What was the amazement—not to say the horror—of the whole assembly, when Sylvie actually _patted His Majesty on the head_, while Bruno seized his long ears and pretended to tie them together under his chin! The Sentinel groaned aloud: a beautiful Greyhound—who appeared to be one of the Ladies in Waiting—fainted away: and all the other Courtiers hastily drew back, and left plenty of room for the huge Newfoundland to spring upon the audacious strangers, and tear them limb from limb. Only—he didn’t. On the contrary his Majesty actually _smiled_—so far as a Dog _can_ smile—and (the other Dogs couldn’t believe their eyes, but it was true, all the same) his Majesty _wagged his tail_! “Yah! Hooh hahwooh!” (that is “Well! I never!”) was the universal cry. His Majesty looked round him severely, and gave a slight growl, which produced instant silence. “Conduct _my friends_ to the banqueting-hall!” he said, laying such an emphasis on “_my friends_” that several of the dogs rolled over helplessly on their backs and began to lick Bruno’s feet. A procession was formed, but I only ventured to follow as far as the _door_ of the banqueting-hall, so furious was the uproar of barking dogs within. So I sat down by the King, who seemed to have gone to sleep, and waited till the children returned to say good-night, when His Majesty got up and shook himself. “Time for bed!” he said with a sleepy yawn. “The attendants will show you your room,” he added, aside, to Sylvie and Bruno. “Bring lights!” And, with a dignified air, he held out his paw for them to kiss. But the children were evidently not well practised in Court-manners. Sylvie simply stroked the great paw: Bruno hugged it: the Master of the Ceremonies looked shocked. All this time Dog-waiters, in splendid livery, were running up with lighted candles: but, as fast as they put them upon the table, other waiters ran away with them, so that there never seemed to be one for _me_, though the Master kept nudging me with his elbow, and repeating “I ca’n’t let you sleep _here_! You’re not in _bed_, you know!” I made a great effort, and just succeeded in getting out the words “I know I’m not. I’m in an arm-chair.” “Well, forty winks will do you no harm,” the Master said, and left me. I could scarcely hear his words: and no wonder: he was leaning over the side of a ship, that was miles away from the pier on which I stood. The ship passed over the horizon, and I sank back into the arm-chair. The next thing I remember is that it was morning: breakfast was just over: Sylvie was lifting Bruno down from a high chair, and saying to a Spaniel, who was regarding them with a most benevolent smile, “Yes, thank you, we’ve had a _very_ nice breakfast. Haven’t we, Bruno?”