'Come and stay at my house, brother,' they cried to those who had no homes. 'Brother, I have many coats, come and choose some,' they cried to the ragged. 'Come and feast with me!' they cried to all. And the rich and the poor went off arm in arm to feast and be glad that night, and the next day to work side by side. 'For,' said the King, speaking with his hand on the neck of the tamed dragon, 'our land has been called Crownowland. But we are no longer crows. We are men: and we will be Just men. And our country shall be called Justnowland for ever and ever. And for the future we shall not be rich and poor, but fellow-workers, and each will do his best for his brothers and his own city. And your King shall be your servant!' I don't know how they managed this, but no one seemed to think that there would be any difficulty about it when the King mentioned it; and when people really make up their minds to do anything, difficulties do most oddly disappear. Wonderful rejoicings there were. The city was hung with flags and lamps. Bands played--the performers a little out of practice, because, of course, crows can't play the flute or the violin or the trombone--but the effect was very gay indeed. Then came the time--it was quite dark--when the King rose up on his throne and spoke; and Elsie, among all her new friends, listened with them to his words. 'Our deliverer Elsie,' he said, 'was brought hither by the good magic of our Chief Mage and Prime Minister. She has removed the enchantment that held us; and the dragon, now that he has had his tea and recovered from the shock of being kindly treated, turns out to be the second strongest magician in the world,--and he will help us and advise us, so long as we remember that we are all brothers and fellow-workers. And now comes the time when our Elsie must return to her own place, or another go in her stead. But we cannot send back our heroine, our deliverer.' (_Long, loud cheering._) 'So one shall take her place. My daughter----' The end of the sentence was lost in shouts of admiration. But Elsie stood up, small and white in her black frock, and said, 'No thank you. Perdona would simply hate it. And she doesn't know my daddy. He'll fetch me away from Mrs. Staines some day....' The thought of her daddy, far away in India, of the loneliness of Willow Farm, where now it would be night in that horrible bare attic where the poor dead untameable little mouse was, nearly choked Elsie. It was so bright and light and good and kind here. And India was so far away. Her voice stayed a moment on a broken note. 'I--I....' Then she spoke firmly. 'Thank you all so much,' she said--'so very much. I do love you all, and it's lovely here. But, please, I'd like to go home now.' The Prime Minister, in a silence full of love and understanding, folded his dark cloak round her. * * * * *