the chameleon in his blood; little donkey men; and a fine old gentleman or two made like eagles—all of them getting done into men as quickly as possible. In the midst rode the king of the carnival, who had evidently not long since been a lion, and that no doubt was why they picked him out. He rode on a golden car from which sprays of green sprang out to reach from side to side of the broad street. And at his lips, held like a trumpet, he carried little Peter, one hand on Peter’s feet set to the kingly lips, and the other stretched out to Peter’s breast.
Then Peter lifted up his shrill little voice and shouted loud his message:—
“The world is beginning! The world is beginning! The world is beginning! You must go and help the king. You must go-o-o and help the king!”
But just as he cried that, the carnival band struck into a merry march, and all the heralds were calling, and the people were shouting, and Peter’s little voice did not reach very far.
“Shout again!” bade the king of the carnival, who did not care in the least what Peter said, so long only as he acted like a trumpet.
So Peter shouted again—shouted his very
