"Your Majesty might give the other pairs to the poor." "But what _are_ ’the poor’?" "The poor are wicked, idle people—too wicked to work and earn the money, and too dirty to wear stockings," the Regent said. "But what would be the good of my stockings to them?" the Queen asked. "It is the usual thing, your Majesty," the Regent said. "But will your Majesty be pleased to sign these papers?" The Queen said, "Oh yes, I’ll sign them, if you’ll just go down into the kitchen and ask for a piece of raw meat, about the size of my hand, and a piece of red flannel about large enough to go round a bat. Oh, and what’s a good thing for rheumatism?" The Regent looked a little surprised. "I—your Majesty, I really don’t exactly know." "Oh, well, ask the cook or somebody." "Well, but—couldn’t I send a servant, your Majesty?" the Regent said. "No, that wouldn’t be any good," the Queen said. "If you’re to take the place of my governess you’ll have to do that sort of thing, you know." The Regent bowed. "Of course I shall be only too grateful for your Majesty’s commands. I merely thought that your Majesty might need some assistance in signing the papers." But the Queen answered, "Oh no, I can manage that sort of thing well enough myself. I’m quite used to it; so be quick, and remember, a nice juicy piece of raw meat and some red flannel, and—oh, opodeldoc; that’s just the thing. Be quick! I don’t want to keep the bat waiting." The Regent went backwards out of the room, bowing at every three steps, and, as he was clad in armour from top to toe, he made a clanking noise—quite like a tinker’s cart, if you’ve ever beard one. So, left to herself, the Queen signed the papers one after the other. They all began— "By THE QUEEN, A PROCLAMATION, E.R. "Whereas by our Proclamation given this 1st day of May—— But the Queen never read any further than that, because she could never quite understand what it all meant. At the last signature the happened to make a little blot, and somehow or other the ink happened to get into one of her nails, and that annoyed her. It _is_ so difficult to get ink out of one’s nails. "I don’t care if I never sign another Proclamation," she said; "and I hope I never shall. Now, look here," she continued to the Regent, who at that moment entered. "If you were a governess I should be able to make you get this ink out; but how can I ask a man to do that?" "I will make the attempt, if your Majesty pleases," the Regent said. "Well, but you haven’t got any nail-scissors," the Queen replied. "I might use my sword," the Regent suggested. But the Queen shivered. "Ugh! fancy having a great ugly thing like that for it!" she said. "Oh, well, you’ve brought the things! Here are your papers. They’re all signed; and, if you want anything else, you’ll have to come into the garden."