None the less he was aware that he was affording considerable entertainment to the visitors taking the air on the sea-wall above him; and his joy in his young charge was not increased by the fact that among those visitors the Honourable John Ruffin smiled on the scene with amiable interest.
Having ascertained beyond all doubting that his well-shod toes could not reach the shins of his preceptor, the young prince ceased his futile effort, and with a most ungracious air moved along the beach.
The limping baron followed him gloomily, with itching fingers.

He felt that, in spite of the fact that his imperial master would shortly sweep her land with fire and sword from sea to sea, the lot of the happy English child Pollyooly was to be envied, since she could, and did, smack princes, with a mind untroubled by the sense of their sacrosanctity.

Moreover he felt a sad prescience that his young charge, careless of the magnificent blood that flowed in his veins, _would_ play with these children, who were neither high nor well-born.
But he was quite unprepared for the actual group of children his young charge chose for playmates.

He passed no less than four animated and excited groups before he arrived at that adorned and ruled by Pollyooly.
It chanced that it had decided to play rounders, and was gathered into an excited knot in which everybody was discussing, all at the same time, the process of picking sides.
The prince, shouldering aside, with proud Hohenzollern manliness, two or three little girls, thrust into the centre of the group and said: "I want do blay." The debating voices hushed; the other children stared at him with startled eyes, then drew aside leaving him face to face with Pollyooly.
"We don't want him to play with _us_!" cried Kathleen, who occupied the position of chief friend to Pollyooly.
"No, we don't!" cried the two other little girls.
The prince paid no heed to them; he looked at Pollyooly and said: "I want do blay." Pollyooly considered him thoughtfully, weighing the question of his admission to their circle with the care it demanded.

He was not very pleasant to look at since he was so podgy, snub-nosed, pasty-faced, and small-eyed; but Pollyooly, mindful of their late encounter, and inspired by the magnanimity of the victor, did not at once reject the appeal.
"Will you promise to behave properly, if we let you play with us ?" she said coldly.
The Baron von Habelschwert, standing over the group and nervously twirling his fierce moustache, shuddered and groaned.