"Ah," replied the Tea-Cosy, "the Historian has the monopoly of the local chronicles. We others can't even remember what happens in this country. But I can tell you what the Prisoner's life was like before he came here and was put in his sugar-cane prison." "We know that they cut off his head," interrupted Smaly. "Of course if you know all about it it's not worth while my telling you the story, it will be so short," said the Tea-Cosy huffily. Smaly managed to soothe the Tea-Cosy, which then told them the following story: "THE STORY OF DJORAK "My story begins on a Saturday, which was also market-day. There was a great crowd in all the streets. The chariot where Djorak was seated with the Executioner could barely force a way through the mass of people. Every one who had the leisure to do so followed the chariot of the condemned; others, who had not, took the time out of their work, or their luncheon hour. Servants out shopping followed it with their laden baskets on their arms. Great ladies sent away their sedan-chairs so that they might fight their way on foot, where no vehicles, however small, could have passed, so dense was the crowd. "When he arrived at the scaffold Djorak sat down. He was a little pale, which is not to be wondered at, for it was enough to put any man out. "The Executioner vested himself in his red robe, and taking out of his chariot a small grindstone he began to sharpen the pair of scissors with which he was going to cut off Djorak's head. [Illustration: SERVANTS OUT SHOPPING FOLLOWED IT WITH THEIR LADEN BASKETS ON THEIR ARMS] "The Prisoner, for his part, was so upset when he saw the scissors being sharpened that he neglected to respond to the farewell salutes of his friends, which they wafted to him across the barrier of policemen that surrounded the scaffold. * * * * * "It seemed to Djorak that he must be in a dream. "Quite little things of no importance from every period of his life passed before the eyes of his imagination. "He found himself thinking of a hen that his parents had possessed when he was a very little boy. This hen had been extremely intelligent. "One day she had found herself unable to break the shell of a snail, so she had gone to the stock-pot and taken out a lettuce-leaf. She came back, her bright eyes twinkling, laid the leaf down before the snail and hid herself. "Presently the snail began to shoot out his horns. "Then his head. "Then his whole body. "It was exactly what the hen had wished to see. "The hen gazed at it. "The hen laughed. "The hen opened her beak. "The hen gobbled the snail up. "This and equally ridiculous happenings passed through the Prisoner's brain. He remembered his mother, and how she used thoughtfully to put an ash-tray in his pocket when----" [Illustration: HE THRUST HIS FACE INTO ROSES COVERED WITH DEW] "We know all about the ash-tray," said Smaly and Redy together.