“Oh, thank you,” said everybody, and no one liked to add: “What?”—though that simple word trembled on every tongue. It slipped off the tip of Reuben’s, indeed, at last, and the Mermaid answered: “An ovation.” “That’s something to do with eggs, I know,” said Kathleen. “Father was saying so only the other day.” “There will be no eggs in this,” said the Mermaid, “and you may find it a trifle heavy. But when it is over the fun begins. Don’t be frightened, Kathleen—Mavis, don’t smooth your hair. Ugly untidiness is impossible here. You are about to be publicly thanked by our Queen. You’d rather not? You should have thought of that before. If you will go about doing these noble deeds of rescue you must expect to be thanked. Now, don’t forget to bow. And there’s nothing to be frightened of.” They passed through the trees and came on a sort of open courtyard in front of a palace of gleaming pearl and gold. There on a silver throne sat the loveliest lady in the world. She wore a starry crown and a gown of green, and golden shoes, and she smiled at them so kindly that they forgot any fear they may have felt. The music ended on a note of piercing sweetness and in the great hush that followed the children felt themselves gently pushed forward to the foot of the throne. All around was a great crowd, forming a circle about the pearly pavement on which they stood. The Queen rose up in her place and reached toward them the end of her scepter where shone a star like those that crowned her. “Welcome,” she said in a voice far sweeter than the music, “Welcome to our Home. You have been kind, you have been brave, you have been unselfish, and all my subjects do homage to you.” At the word the whole of that great crowd bent toward them like bulrushes in the wind, and the Queen herself came down the steps of her throne and held out her hands to the children. A choking feeling in their throats became almost unbearable as those kind hands rested on one head after another. Then the crowd raised itself and stood upright, and someone called out in a voice like a trumpet: “The children saved one of us—_We die in captivity_. Shout for the children. Shout!” And a roar like the roar of wild waves breaking on rocks went up from the great crowd that stood all about them. There was a fluttering of flags or handkerchiefs—the children could not tell which—and then the voice of their own Mermaid, saying: “There—that’s over. And now we shall have the banquet. Shan’t we, Mamma?” “Yes, my daughter,” said the Queen. So the Mermaid they had rescued was a Queen’s daughter! “I didn’t know you were a Princess,” said Mavis, as they followed the Queen along a corridor. “That’s why they have made such a fuss, I suppose,” said Bernard.