(_Rises with difficulty and comes forward._) Where am I? Who are you? What’s this? (_Feels water._) It’s water! MONA. This is the Norway coast, and I’m its daughter. Young sir, you’re wet! your coat—— Might be a better ’un. I’m _young_; but still you won’t find here a _wetter_ ’un. MONA. Tell me your tale, for stories I love well. PRINCE DOODLE. Story; why bless you! I have none to tell; Only last night, a-sailing on the ocean, There came a squall, at least so I’ve a notion. It stormed! it blew! it rained! the lightning crashed! We pitched and rolled, (_imitates motion of ship_) and tossed, the thunder flashed; The wind, it rose and howled, and so did we. MONA. That’s very queer! PRINCE DOODLE. Things often are at sea. “Cut down the starboard stays’l!” cried I. Then “Splice the jib-boom, there, to the cross-trees, men!” (_Speaks excitedly, suiting action to words, and using hands as speaking trumpet_,) “Stand by to hoist the to’gallant sheet anchor! Take a pull on the weather lee scuppers, my hearties! Let the mizzen binnacle go with a run!” MONA. (_Clapping her hands with delight._) I like to hear you talk. Go on! What fun! PRINCE DOODLE. (_Disgusted at interruption._) That’s all. MONA. (_Disappointed._) That’s not the end? PRINCE DOODLE. ’Twon’t take a minuit. The ship she gave a lurch; and—left us in it. Then to a hen coop clung the crew of forty-five; MONA. They’re drowned? (_clasping her hands in horror._) PRINCE DOODLE. Oh, not at all; they’re all alive. They flew away. MONA. What, men! PRINCE DOODLE. No; geese, my dear! I’m rather mixed. Perhaps my head is queer. Listen, and I’ll a tale unfold to harrow—— MONA. (_Shrinking back_) Ah! Don’t! PRINCE DOODLE. A tale to fr-r-r-r-eeze—— MONA. Oh, dear! PRINCE DOODLE. Your marrow! PRINCE DOODLE. (_Loud chord, and tremulo music through the following._) I have an uncle! MONA. Not uncommon, surely. PRINCE DOODLE. Some years ago, my poor papa, felt poorly; Took to his bed, and—died—they say most queerly. My uncle deals in magic? See you? MONA. Clearly!