CHAPTER TWELVE
The End
THE QUEEN of the Under Folk sat with her husband on their second-best throne, which was much more comfortable than their State one, though not so handsome. Their sad faces were lighted up with pleasure as they watched the gambols of their new pet, Fido, a dear little earth-child, who was playing with a ball of soft pink seaweed, patting it, and tossing it and running after it as prettily as any kitten.
"Dear little Fido," said the Queen, "come here then," and Fido, who had once been Cathay, came willingly to lean against the Queen's knee and be stroked and petted.
"I have curious dreams sometimes," said the Queen to the King, "dreams so vivid that they are more like memories."
"Has it ever occurred to you," said the King, "that we have no memories of our childhood, of our youth—?"
"I believe," said the Queen slowly, "that we have tasted in our time of the oblivion-cup. There is no one like us in this land. If we were born here, why can we not remember our parents who must have been like us? And dearest—the dream that comes to me most
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