"They will draw the plans after they have put up the building," remarked the Crow in a low voice to Smaly, whom he had discovered under the Healer's cloak. "If they have any plans they can quite well build up all the tarts and puddings in the square again." "The plans have all been burnt," announced the Chief Contractor. "But in the first place no one knows whether the plans or the buildings were made first," objected the Crow. No one had anything to say to this, so every one remained silent, sunk in the deepest perplexity. Papylick at last suggested that they should ask the advice of the Mother of the Crow. By this time the Healer had finished his mending. The Confectioner, placing his hand against his mother-of-pearl forehead, murmured, "I have a pain there." "That must be the fever," said the Despoiler. "Fever?" demanded the Healer sharply. "How can there be fever when I have glued his paw on again? He hasn't got fever at all. It's worrying that's given him a headache. What Wig worthy of the name is not worrying at this moment when such a grave and terrible problem lies before us." CHAPTER X The Wigs all imagine they suffer from headache: The Rats come to the Healer to be cured of the ravages of hot Soy: The Chief Contractor has to make himself ill eating the musical instruments. Directly he heard the word "problem" the Chief Contractor put on the mask of the "Mathematician." "It is indeed atrocious, this problem that confronts us," continued the Healer, "and who can there be amongst us who is not full of distress when he considers that in the whole of our country there is no one who can tell us whether we should begin by making the plans or the buildings. I trust for the sake of your honour that you all have a headache," and so saying the Healer walked towards the pair of donkeys. "I, too, hope so," said the Chief Contractor, hastily slipping on the mask called "Migraine." [Illustration: MATHEMATICIAN] "I, too, hope so," said his wife, who had just come in. You, gentle reader, will find on another page a portrait of this lady, who was extremely vain and dressed very extravagantly. [Illustration: MIGRAINE] She bore a great resemblance to a butterfly. "We all hope so," said every one in the kitchen, and the crowd in the square took up the remark, so that all over the town the Wigs were sighing and placing their right hands upon their foreheads. Soon they felt so bad that they all wetted their handkerchiefs in the fountain of rose-water and wrapped them round their heads. There was a great silence.... "I hope so, too," piped the Crow, a little late because he had only just succeeded in putting on his spectacles. * * * * * The Stork re-entered, pushing the Mother of the Crow in her oyster-shell, and followed by the Healer. At once the Stork began to pull out all the fish-bones which during his absence ill-natured persons had stuck in the back of the Despoiler.