“Well, yes,” the Professor assented. “However, you’re very short now you’re come: that’s _some_ comfort.” And he went on to enumerate the plans for the day. “The Lecture comes first,” he said. “_That_ the Empress _insists_ on. She says people will eat so much at the Banquet, they’ll be too sleepy to attend to the Lecture afterwards—and perhaps she’s right. There’ll just be a little _refreshment_, when the people first arrive—as a kind of surprise for the Empress, you know. Ever since she’s been—well, not _quite_ so clever as she once was—we’ve found it desirable to concoct little surprises for her. _Then_ comes the Lecture——” “What? The Lecture you were getting ready—ever so long ago?” Sylvie enquired. “Yes—that’s the one,” the Professor rather reluctantly admitted. “It _has_ taken a goodish time to prepare. I’ve got so many other things to attend to. For instance, I’m Court-Physician. I have to keep all the Royal Servants in good health—and that reminds me!” he cried, ringing the bell in a great hurry. “This is Medicine-Day! We only give Medicine once a week. If we were to begin giving it every day, the bottles would _soon_ be empty!” “But if they were ill on the _other_ days?” Sylvie suggested. “What, ill on the wrong _day_!” exclaimed the Professor. “Oh, that would never do! A Servant would be dismissed _at once_, who was ill on the wrong day! This is the Medicine for _today_,” he went on, taking down a large jug from a shelf. “I mixed it, myself, first thing this morning. Taste it!” he said, holding out the jug to Bruno. “Dip in your finger, and taste it!” Bruno did so, and made such an excruciatingly wry face that Sylvie exclaimed, in alarm, “Oh, Bruno, you mustn’t!” “It’s welly extremely nasty!” Bruno said, as his face resumed its natural shape. “Nasty?” said the Professor. “Why, of _course_ it is! What would Medicine be, if it wasn’t _nasty_?” “Nice,” said Bruno. “I was going to say—” the Professor faltered, rather taken aback by the promptness of Bruno’s reply, “—that _that_ would never do! Medicine _has_ to be nasty, you know. Be good enough to take this jug, down into the Servants’ Hall,” he said to the footman who answered the bell: “and tell them it’s their Medicine for _today_.” “Which of them is to drink it?” the footman asked, as he carried off the jug. “Oh, I’ve not settled _that_ yet!” the Professor briskly replied. “I’ll come and settle that, soon. Tell them not to begin, on any account, till I come! It’s really _wonderful_,” he said, turning to the children, “the success I’ve had in curing Diseases! Here are some of my memoranda.” He took down from the shelf a heap of little bits of paper, pinned together in twos and threes. “Just look at _this_ set, now. ‘_Under-Cook Number Thirteen recovered from Common Fever—Febris Communis_.’ And now see what’s pinned to it. ‘_Gave Under-Cook Number Thirteen a Double Dose of Medicine_.’ _That’s_ something to be proud of, _isn’t_ it?”