“Music?” said the Vice-Warden. “Why, he’s simply a prodigy! You shall hear him play the piano.” And he walked to the window. “Ug——I mean my boy! Come in for a minute, _and bring the music-master with you_! To turn over the music for him,” he added as an explanation. Uggug, having filled his basket with frogs, had no objection to obey, and soon appeared in the room, followed by a fierce-looking little man, who asked the Vice-Warden “Vot music vill you haf?” “The Sonata that His Highness plays so charmingly,” said the Vice-Warden. “His Highness haf not——” the music-master began, but was sharply stopped by the Vice-Warden. “Silence, Sir! Go and turn over the music for his Highness. My dear,” (to the Wardeness) “will you show him what to do? And meanwhile, Baron, I’ll just show you a most interesting map we have—of Outland, and Fairyland, and that sort of thing.” [Illustration: THE MAP OF FAIRYLAND] By the time my Lady had returned, from explaining things to the music-master, the map had been hung up, and the Baron was already much bewildered by the Vice-Warden’s habit of pointing to one place while he shouted out the name of another. My Lady joining in, pointing out other places, and shouting other names, only made matters worse; and at last the Baron, in despair, took to pointing out places for himself, and feebly asked “Is that great yellow splotch _Fairyland_?” “Yes, that’s Fairyland,” said the Vice-Warden: “and you might as well give him a hint,” he muttered to my Lady, “about going back to-morrow. He eats like a shark! It would hardly do for _me_ to mention it.” His wife caught the idea, and at once began giving hints of the most subtle and delicate kind. “Just see what a short way it is back to Fairyland! Why, if you started to-morrow morning, you’d get there in very little more than a week!” The Baron looked incredulous. “It took me a full month to _come_,” he said. “But it’s ever so much shorter, going _back_, you know!” The Baron looked appealingly to the Vice-Warden, who chimed in readily. “You can go back _five_ times, in the time it took you to come here _once_—if you start to-morrow morning!” All this time the Sonata was pealing through the room. The Baron could not help admitting to himself that it was being magnificently played: but he tried in vain to get a glimpse of the youthful performer. Every time he had nearly succeeded in catching sight of him, either the Vice-Warden or his wife was sure to get in the way, pointing out some new place on the map, and deafening him with some new name. He gave in at last, wished a hasty good-night, and left the room, while his host and hostess interchanged looks of triumph. “Deftly done!” cried the Vice-Warden. “Craftily contrived! But what means all that tramping on the stairs?” He half-opened the door, looked out, and added in a tone of dismay, “The Baron’s boxes are being carried down!”