"I intended to all along just as soon as we reached the bridge," said Donald. "I know the Emperor, and I wouldn't have him hurt for anything. His real name is Augustus Cæsar Levinsky--at least, his last name is Levinsky, and I guess he hitched on the first. He's a poor old prospector who's been in this valley fifty years. He claims he was the very first to come, and perhaps he was. He's dug holes all over these mountains looking for gold, and you're always coming on him panning out gravel in some creek. Some one grub-stakes him up here to get his land. By that, I mean," he added, noting the puzzled faces of his listeners, "that some one gives him food and clothes and a promise to bury him for the sake of the land he's homesteaded. That's the way with old Pat Sheehan, and a lot of fellows around here." "And now he thinks he's the Emperor of Rome," said Virginia, continuing the Emperor's story. "He's been thinking that for twenty-five years, Father says. Some one gave him an old Roman History years ago, and he knows it all by heart. We all call him Mr. Livy around here. He says he doesn't feel like asking his friends to title him. He sounds pathetic, but he isn't at all. He's the happiest man you ever saw. He's like the verse at the beginning of Emerson's _Essay on History_. He believes he's Cæsar, and so he is. You'll be surprised at the way he speaks, and the fine manners he has. It's believing he's the Emperor that's done those things, I'm sure." Less curious but more interested, they followed the cool, shady path that led toward the imperial estates. They crossed a bridge over a creek, green with fresh water-cress, their open sesame. Upon the railing was tacked a second flag--this one new and untorn. "The Emperor must have had a present," observed Virginia. "You catch your first glimpse of the palace around this curve." Around the curve they went, and into an open, path-cut field through which the creek meandered. The palace lay in the farthest corner. It did not even stand. Its old logs, disjoined and askew, were all but on the ground. How the roof managed to hold the chimney was a mystery. Perhaps, after all, it was the chimney which acted as a prop to the roof. A lean-to of poles, sod, and bark served as an entrance, and boasted a door. Mountain-fringe and other vines had taken root in the sod, and were undoubtedly helping to hold the structure together. An undisturbed, unbroken silence reigned over the imperial residence. The Emperor was doubtless busy with affairs of state, if indeed he were not away upon official business. Still the flag disproved his absence. He might be simply viewing the domain. Suddenly from the lean-to came such fierce barking that more than one Vigilante made a hasty return to the safety of her saddle. Then the door opened, and, preceded by his dogs, the Emperor came out into the sunshine. He had doubtless been too absorbed to note their coming.