But as he finished the prince sprang at him, cried angrily: "Bollyooly isn't!" and kicked him on the shin.
The kick was stiff and lacked its usual snap; but it was sufficiently vigorous to dislodge a good deal of the mud from the once white trouser-leg and bespatter the legs of the baron, who uttered a short howl and bent like a bow, holding off his little charge, and gazing wildly round the marsh.

This time Pollyooly did not come to his aid; she gazed at him with a cold eye.
"It serves you right--talking like that about people when they try to make up," she said coldly.
The prince, encouraged by this quite unexpected approval, made another fine effort to plant a second kick of remonstrance on the shin of his preceptor.

His foot missed it; but plenty of mud hit it.
"That's enough, Adalbert.

Stop it!" said the magnanimous Pollyooly sharply.
Adalbert stopped it.
The baron ground his teeth at this new familiarity; but was glad to be loosed by his admonished charge; and the procession took its triumphant way back to the village.
The prince's valet was a long while cleaning him; but directly after his tea he was out on the sands again, seeking Pollyooly..