“Why?” asked Dick, gloomily. “I think that it would be much nicer to be killed at once and get it over!” “Oh, but, Dick!” Bab breathed eagerly into his ear. “Don’t you remember the tiny piece of wood that I told you about? The piece of magic wood from the Wooden Cow’s horn? Well, I have it still! and Santa Claus said that it was a very powerful weapon to have. And if we can only see the Wicked King alone I’ll throw it at him, and I’m sure from what Santa Claus said that it will do something awful to him!” “Why not throw it at him now?” suggested Dick. “Just to see what it _will_ do!” “Because—don’t you see?—then we’d have all these other dreadful people to fight, and we’ve nothing at all left after this splinter of wood goes! No, we must try to see the Wicked King all by himself!” “I see!” exclaimed Dick. And at that moment the Wicked King strode up to them, with his long, bright, sharp sword drawn, and a fiendish smile on his wicked old face. “How nice of you,” said the Wicked King, “to stand against a wall! It is ever so much easier to kill a person when he stands against a wall!” “Oh, your Majesty!” cried Dick. “Don’t kill us until you have heard our story!” He was talking at random, of course, to gain time, but he succeeded in making the Wicked King stop short for a moment to listen. “Oh, well,” said the Wicked King. “I would not mind hearing your story, as a matter of fact,—if it happens to be an interesting one.” For this was the one weakness of the Wicked King: he loved stories,—almost as much, indeed, as did a certain great ruler in the East, of whom you will read one of these days in one of the most splendid wonder-books ever written by any man. “_Is_ it an interesting one?” he demanded. “Oh, yes!” said Dick, seeing his advantage. “It’s a splendid story!” “Of course you understand,” said the King, “that you will both be beheaded just as soon as you are finished? I should not like to encourage any false hopes.” “Oh, we quite understand!” said Dick, looking hard at the drawn sword in the King’s hand. In his own mind he decided firmly that in any case he would not finish the story for a very long time! “I should really like to hear,” the Wicked King went on, “how you stole my daughter and sent my soldiers to sleep, and how you chased my Brownies away from their work, and did all the other extraordinary and impertinent things which you have done. You are dangerous creatures, but you are unusual; and I think you are worth keeping alive for an hour or so,—as long as I have an army to watch you while you talk!” Then he sat down on a large rock and folded his arms. “Begin!” he commanded. Dick was at his wits’ end. Of course he had expected that the Wicked King would have them sent to prison; instead he was expected to tell his tale surrounded by hundreds of people. How in the world was Bab to make use of her magic splint of wood under such conditions as these?