Dainty and lovely, indeed, was the Queen of Ix in appearance; yet none of her lords or attendants cast more than a passing glance upon her beauty. For they were used to seeing her thus. There were graybeards at her table this evening who could remember the queen’s rare beauty since they were boys; ay, and who had been told by their fathers and grandfathers of Queen Zixi’s loveliness when they also were mere children. In fact, no one in Ix had ever heard of the time when the land was not ruled by this same queen, or when she was not in appearance as young and fair as she was to-day. Which easily proves she was not an ordinary person at all. And I may as well tell you here that Queen Zixi, despite the fact that she looked to be no more than sixteen, was in reality six hundred and eighty-three years of age, and had prolonged her life in this extraordinary way by means of the arts of witchcraft. I do not mean by this that she was an evil person. She had always ruled her kingdom wisely and liberally, and the people of Ix made no manner of complaint against their queen. If there were a war, she led her armies in person, clad in golden mail and helmet; and in years of peace she taught them to sow and reap grain, and to fashion many useful articles of metal, and to build strong and substantial houses. Nor were her taxes ever more than the people could bear. Yet, for all this, Zixi was more feared than loved; for every one remembered she was a witch, and also knew she was hundreds of years old. So, no matter how amiable their queen might be, she was always treated with extreme respect, and folks weighed well their words when they conversed with her. [Illustration: “‘STOP!’ CRIED THE QUEEN, WITH SUDDEN EXCITEMENT.”] Next the queen, on both sides of the table, sat her most favored nobles and their ladies; farther down were the rich merchants and officers of the army; and at the lower end were servants and members of the household. For this was the custom in the land of Ix. Quavo the harpist sat near the lower end; and, when all had been comfortably fed, the queen called upon him for a song. This was the moment Quavo had eagerly awaited. He took his harp, seated himself in a niche of the wall, and, according to the manner of ancient minstrels, he sang of the things he had seen in other lands, thus serving his hearers with the news of the day as well as pleasing them with his music. This is the way he began: “Of Noland now a tale I’ll sing, Where reigns a strangely youthful king— A boy, who has by chance alone Been called to sit upon a throne. His sister shares his luck, and she The fairies’ friend is said to be; For they did mystic arts invoke And weave for her a magic cloak Which grants its wearer—thus I’m told— Gifts more precious far than gold. “She’s but to wish, and her desire Quite instantly she will acquire; And when she lends it to her friends, The favor unto them extends.