"I don’t see what harm the revolution could do to the market." "Why, don’t you see," the beggar said, "when they get to fighting the arrows fly about all over the place, and the horses would knock the stalls over. Besides, the soldiers steal everything, or set fire to it. Look, there’s a house still smouldering." And, indeed, one of the market houses was a heap of charred ruins. "But what was the good of it?" the Queen asked. And the beggar answered, "Well, you see, it belonged to one of the opposite party, and he wouldn’t surrender and have his head chopped off." "I should think not," the Queen said. The streets were quite empty, and all the shutters were closed. Here and there an arrow was sticking into the walls or the doors. "Do people never walk about the streets?" the Queen asked. "It wouldn’t be safe when there’s a revolution on," the beggar answered. Just at that moment they arrived before the door of a house that, like all the rest, was closely shut up. Over the door was written— "JAMES GRUBB, _Honey-cake Maker_." Here the beggar stopped and began to beat violently at the door with his staff. The sound of the blows echoed along the streets,—and then from within came dismal shouts of "Murder!" "Police!" "Fire!" But the beggar called back, "Nonsense, James Grubb; it’s only a lady come for some honey-cakes." Then, after a long while, there was a clatter of chains behind the door, and it was opened just an inch, so that the Queen could see an old man’s face peeping cautiously out at her. The sight seemed to reassure him, for he opened the door and bobbed nervously. At other times he would have bowed suavely. "Will your ladyship be pleased to enter?" he said. "I want to shut the door; it is so dangerous to have it open with all these revolutions about." The Queen complied with his request, and found herself in a little dark shop, only lighted dimly through the round air-holes in the shutters. "Give this man some honey-cakes," she said; and the honey-cake maker seemed only too delighted. "How many shall I give him, madam?" he said. "As many as he wants, of course," the Queen answered sharply. The beggar proceeded to help himself, and made a clean sweep of all the cakes that were on the counter. There was a big hole in his coat, and into that he thrust them, so that the lining at last was quite full. The honey-cake maker was extremely pleased at the sight, for he had not expected to sell any cakes that day. When the cakes had all disappeared there was an awkward pause. "Now I’ll go on again," the Queen said. "But you haven’t paid," the honey-cake maker said in some alarm. "Pay!" said the Queen. "What do you mean?" "Paid for the cakes, I mean," the honey-cake maker said. "I don’t understand you," she answered. "I am the Queen; I never pay for what I eat." "She _is_ the Queen," the beggar said; "and if you don’t take care she’ll have your head off."