"You are as fat as a pincushion, as you must yourself admit, and whenever I needed a pin I could call you to me." Then she laughed at his frightened look and asked: "By the way, are you ticklish ?" This was the question Rinkitink had been dreading.

He gave a moan of despair and shook his head.
"I should love to tickle the bottom of your feet with a feather," continued the cruel woman.

"Please take off your shoes." "Oh, your Majesty!" pleaded poor Rinkitink, "I beg you to allow me to amuse you in some other way.

I can dance, or I can sing you a song." "Well," she answered, shaking with laughter, "you may sing a song--if it be a merry one.

But you do not seem in a merry mood." "I feel merry--indeed, Your Majesty, I do!" protested Rinkitink, anxious to escape the tickling.