Dragonfel rose, and stamped his foot angrily, at which silent rebuke Grouthead set Dame Drusilda hastily down. She gave a sigh of great relief, and, gathering up her skirts, flew toward the enchanter. "Oh, sir," she implored, "can nothing move you?" "Yes," he said, in sneering tones, "a ton of dynamite! You are a pippin, but you withered on the stem!" "You villain!" she screamed, shaking a tiny clenched fist at him. "I could annihilate you for that; you deserve worse!" And she made for him again, but the tactful Violet and Daffodil grasped each of her arms, and held her back. Dragonfel grinned most provokingly, and his myrmidons fairly shook with glee, while the Demon Usher cackled his exultation, and poked the Red Spirit on his elastic ribs. Titania took a little spider-web affair of a handkerchief from her bodice, for her eyes threatened to fill again. Noting the coming tears, the wicked enchanter hastened to say, in tones that were meant to be particularly comforting: "No harm shall befall you. When you have a wish you have but to name it." [Illustration] "I have one now," spoke up Titania quickly. "So have I," added Dame Drusilda. "I'll hear yours later," said Dragonfel to the latter gruffly, and then turned to Titania with what he thought was a most winning smile. "What is yours?" "I want my Brownie prince!" "Didn't I tell you you were never going to see him again?" said the enchanter, in disgust. "Ask me something else, and make it as hard as you can." But Titania had no other wish, and Dame Drusilda was given no opportunity to make hers known. The days dragged slowly by, and, though Dragonfel was not actually rough in the treatment of his captives, he still was most unkind in depriving them of the liberty for which they continually sighed. They were watched and spied upon continually, so there was little or no chance for escape. [Illustration] He endeavored to provide amusements for which they had no heart, and was a sorry host at best. In his crude efforts to entertain them he welcomed all ideas for sports and diversions, so when on one occasion they were all together, and his prisoners seemed unusually depressed, he sat upon his throne knitting his brows in trying to think of something that might cheer them up a bit. In the midst of his unsuccessful cogitations the Demon Usher half skipped, half flew, to him, and prostrated himself at his feet. "Kind master!" he cried, in a flutter of excitement. "What is it?" asked Dragonfel. "A band of wandering minstrels outside humbly crave permission to play before you." "What, another?" said Dragonfel. "Show them in!" The words he used were hospitable enough, but the tone of his voice boded little good for the daring musicians. [Illustration] CHAPTER XIII NEPTUNE STILLS THE WAVES [Illustration]