“A joke?” echoed all of the five counselors, in several degrees of shocked and horrified tones; and Tellydeb, the lord high executioner, added reproachfully:
“Could we, by any chance, have the temerity to joke with your mighty and glorious Majesty?”
“That ’s just it,’ answered the boy. “I am not a mighty and glorious Majesty. I’m just Bud, the ferryman’s son, and you know it.”
“You are Bud, the ferryrman’s son, to be sure,” agreed the chief counselor, bowing courteously; “but by the decrees of fate and the just and unalterable laws of the land you are now become absolute ruler of the great kingdom of Noland; therefore all that dwell therein are your loyal and obedient servants.”
Bud thought this over.
“Are you sure there's no mistake?” he asked, with hesitation.
“‘I want some new clothes, and so does my sister,’ Bud announced, as boldly as possible.”
“There can be no mistake,” returned old Tullydub, firmly; “for we, the five high counselors of the kingdom, have ourselves interpreted and carried out the laws of the land, and the people, your subjects, have approved our action.”
“Then,” said Bud, “I suppose I ’ll have to be king whether I want to or not.”
“Your Majesty speaks but the truth,” returned the chief counselor, with a sigh. “With or without your consent, you are the king. It is the law.” And all the others chanted in a chorus:
“It is the law,”
Bud felt much relieved. He had no notion whatever of refusing to be a king. If there was no mistake, and he was really the powerful monarch of Noland, then there ought to be no end of fun and freedom for him during the rest of his life. To be his own master; to have plenty of money; to live in a palace and order people around as he pleased—all this seemed