They followed him through the entrance-hall, down a long passage, and into a magnificent Saloon, around which were grouped dogs of all sorts and sizes. Two splendid Blood-hounds were solemnly sitting up, one on each side of the crown-bearer. Two or three Bull-dogs—whom I guessed to be the Body-Guard of the King—were waiting in grim silence: in fact the only voices at all plainly audible were those of two little dogs, who had mounted a settee, and were holding a lively discussion that looked very like a quarrel. “Lords and Ladies in Waiting, and various Court Officials,” our guide gruffly remarked, as he led us in. Of _me_ the Courtiers took no notice whatever: but Sylvie and Bruno were the subject of many inquisitive looks, and many whispered remarks, of which I only distinctly caught _one_—made by a sly-looking Dachshund to his friend—“Bah wooh wahyah hoobah Oobooh, _hah_ bah?” (“She’s not such a bad-looking Human, _is_ she?”) Leaving the new arrivals in the centre of the Saloon, the Sentinel advanced to a door, at the further end of it, which bore an inscription, painted on it in Doggee, “Royal Kennel—Scratch and Yell.” Before doing this, the Sentinel turned to the children, and said “Give me your names.” “We’d rather not!” Bruno exclaimed, pulling Sylvie away from the door. “We want them ourselves. Come back, Sylvie! Come quick!” “Nonsense!” said Sylvie very decidedly: and gave their names in Doggee. Then the Sentinel scratched violently at the door, and gave a yell that made Bruno shiver from head to foot. “Hooyah wah!” said a deep voice inside. (That’s Doggee for “Come in!”) “It’s the King himself!” the Mastiff whispered in an awestruck tone. “Take off your wigs, and lay them humbly at his paws.” (What _we_ should call “at his _feet_.”) Sylvie was just going to explain, very politely, that really they _couldn’t_ perform _that_ ceremony, because their wigs wouldn’t come off, when the door of the Royal Kennel opened, and an enormous Newfoundland Dog put his head out. “Bow wow?” was his first question. “When His Majesty speaks to you,” the Sentinel hastily whispered to Bruno, “you should prick up your ears!” Bruno looked doubtfully at Sylvie. “I’d rather not, please,” he said. “It would hurt.” [Illustration: THE DOG-KING] “It doesn’t hurt a bit!” the Sentinel said with some indignation. “Look! It’s like this!” And he pricked up his ears like two railway signals. Sylvie gently explained matters. “I’m afraid we ca’n’t manage it,” she said in a low voice. “I’m very sorry: but our ears haven’t got the right—” she wanted to say “machinery” in Doggee: but she had forgotten the word, and could only think of “steam-engine.” The Sentinel repeated Sylvie’s explanation to the King. “Can’t prick up their ears without a steam-engine!” His Majesty exclaimed. “They _must_ be curious creatures! I must have a look at them!” And he came out of his Kennel, and walked solemnly up to the children.