[Illustration: “THE ANIMAL SUDDENLY GAVE A WILD KICK THAT SENT THE STARTLED WOMAN IN A HEAP UPON THE FLOOR, WITH HER HEAD STUCK FAST IN THE MILK-PAIL.”] She took the stool in one hand and the pail in the other, and, approaching the cow softly on the _right_ side, patted the animal gently and said to it: “So, Boss! So-o-o-o, Bossie, my darlin’! Good Bossie! Nice Bossie!” The cow turned her head to look at the lean woman, and made no objection when she sat down and began milking. In a moment the king said: “The cow is yours! Take her and go home!” Then all the courtiers and people—and even the five high counselors—applauded the king enthusiastically; and the chief counselor lifted up his hands and said: “Another Solomon has come to rule us!” And the people applauded again, till Bud looked very proud and quite red in the face with satisfaction. “Tell me,” he said to the woman, who was about to lead the cow away, “tell me, where did you get such a nice faithful Bossie as that?” “Must I tell you the truth?” asked the woman. “Of course,” said Bud. “Then, your Majesty,” she returned, “I stole her from that fat woman you have locked up in that room. But no one can take the cow from me now, for the king has given her to me.” At this a sudden hush fell on the room, and Bud looked redder than ever. “Then how did it happen that you could milk the cow and she couldn’t?” demanded the king, angrily. “Why, she doesn’t understand cows, and I do,” answered the woman. “Good day, your Majesty. Much obliged, I’m sure!” And she walked away with the cow, leaving the king and Princess Fluff and all the people much embarrassed. “Have we any cows in the royal stables?” asked Bud, turning to Tullydub. “Certainly, your Majesty; there are several,” answered the chief counselor. “Then,” said Bud, “give one of them to the fat woman and send her home. I’ve done all the judging I am going to do to-day, and now I’ll take my sister upstairs to play.” “Hold on! Hold on!” cried a shrill voice. “I demand justice! Justice of the king! Justice of the law! Justice to the king’s aunt.” Bud looked down the room and saw Aunt Rivette struggling with some of the guards. Then she broke away from them and rushed to the throne, crying again: “Justice, your Majesty!” “What’s the matter with you?” asked Bud. “Matter? Everything’s the matter with me. Aren’t you the new king?” “Yes,” said Bud. “That’s what I am.” “Am I not your aunt? Am I not your aunt?” “Yes,” said Bud, again. “Well, why am I left to live in a hut and dress in rags? Doesn’t the law say that every blood relation of the king shall live in a royal palace?” “Does it?” asked Bud, turning to Tullydub. “The law says so, your Majesty.” “And must I have that old crosspatch around me all the time?” wailed the new king. “Crosspatch yourself!” screamed Aunt Rivette, shaking her fist at Bud. “I’ll teach you to crosspatch me when I get you alone!” Bud shuddered. Then he turned again to Tullydub.