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The Rich Man seemed very much encouraged. He stopped untying the black velvet ribbon from his leg. He grinned a little.

My Father told him what he thought of him. The Rich Man acknowledged that very likely it was so. But he didn’t seem to mind. He kept right on grinning.

My Father stalked away in his gold paper crown with the pink dress over his arm. He looked very proud and noble. He looked as though even if dogs were sniffing at his heels he wouldn’t turn. His white wings flapped as he walked. The spangles shone. It looked very holy.

The Rich Man made a funny noise. It sounded like snorting.

My Father turned round quicker than scat. He glared right through the Rich Man at our Aunt Esta. He told our Aunt Esta just what he thought of her!

The Rich Man said it wasn’t so at all! That the Game undoubtedly was perfectly practical if—-

“If nothing!” said my Father. “It’s you yourself that are spoiling the whole effect by running around playing you’re a Black Slave with nothing on but a velvet ribbon round one knee! The very least you could do,” said my Father, “is to have your face blacked! And wear a plaid skirt!”

“Eh?” said the Rich Man.

Our Aunt Esta was perfectly delighted with the suggestion.

The Rich Man took her delight coldly.

He glared at my Father. “I don’t think I need any outside help,” he said, “in the management of my affairs.–As the Owner indeed of one of the largest stores in the world I—-“

“That’s all right,” said my Father. “But you never yet have tried to manage the children’s Aunt Esta.–Nothing can stop her!”

Nothing could! She pinned an old plaid shawl around the Rich Man’s waist! She blacked his face! He had to kneel at her feet while it was being blacked! He seemed to sweat easily! But our Aunt Esta blacked very easily too! He looked lovely! Even my Father thought he looked lovely! When he was done he wanted to look in a mirror. My Father advised him not to. But he insisted. My Father got up from making suggestions and came and stood behind him while he looked. They looked only once. Something seemed to hit them. They doubled right up. It was laughter that hit them. They slapped each other on the back. They laughed! And laughed! And laughed! They made such a noise that my Mother came running!

It seemed to make our Aunt Esta a little bit nervous to have my Mother come running. She pointed her wand. She roared her voice.

“Where is the Silver Bird?” she roared.

My Mother looked just as swoone-y as she could. She fell on her knees. She clasped her hands.

“Oh, Cruel Witch,” she said. “I saw the bird! But I couldn’t reach him! He was in the Poplar Tree!–However in the world did you put him there?–Was that what you were bribing the Butcher’s Boy about this morning? Was that—-?”

“Hush!” roared our Aunt Esta. “Your Doom has overtaken you! Go hence with the clatter of a Horse’s Hoof until such time as your Incompetent Head may—-“

“Oh, it wasn’t my head that was incompetent,” said my Mother. “It was my legs. The Poplar Tree was so very tall! So very fluffy and undecided to climb! So—-“

“With the clatter of a Horse’s Hoof!” insisted our Aunt Esta. “There can be no mercy!”

“None?” implored my Mother.

“None!” said our Aunt Esta.

She gave my Mother two funny little wooden cups. They were something like clappers. You could hold them in your hand so they scarcely showed at all and make a noise like a horse galloping across a bridge! Or trotting! Or anything! It made quite a loud noise! It was wonderful! My Mother started right away for the village. She had on white shoes. Her feet were very small. She sounded like a great team horse stumbling up the plank of a ferry-boat. “I think I’ll go get the mail!” she said.