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“That shows you don’t know anything at all about it,” said the King’s Minstrel contemptuously. “Any respectable person knows that there never should be any sense in really good poetry; the less you are able to understand it the better it is; and it wouldn’t be a composition,” he went on, “if it wasn’t composed of several bits of other poems. The great thing is to get it to rhyme. You see this all rhymes beautifully.”

“I’m sure the last two lines don’t!” said Girlie decidedly.

“Oh!” said the King’s Minstrel, looking rather confused, “you see, you have to pronounce ‘harm’ as near like ‘wall’ as you can; you often have to do that in poetry, you know. Besides, people always pardon little slips of that kind in really clever people, like myself. Good-bye! You may have the honour of meeting me again later,” he continued, preparing to go.

“Oh, I was going to ask you,” cried Girlie hurriedly, “whether you could kindly direct me to Why, or tell me the way to get home again.”

“I beg your pardon, but I make it a point never to do anything useful. I am purely ornamental,” said the King’s Minstrel, bowing politely and then strutting away with a conceited air, leaving Girlie once more alone in the lane.