be striking home; for the Doctor stood silent a minute, thinking.
"But there are the note-books," he said presently: "I would have to go back to fetch them."
"I have them here, Doctor," said I, speaking up—"all of them."
Again he pondered.
"And Long Arrow's collection," he said. "I would have to take that also with me."
"It is here, Oh Kindly One," came the Indian's deep voice from the shadow beneath the palm.
"But what about provisions," asked the Doctor—"food for the journey?"
"We have a week's supply with us, for our holiday," said Poynesia—"that's more than we will need."
For a third time the Doctor was silent and thoughtful.
"And then there's my hat," he said fretfully at last. "That settles it: I'll have to go back to the palace. I can't leave without my hat. How could I appear in Puddleby with this crown on my head?"
"Here it is, Doctor," said Bumpo producing the hat, old, battered and beloved, from under his coat.
Polynesia had indeed thought of everything.
Yet even now we could see the Doctor was still trying to think up further excuses.
"Oh Kindly One," said Long Arrow, "why tempt
