"Here," said the Lion, as the Dolphin approached them, "hold up your burnished golden tray and let the boy see himself." The Dolphin held up the polished tray and Ridgwell looked into it wonderingly. "My goodness," said the Lion, "I thought girls were vain, but boys are worse!" "That _can't_ be me," said Ridgwell. "Well, it isn't me," grumbled the Lion, "that's certain." Christine peeped over the shoulder of Ridgwell's golden tunic. "It's like us," said Christine, "but yet it isn't us at all." "That is what people always say when they see their own photographs for the first time," observed the Lion wisely. "Ha!" broke off the Lion, "here come the dogs." "Have you placed the two long troughs at the far end for them?" demanded the Lion. "Yes," chorussed the little lions. "What have you filled them with?" questioned the Lion. "Finest mutton and chicken bones in one," laughed Carry-on-Merry, "water in the other." "Have you remembered their special strip of comfortable carpet?" asked the Lion anxiously. "It's there," grinned Carry-on-Merry. "Why are the stray dogs to have a strip of special comfortable carpet?" asked Christine. "Because they like to pick the bones afterwards upon the carpet," said the Lion; "it's a little habit of theirs, and they are not so highly trained as we are." A most extraordinary procession now made its appearance before them. The children might have thought it was a Noah's Ark, only the dogs advanced in fours. Newfoundlands, St. Bernards, Mastiffs, Retrievers, every conceivable dog down to tiny fox terriers, Spaniels and Yorkshire terriers. They all looked very happy and their coats shone as if they had been lately washed and had afterwards dried themselves in the golden rays of the warm sun, which even now seemed to linger over them. "Lovely creatures," said Christine. "Ripping," said Ridgwell, "they are dears." "Started to munch their bones already," grunted the Lion. "Well, they're not so highly educated as we are. A party to them is a party, and they don't wait for anybody, which, after all, is the proper thing to do. Where's the Griffin?" demanded the Lion of Carry-on-Merry, after that intelligent creature, having acted like a verger (a habit he had probably acquired from a life-long proximity to Westminster Abbey), had shown all the dogs to their places along one side where the comfortable carpet formed a sort of aisle. "Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Carry-on-Merry, "the Griffin is late." "He's always late," grumbled the Lion, "his head's weak, and he never can remember what time a party starts." "Here he comes," grunted Carry-on-Merry, "and, oh! my goodness, what _does_ he look like?" "Absolutely ludicrous as usual," said the Lion. The Griffin presented an intensely comical appearance. Wishing to keep up the dignity of the City, he had chosen for his party-dress a scarlet Lord Mayor's robe, edged with fur, which he had folded around himself in an exceedingly ridiculous fashion.