“I would like to continue my voyages and my natural history work; and I would like to go back to Puddleby—as much as any of you. This is March, and the crocuses will be showing in the lawn.... But that which I feared has come true: I cannot close my eyes to what might happen if I should leave these people and run away. They would probably go back to their old habits and customs: wars, superstitions, devil-worship and what not; and many of the new things we have taught them might be put to improper use and make their condition, then, worse by far than that in which we found them.... They like me; they trust me; they have come to look to me for help in all their problems and troubles. And no man wants to do unfair things to them who trust him.... And then again, _I_ like _them_. They are, as it were, my children—I never had any children of my own—and I am terribly interested in how they will grow up. Don’t you see what I mean?—How can I possibly run away and leave them in the lurch?... No. I have thought it over a good deal and tried to decide what was best. And I am afraid that the work I took up when I assumed the crown I must stick to. I’m afraid—I’ve got to stay.” “For good—for your whole life?” asked Bumpo in a low voice. For some moments the Doctor, frowning, made no answer. “I don’t know,” he said at last—“Anyhow for the present there is certainly no hope of my leaving. It wouldn’t be right.” The sad silence that followed was broken finally by a knock upon the door. With a patient sigh the Doctor got up and put on his crown and cloak again. “Come in,” he called, sitting down in his chair once more. The door opened and a footman—one of the hundred and forty-three who were always on night duty—stood bowing in the entrance. “Oh, Kindly One,” said he, “there is a traveler at the palace-gate who would have speech with Your Majesty.” “Another baby’s been born, I’ll bet a shilling,” muttered Polynesia. “Did you ask the traveler’s name?” enquired the Doctor. “Yes, Your Majesty,” said the footman. “It is Long Arrow, the son of Golden Arrow.” _THE THIRD CHAPTER_ THE RED MAN’S SCIENCE “LONG ARROW!” cried the Doctor. “How splendid! Show him in—show him in at once.” “I’m so glad,” he continued, turning to us as soon as the footman had gone. “I’ve missed Long Arrow terribly. He’s an awfully good man to have around—even if he doesn’t talk much. Let me see: it’s five months now since he went off to Brazil. I’m so glad he’s back safe. He does take such tremendous chances with that canoe of his—clever as he is. It’s no joke, crossing a hundred miles of open sea in a twelve-foot canoe. I wouldn’t care to try it.” Another knock; and when the door swung open in answer to the Doctor’s call, there stood our big friend on the threshold, a smile upon his strong, bronzed face. Behind him appeared two porters carrying loads done up in Indian palm-matting. These, when the first salutations were over, Long Arrow ordered to lay their burdens down.