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“Suits me,” said Billiken, “here, you, stand on my head.” And he picked up one of the little stone images and set him upon his own head, that was shaped so like an egg.

“Now shoot,” he commanded Marmaduke, “let’s see how it goes.”

And Marmaduke did as he was bid, and he knocked off the little stone image from the old Billiken’s head.

They kept up the game for quite a while, but at last Marmaduke made a wild shot. The rock which he threw went high up in the air and knocked a pink gable off the Peppermint Pagoda.

At this, all the million Chinamen, who had been watching the game respectfully from a distance, set up a howl. They thought it was a sin to smash their pagoda, and that Marmaduke ought to be punished.

So, one and all, they made a rush for him, but again he remembered the Coal Giant’s advice. He tapped the ground three times with his right foot, three times with his left, and three times, standing on his head.

Then, after he had run to safety, there came as pretty an earthquake as ever you saw. It didn’t kill all the million little Chinamen, but it threw them down on the ground, knocking the wind out of their million tummies completely. And, of course, after that they were very good, being afraid of Marmaduke, as well they might be.

Now, just at this time, the Queen happened by in a magnificent palanquin of cloth of gold. When she saw the trick that Marmaduke had performed, she, too, thought he must have come down from the sky, and she sent her chief officer, the mandarin, to fetch the strange little boy to the Palace.

He was glad to accept the invitation, for he was getting pretty hungry by now. But they had to go through many beautiful grounds with strange summer-houses, and high walls, and ponds with rainbow goldfish swimming in them, before they reached the main part of the palace itself. Then the Queen sat down on her throne, with her mandarins around her, all dressed in those funny coats like pajama-tops and embroidered with red dragons, and gold birds with great wings, and all sorts of queer things.

The Queen seemed a little out of sorts, for, when he came to the throne, she said to him sharply,–

“Show me a trick, or I’ll cut your head off.”

Marmaduke was puzzled. He didn’t know just what to do. He didn’t want to start another earthquake. That was only to be used in times of great danger. He’d better try something else first. So he felt in his pockets once more, to see what he could find, and brought out the little pack of cards with which he had played with the Coal Giant.

“I’ll teach you how to play”–“Old Maid,” he was going to say, but he stopped in time. He thought that maybe the Queen had never been married and she’d be insulted if he asked her to play Old Maid. Then, too, she might insult him back by cutting his head off. And nobody could stand an insult like that. So he just said,–

“Casino is a fine game.”

But “No,” the Queen replied angrily, “I played that long before you were born. And my honorable ancestors played it before me.”

Again Marmaduke felt in his pockets, hoping to find something that would help him out. He drew forth a penny, a fishhook, a dried worm, two marbles, and–there–just the thing–the game of Authors, which Aunt Phrony had given him for his birthday.

“I’ll tell you what,” he told the Queen, “let’s play Authors. There’s nothing better than that.”

“Authors, authors–” the Queen replied, tapping her foot impatiently, “what are they?”

“Oh, people who write books and stories an’ things. It’s very nice.”

So he explained to the Queen all about them, about Longfellow and Whittier and all the rest. He really didn’t know so very much about them, you see, but he had played the game so often that he knew the cards and names “‘most by heart.”