The robe so closely wound around his body moved jerkily, as if something beneath disturbed it, and at such times Zog shifted nervously in his seat.
Sacho's thin little legs trotted through the water and led the way into a different passage from the one by which they had entered.
They swam slowly after him and breathed easier when they had left the golden domed chamber where their wicked enemy sat enthroned.
"Well, how do you like him ?" asked Sacho with a laugh.
"We hate him!" declared Trot emphatically.
"Of course you do," replied Sacho.

"But you're wasting time hating anything.

It doesn't do you any good, or him any harm.

Can you sing ?" "A little," said Trot, "but I don't feel like singing now." "You're wrong about that," the boy asserted.

"Anything that keeps you from singing is foolishness, unless it's laughter.