it. I fink it was bought for me to play wiv—same as my cart."
His Majesty the King was arguing against his conscience and he knew it, for he thought immediately after: "Never mind. I will keep it to play wiv until Mamma says where is it, and then I will say:—'I tookt it and I am sorry'. I will not hurt it because it is a 'parkle cwown. But Miss Biddums will tell me to put it back. I will not show it to Miss Biddums."
If Mamma had come in at that moment all would have gone well. She did not, and His Majesty the King stuffed paper, case and jewel into the breast of his blouse and marched to the nursery.
"When Mamma asks I will tell," was the salve that he laid upon his conscience. But Mamma never asked, and for three whole days His Majesty the King gloated over his treasure. It was of no earthly use to him, but it was splendid, and, for aught he knew, something dropped from the Heavens themselves. Still Mamma made no inquiries, and it seemed to him in his furtive peeps as though the shiny stones grew dim. What was the use of a "'parkle cwown" if it made a little boy feel all bad in his inside? He had the pink string as well as the other treasure, but he greatly wished that he had not gone beyond the string. It was his first experience of iniquity, and it pained him after the flush of possession and secret delight in the "'parkle cwown" had died away.
Each day that he delayed rendered confession to the people beyond the nursery doors more impossible. Now and again he determined to put himself in the path of the beautifully attired lady as she was going out, and explain that he and no one else was the possessor of a "'parkle cwown," most beautiful and quite uninquired for. But she passed hurriedly to her carriage, and the opportunity was gone before His Majesty the King could draw the deep breath which clinches noble resolve. The dread secret cut him off from Miss Bid-
