Dido and Pa by Joan Aiken Page B

superlative dispositions. My good, simple fellow will be quite out of his mind with joy when I tell him of the gracious acceptance of his tribute."
    "Aweel," said the king, who had not yet said yes.
    "Your majesty's name will resound over the world as a patron of the arts!" continued the margrave. "The Tunnel Music will be remembered long after our poor names are forgotten—our descendants will be playing it three hundred years from now, I daresay—"
    "Aye, aye, verra weel, let it be so," said King Richard. "If it will give the chiel such pleasure. For me, one tune is the same as anither, to tell truth. But Battersea here will look to the matter—will ye no', Battersea?—and tell the mon what's needed."
    "Certainly sir," said Simon, who had taken a strong dislike to the margrave and was not at all pleased at being obliged to have dealings with him. "Pray command me in whatever way you think necessary."
    "I will come and see you tomorrow," said the margrave, all smiles now his purpose had been achieved. "It is but to make a small rearrangement of the procession. I shall be happy to explain it to you at your better convenience. And I shall, of course, be happy to supply musicians; my own household players are highly trained and talented far beyond what is commonly met with."
    "That's settled, then," said the king, and called for his carriage. The margrave taking his departure immediately after, Simon and Podge were left to explain the matter to Sophie, who came in just then with her basket of first-aid equipment.
    "Wicked little things!" she said cheerfully. "They had been fighting; I had to stitch up his head; but he did not mean to push him off the fountain.... Now, what was that man's purpose in coming here?"
    "It's a thundering nuisance!" exclaimed Simon. "I don't care for that fellow, I don't trust him. I hope this offer is not the cloak for some piece of devilment. I wish I had not got to deal with him."
    "Still," pointed out Sophie, "Bonnie Prince George is dead, and they do not have any other person to put at the head of their party—so I do not really see what they can do—"
    "But what about the margrave himself? Isn't he a cousin of Prince George—so he must be the king's cousin also? And an heir to the throne."
    "No, he ain't," said Podge, who read the papers every day and knew much about public matters. "The margrave's parents weren't married. His father was Prince Rupert of Hanover, but his mother was only a dairymaid. So he ain't eligible. But anyhow, it seems to me, Simon, that if they
are
hatching something connected with this procession, it is better if he comes and consults you; then at least you have a chance to find out what he is up to—"
    "Oh, well, I suppose so," said Simon crossly. I wish Dido were here, he thought. She's as quick as a needle; she'd soon spot anything shravey in the business. He went over to the window and stood looking out at the snow-covered yard.
The children who played there had gone, into whatever cellars and hovels they used as nighttime shelters.
    "Sophie," began Podge shyly, and then stood tongue-tied.
    "Yes, Podge?" said Sophie, smiling at him encouragingly. His diffidence in retiring to the back of the room while the grand folks were talking had not escaped her notice. (This had not prevented him, however, from watching the other three very heedfully; and he had come to several conclusions, which he kept to himself.)
    "I brought you a little token to mark Saint Gothold's Day," he now explained bashfully, "but I didn't like to give it you while those gentry were here." And he pulled out from his pocket a small twist of silver paper. "It's to keep your needles bright—"
    "Oh, Podge, how pretty!" Sophie cried in delight, undoing the paper, which contained a tiny velvet apple, green on one side, red on the other. "An emery ball! It is exactly what I need. Podge, you give nicer and more useful presents than anybody else in the world!"
    This was true. Podge had a very low