They crept down the stair, which creaked in terrifying fashion, but a gentle snoring from the Witch's bedroom reassured them. After they had tiptoed out of the house and gained the road they discovered that they had forgotten the bag of doughnuts. The Knight declared that he would not return for a million doughnuts, but the Boy, remembering how delicious they tasted, stole back to the door and lifted the latch softly. Aunt Jo was still snoring, but, just as he laid hold of the doughnuts, Pluto the cat came leaping in from the kitchen, and the Boy had barely time to put the door between its sharp claws and himself. He ran down the path, vaulted the gate, and looked about for the Knight. Away down the road was a rapidly diminishing figure. The Boy was a good runner, and he was fast overtaking the Knight, when the latter, who had been casting anxious glances over his shoulder as he ran, suddenly plunged into the bushes at one side of the road. The Boy thought it wise to follow his example. And not a moment too soon. A small whirring sound grew louder and louder, and Aunt Jo went whizzing by on her high power autobroomstick, leaving in her wake a horrible reek of gasoline and brimstone. But not the Aunt Jo of the evening before. Her green eyes flashed behind the goggles, and her face was something dreadful to behold. On her shoulder perched Pluto, every hair erect, and spitting fire. The Boy gasped, and hoped he had seen the last of the terrible hag, when the whirring noise announced that she was coming back. She stopped her broomstick directly opposite the hiding-place and began cutting small circles in the air, the while peering sharply about. As the Boy plunged into the thicket, he fell. As he lay there, something cold pressed against his hand. It was Mowgli's nose. The dog's eyes questioned his master, who had cried out in his sleep. "Oh, Mowgli!" he exclaimed, taking the spaniel by his shaggy ears, "did you dream _all_ that wonderful dream? Or did you stop at the woodchuck hole? What a shame, Mowgli, if there shouldn't really be a Knight of the Dusty Thoroughfare, and a Princess Aralia and a Witch who makes wonderful doughnuts!" A LINE-O'-TYPE OR TWO "_Nous ne trouvons guère de gens de bon sens que ceux qui sont de notre avis._" --_La Rochefoucauld._ "THE FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE." Old Amicus Pop Is the friend of the Wop, The friend of the Chink and the Harp, The friend of all nations And folk of all stations, The friend of the shark and the carp. He sits in his chair With his feet on the table, And lists to the prayer Of Minerva and Mabel, Veritas, Pro Bono, Taxpayer, and the rest, Who wail on his shoulder and weep on his breast.