You have now got so accustomed to this sort of life that you'll find it a little difficult to fall into the ranks again, drink wine that you've paid for, and be punished for your offences if to-day or to-morrow you are deposed from your Whitsun Kingship." "The man is not born who will do that," replied Martin, lifting his eyebrows, twiddling his thumbs, and hitching up his trousers with great dignity.
The councillors also perceived that the Whitsun King had made a mistake in answering so rashly, but as it would have been unseemly to have offended the dignity of so considerable a personage, they devoted themselves exclusively to the preparations for the entertainment.
Four barrels of wine, each of a different sort, were piled upon waggons; another waggon was full of freshly baked white rolls; fastened behind the waggons by their horns were the couple of yoke oxen that were going to be slaughtered.
"That's not the right way of going about it!" cried Martin.

It was not his natural voice, but he was so accustomed to a peremptory tone now that he could use no other.

"We want more pomp here.

Who ever heard of the festal oxen being tied to a cart's tail?
Why, the butcher ought to lead the pair of them by the horns, one on each side, and you ought to stick lemons on the tips of their horns, and tie ribbons round them!" "Bravo, little brother! He knows how it ought to be done." "And then four girls ought to sit on the top of each barrel, and dole out the wine from where they sit in long-eared rummers." "Any more commands, Martin ?" "Yes.

Let the gipsy musicians strike up my tune as we march along; and let two heydukes hold my horse when I mount." These commands were punctually obeyed.
The people, after a short religious service, made their way towards the fields.