"And this fine gentleman," said the Potentate, looking in at the Prince, "what did he do?" The jailer glanced at the number, and the report. "Robbed hen-roosts," he said. "He must have done a good deal of it to afford to dress so well," said the Potentate, passing on, and looking into other cells. "It seems to me that many of your prisoners are very young." "It is best to take them young, my lord," said the jailer. "They are very hard to catch when they grow up." The Potentate then looked in at the Jolly-cum-pop, and asked what was his offence. "Conspiracy," was the answer. "And where are the other conspirators?" "There was only one," said the jailer. Number Seventeen was the oldest of the courtiers. "He appears to be an elderly man to have a grandmother," said the Potentate. "She must be very aged, and that makes it all the worse for him. I think he should be executed." "Oh, no, my lord," cried the jailor. "I am assured that his crime was quite unintentional." "Then he should be set free," said the Potentate. "I mean to say," said the jailer, "that it was just enough intentional to cause him to be imprisoned here for a long time, but not enough to deserve execution." "Very well," said the Potentate, turning to leave; "take good care of your prisoners, and send me a report every month." "That will I do, my lord," said the jailer, bowing very low. The Prince and his party had been very much surprised and incensed when they found that they could not get out of their rooms, and they had kicked and banged and shouted until they were tired, but the jailer had informed them that they were to be confined there for years; and when the Potentate arrived they had resigned themselves to despair. The Jolly-cum-pop, however, was affected in a different way. It seemed to him the most amusing joke in the world that a person should deliberately walk into a prison-cell and be locked up for several years; and he lay down on his little bed and laughed himself to sleep.