Then Benson says: 'Dinner'll be ready in five minutes; how tired I do feel!' Then he takes the libbuty of sitting hisself down on his royaliness's rug, and he says, asking your pardon, 'I've had about enough of service here.

I'm about tired, and I thinks of bettering myself.

I wish I was at the king's court, and butler.' But before the words was out of his mouth, off he flies like a shot through the open door, and his royaliness's parcel with him.

I run to the door, and there he was, flying right hover the town, in a northerly direction.

And that's all I know; for I would not tell a lie, not if it was never so.