He clamoured wheezily for information as to the whereabouts of the prince.

Pollyooly told him, indifferently enough, that he had gone to the village.

The baron sought the village at his best, but curious, toddling rush.

In the middle of it he met his young charge plodding along with an air of perfect content.
In his hand he bore a paper bag.
"Vot 'af your 'ighness been doing ?" cried his richly purple preceptor.
"Bollyooly zent me to buy bebbermints," said his charge stolidly, without stopping.
"Mein Gott!" cried the baron.

"And now that she-devil-child uses you as a lackey!" "She wanted zem," said his charge stolidly, pursuing his way without turning his head.
"Bud bebbermints you do not like!" cried the baron.
"Bollyooly wanted bebbermints," said the prince stolidly.
The baron said no more because there was no more to say.
He followed his charge to the beach and sought his chair; his charge sought Pollyooly.