It was a phrase, a sentence, which he could trace back to the Bible lessons, which had been as faithfully and remorselessly delivered, on Sunday afternoons, in the Royal nursery, as in any other nursery of the period, when the strict discipline in such matters, derived originally from the now well-nigh forgotten Victorian era, had not been altogether relaxed. It was a phrase, a sentence, which had impressed itself upon his childish imagination, and had, for years, stood between him, and his father, the King. His father had been the Lord's Anointed. As a child he had not dared to put forth his hand to touch him! For years, he had lived in awe, almost in fear, of his own father. Perhaps this was why, even down to the day of his death, the King had always seemed to him to be a man apart, isolated, lonely, remote. Perhaps this was partly why, he himself, now that he was King, was so constantly conscious of his own intolerable isolation. "And I said I will not put forth mine hand to touch my King, for he is the Lord's Anointed." If Button and Bill, particularly Bill, whose chubby arms were, even now, tightening around him, knew his real identity, knew that he was the King, "the Lord's Anointed," not a fairy tale King, not a King of their own childish play, but _the_ King, in whose procession they had thought Uncle Alfred might have a place, would not they live in awe of him, would not they fear him, would not the present delightful spontaneity, the fearlessness, the frank embraces, of their intercourse with him, be irreparably injured? Yes. His decision of the night before must stand. Button and Bill must never know, Judith and Uncle Bond must never know, his real identity. At that moment, Judith knocked at the bedroom door. "Good morning, Alfred. The bathroom is yours, and the Imps, if you don't mind having them with you, and letting them have a splash," she called out cheerily. "But no flood in the passage, this morning, mind! Breakfast in half an hour, on the verandah. We shall be by ourselves. Uncle Bond has had another bad night. 'Cynthia' has failed him again. He daren't face eggs and bacon in public, he says. Hurry up, Imps. Big sponge, floating soap, and bath towels, at the double." "I'm first!" Button shrieked, making a wild dive for the door. "I'd rather be last!" Bill explained, quite unconcerned, lingering to give the King a final hug. "If I'm last, I shall be able to float 'Ironclad Willie,' and 'Snuffles,' shan't I? They haven't had a swim--for _ever_ so long--poor dears." 'Ironclad Willie,' and 'Snuffles,' were a large china fish, and a small china duck, which Bill sometimes forgot, and sometimes remembered at bath time.