“You see,” remarked Jikki, shaking his head sadly at the six, “I’m only a servant myself.” “You are our master, sir!” announced the young men, their voices blended into one. “I wish,” said Jikki, solemnly, “you were all back where you came from!” And then he paused to see if his wish also would be fulfilled. But no; the magic cloak conferred the fulfilment of but one wish upon its wearer, and the half a dozen servants remained standing rigidly before him. Jikki arose with a sigh. “Come downstairs to my private room,” he said, “and we’ll talk the matter over.” So they descended the grand stairway to the main hall of the grand palace, Jikki going first and his servants following at a respectful distance. Just off the hall Jikki had a pleasant room where he could sit when not employed, and into this he led the six. After all, he considered, it would not be a bad thing to have half a dozen servants; they would save his old legs from many a tiresome errand. But just as they reached the hall a new thought struck him and he turned suddenly upon his followers: “See here!” he exclaimed. “How much wages do you fellows expect?” “We expect no wages at all, sir,” they answered. “What! nothing at all!” Jikki was so startled that he scarcely had strength remaining to stagger into his private room and sink into a chair. “No wages! Six servants, and no wages to pay!” he muttered. “Why, it’s wonderful—marvelous—astounding!” Then he thought to himself: “I’ll try ’em, and see if they’ll really work.” And aloud he asked: “How can I tell you apart—one from another?” Each servant raised his right arm and pointed to a silver badge upon his left breast; and then Jikki discovered that they were all numbered, from “one” up to “six.” “Ah! very good!” said Jikki. “Now, number six, take this shoe into the boot-room, and clean and polish it.” Number six bowed and glided from the room as swiftly and silently as if he were obeying a command of the King of Noland. “Number five,” continued Jikki, “take this tray to the kitchen.” Number five obeyed instantly, and Jikki chuckled with delight. “Number two, take this to the milliner in Royal Street, and have the feathers curled.” Number two bowed and departed almost before the words had left Jikki’s mouth; and then the king’s valet regarded the remaining three in some perplexity. “Half a dozen servants is almost too many,” he thought. “It will keep me busy to keep them busy. I should have wished for only one—or two at the most.” Just then he remembered something. “Number four,” said he, “go after number two and tell the milliner that the hat belongs to Madam Rivette, the king’s aunt.” And a few moments later, when the remaining two servants, standing upright before him, had begun to make him nervous, Jikki cried out: “Number three, take this other shoe down to the boot-room and tell number six to clean and polish it also.”