And then began an eager talk in Doggee, which of course was lost upon _me_; and I could only _guess_, when the beautiful creature, with a sly glance at me, whispered something in Sylvie’s ear, that _I_ was now the subject of conversation. Sylvie looked round laughingly. “He asked me who you are,” she explained. “And I said ‘He’s our _friend_.’ And he said ‘What’s his name?’ And I said ‘It’s _Mister Sir_.’ And he said ‘Bosh!’” “What is ‘Bosh!’ in Doggee?” I enquired. “It’s the same as in English,” said Sylvie. “Only, when a _dog_ says it, it’s a sort of a whisper, that’s half a _cough_ and half a _bark_. Nero, say ‘_Bosh!_’” And Nero, who had now begun gamboling round us again, said “_Bosh!_” several times; and I found that Sylvie’s description of the sound was perfectly accurate. “I wonder what’s behind this long wall?” I said, as we walked on. “It’s the _Orchard_,” Sylvie replied, after a consultation with Nero. “See, there’s a boy getting down off the wall, at that far corner. And now he’s running away across the field. I do believe he’s been stealing the apples!” Bruno set off after him, but returned to us in a few moments, as he had evidently no chance of overtaking the young rascal. “I couldn’t catch him!” he said. “I wiss I’d started a little sooner. His pockets _was_ full of apples!” The Dog-King looked up at Sylvie, and said something in Doggee. “Why, of _course_ you can!” Sylvie exclaimed. “How stupid not to think of it! _Nero_’ll hold him for us, Bruno! But I’d better make him invisible, first.” And she hastily got out the Magic Jewel, and began waving it over Nero’s head, and down along his back. “That’ll do!” cried Bruno, impatiently. “After him, good Doggie!” “Oh, Bruno!” Sylvie exclaimed reproachfully. “You shouldn’t have sent him off so quick! I hadn’t done the tail!” Meanwhile Nero was coursing like a greyhound down the field: so at least I concluded from all _I_ could see of him—the long feathery tail, which floated like a meteor through the air—and in a very few seconds he had come up with the little thief. “He’s got him safe, by one foot!” cried Sylvie, who was eagerly watching the chase. “Now there’s no hurry, Bruno!” So we walked, quite leisurely, down the field, to where the frightened lad stood. A more curious sight I had seldom seen, in all my ‘eerie’ experiences. Every bit of him was in violent action, except the left foot, which was apparently glued to the ground—there being nothing visibly holding it: while, at some little distance, the long feathery tail was waving gracefully from side to side, showing that Nero, at least, regarded the whole affair as nothing but a magnificent game of play. “What’s the matter with you?” I said, as gravely as I could. “Got the crahmp in me ahnkle!” the thief groaned in reply. “An’ me fut’s gone to sleep!” And he began to blubber aloud. “Now, look here!” Bruno said in a commanding tone, getting in front of him. “Oo’ve got to give up those apples!”