“A _pig_!” shrieked my Lady, rushing madly to the window, and almost pushing her husband out, in her anxiety to see for herself. “Whose pig is it? How did it get in? Where’s that crazy Gardener gone?” At this moment Bruno re-entered the room, and passing Uggug (who was blubbering his loudest, in the hope of attracting notice) as if he was quite used to that sort of thing, he ran up to Sylvie and threw his arms round her. “I went to my toy-cupboard,” he said with a very sorrowful face, “to see if there were _somefin_ fit for a present for oo! And there isn’t _nuffin_! They’s _all_ broken, every one! And I haven’t got _no_ money left, to buy oo a birthday-present! And I ca’n’t give oo nuffin but _this_!” (“_This_” was a very earnest hug and a kiss.) “Oh, thank you, darling!” cried Sylvie. “I like _your_ present best of all!” (But if so, why did she give it back so quickly?) His Sub-Excellency turned and patted the two children on the head with his long lean hands. “Go away, dears!” he said. “There’s business to talk over.” Sylvie and Bruno went away hand in hand: but, on reaching the door, Sylvie came back again and went up to Uggug timidly. “I don’t mind about the butter,” she said, “and I—I’m sorry he hurt you!” And she tried to shake hands with the little ruffian: but Uggug only blubbered louder, and wouldn’t make friends. Sylvie left the room with a sigh. The Sub-Warden glared angrily at his weeping son. “Leave the room, Sirrah!” he said, as loud as he dared. His wife was still leaning out of the window, and kept repeating “I _ca’n’t_ see that pig! Where _is_ it?” “It’s moved to the right—now it’s gone a little to the left,” said the Sub-Warden: but he had his back to the window, and was making signals to the Lord Chancellor, pointing to Uggug and the door, with many a cunning nod and wink. [Illustration: REMOVAL OF UGGUG] The Chancellor caught his meaning at last, and, crossing the room, took that interesting child by the ear—the next moment he and Uggug were out of the room, and the door shut behind them: but not before one piercing yell had rung through the room, and reached the ears of the fond mother. “What _is_ that hideous noise?” she fiercely asked, turning upon her startled husband. “It’s some hyæna—or other,” replied the Sub-Warden, looking vaguely up to the ceiling, as if that was where they usually were to be found. “Let us to business, my dear. Here comes the Warden.” And he picked up from the floor a wandering scrap of manuscript, on which I just caught the words ‘after which Election duly holden the said Sibimet and Tabikat his wife may at their pleasure assume Imperial——’ before, with a guilty look, he crumpled it up in his hand. CHAPTER IV. A CUNNING CONSPIRACY.