about midnight when Harold was awakened by a peculiar noise. It was a queer, clicking, tapping noise that seemed to come from the kitchen close by. Harold sat up in bed and listened. Some one was certainly moving about in the kitchen. It was probably his mother, he thought. And yet, what could his mother be doing there at that time of night? Stealthy steps crossed the kitchen; just then Harold sneezed,--he could not help it. There was silence.