There was “milk” and “mountain,” and a word that looked like “Jilk,” only of course it could not be that. And the last word of all was “reign,” and the second word of all was “Tony.” “It must be something to do with me,” said young Tony, “because of my name being in it.” “It must have something to do with the King,” said old Tony, “because it says ‘reign,’ so you’d better cut off to the Palace, and look sharp about it, or His Majesty will know the reason why.” So Tony looked sharp about it, and got to the Palace in less than five minutes. For a wonder the King was not engaged in dropping in on his subjects, but was on his throne amid his fussy black courtiers, who were all busy trying to make themselves as small as they could. This was because the King was very short, though he did not like to say so. He always had himself described in the Census and the Palace Reports as a “powerful man of middle height,” though he was nowhere near the middle height, and no more powerful than other people. “Well, boy,” said King Anthony XXIII., “what have you come here for?” “There is a prophecy,” said Tony. “There are a good many,” said King Anthony, “but they don’t amount to much since poor Henry Birkbeck died. He was something like a prophet,” he went on, turning to his courtiers; “he foretold, when I was only a baby, that if I grew up I should perhaps be king. The late King, my father, was very pleased, I remember.” The courtiers all bowed, and said it was really wonderful. Tony said, “Well, then you’d better come and have a look at this prophecy, because it is the late Mr. Birkbeck’s last one, and he said it’ll come true.” “Bring it here, can’t you?” said the King. “No, I can’t,” said the boy. “It’s on his tombstone, so there. I can’t carry tombstones about.” “No,” said the King thoughtfully, “of course you are not powerfully built. You are nowhere near the medium height.” “Come and look at it if you want to,” said Tony. “I’m in no hurry.” “Well,” said King Anthony, “I don’t care if I do. I’m tired of sitting still.” So off they all went, King, Court, heralds, men-at-arms, banner-bearers and spearmen, down the narrow, dark, crooked town streets, till they came to the churchyard where the tombstones were—both the upright and the flat kind. Tony ran on ahead and knelt in front of the tombstone. Then he jumped up and called out, “You hurry up, it’s as plain now as the nose on your face.” “You should say the royal nose on your Majesty’s royal face,” said old Tony anxiously. But the King was too interested to care about even his subjects’ manners. [Illustration: OFF THEY ALL WENT, KING, COURT, AND MEN-AT-ARMS.] He came up to the tombstone, and on it he read, and Tony read, and all the courtiers read:—