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The nephew and niece were afraid to risk a guess, and the papa had to say:

“The Khant! The fairy godmother pulled her inside and hugged her and kissed her, she was so glad to find out that she was the one; and she stopped the procession on the spot, and she called up the Imam, and he married the Khant to Prince–“

The papa stopped, and as the niece and nephew hesitated, he said, very sternly, “Well?”

The fact is, they had got so mixed up about the Khan and the Khant of Tartary that they had forgotten which was Butterflyflutterby and which was Flutterbybutterfly. They tried, shouting out one the one and the other the other, but the papa said:

“Oh no! That won’t work. I’ve had that sort of thing tried on me before, and it never works. I heard you whispering what you would do, and you have simply added the crime of double-dealing to the crime of inattention. The story has stopped, and stopped forever.”

The nephew stretched himself and then sat up in bed. “Well, it had got to the end, anyway.”

“Oh, had it? What became of the wicked enchantress?” The nephew lay down again, in considerable dismay.

“Uncle,” said the niece, very coaxingly, “I didn’t say it had come to the end.”

“But it has,” said the papa. “And I’m mighty glad you forgot the Prince’s name, for the rule of this story is that it has to go on as long as any one listening remembers, and it might have gone on forever.”

“I suppose,” the nephew said, “a person may guess?”

“He may, if he guesses right. If he guesses wrong, he has to be thrown from a high tower–the same one the wicked enchantress was thrown from.”

“There!” shouted the nephew; “you said you wouldn’t tell. How high was the tower, anyway, uncle? As high as the Eiffel Tower in Paris?”

“Not quite. It was three feet and five inches high.”

“Ho! Then the enchantress was a dwarf!”

“Who said she was a dwarf?”

“There wouldn’t be any use throwing her from the tower if she wasn’t.”

“I didn’t say it was any use. They just did it for ornament.”

This made the nephew so mad that he began to dig the papa with his fist, and the papa began to laugh. He said, as well as he could for laughing: “You see, the trouble was to keep her from bouncing up higher than the top of the tower. She was light weight, anyway, because she was a witch; and after the first bounce they had to have two executioners to keep throwing her down–a day executioner and a night executioner; and she went so fast up and down that she was just like a solid column of enchantress. She enjoyed it first-rate, but it kept her out of mischief.”

“Now, uncle,” said the niece, “you’re just letting yourself go. What did the fairy godmother do after they all got married?”

“Well, the story don’t say exactly. But there’s a report that when she became a fairy grandgodmother, she was not half so severe about cleaning up, and let the poor old General-in-Chief have some peace of his life–or some war. There was a rebellion among the genii not long afterwards, and the General was about ten or fifteen years putting them down.”

The nephew had been lying quiet a moment. Now he began to laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” demanded his uncle.

“The way that Khant scrambled up on top of the chariot when the cow came along. Just like a girl. They’re all afraid of cows.”

The tears came into the niece’s eyes; she had a great many feelings, and they were easily hurt, especially her feelings about girls.

“Well, she wasn’t afraid of the cannon, anyway.”

“That is a very just remark,” said the uncle. “And now what do you say to breakfast?”

The children sprang out of bed, and tried which could beat to the door. They forgot to thank the uncle, but he did not seem to have expected any thanks.