“There was too many bones in the——” Bruno began, but Sylvie frowned at him, and laid her finger on her lips, for, at this moment, the travelers were waited on by a very dignified officer, the Head-Growler, whose duty it was, first to conduct them to the King to bid him farewell, and then to escort them to the boundary of Dogland. The great Newfoundland received them most affably, but, instead of saying “good-bye,” he startled the Head-Growler into giving three savage growls, by announcing that he would escort them himself. “It is a most unusual proceeding, your Majesty!” the Head-Growler exclaimed, almost choking with vexation at being set aside, for he had put on his best Court-suit, made entirely of cat-skins, for the occasion. “I shall escort them myself,” his Majesty repeated, gently but firmly, laying aside the Royal robes, and changing his crown for a small coronet, “and you may stay at home.” “I _are_ glad!” Bruno whispered to Sylvie, when they had got well out of hearing. “He were so _welly_ cross!” And he not only patted their Royal escort, but even hugged him round the neck in the exuberance of his delight. His Majesty calmly wagged the Royal tail. “It’s quite a relief,” he said, “getting away from that Palace now and then! Royal Dogs have a dull life of it, I can tell you! Would you mind” (this to Sylvie, in a low voice, and looking a little shy and embarrassed) “would you mind the trouble of just throwing that stick for me to fetch?” Sylvie was too much astonished to do anything for a moment: it sounded such a monstrous impossibility that a _King_ should wish to run after a stick. But _Bruno_ was equal to the occasion, and with a glad shout of “Hi then! Fetch it, good Doggie!” he hurled it over a clump of bushes. The next moment the Monarch of Dogland had bounded over the bushes, and picked up the stick, and came galloping back to the children with it in his mouth. Bruno took it from him with great decision. “Beg for it!” he insisted; and His Majesty begged. “Paw!” commanded Sylvie; and His Majesty gave his paw. In short, the solemn ceremony of escorting the travelers to the boundaries of Dogland became one long uproarious game of play! “But business is business!” the Dog-King said at last. “And I must go back to mine. I couldn’t come any further,” he added, consulting a dog-watch, which hung on a chain round his neck, “not even if there were a _Cat_ in sight!” They took an affectionate farewell of His Majesty, and trudged on. “That _were_ a dear dog!” Bruno exclaimed. “Has we to go far, Sylvie? I’s tired!” “Not much further, darling!” Sylvie gently replied. “Do you see that shining, just beyond those trees? I’m almost _sure_ it’s the gate of Fairyland! I know it’s all golden—Father told me so—and so bright, so bright!” she went on dreamily. “It dazzles!” said Bruno, shading his eyes with one little hand, while the other clung tightly to Sylvie’s hand, as if he were half-alarmed at her strange manner.