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“A little,” admitted the tall Twig nervously, “but they object to it, your Woodjesty.”

“Well, what if they do?” rasped the King tartly. “Don’t be gormish Faggots. You know I detest gormishness. It seems to me you might allow my people a little innocent diversion,” he grumbled, turning to Pompa, “they don’t get much pleasure!”

“Pleasure!” gasped the Prince, while Kabumpo and Wag were so astonished that they forgot to fight.

“What does he mean by gormish?" whispered Peg uneasily to Wag. Before he could answer, the Twigs, who evidently had decided not to be gormish, made a rush upon the travelers. But Kabumpo was ready for them with uplifted trunk. With a furious trumpet he charged straight into the middle, Wag at his heels, with the result that the Twigs went crackling and snapping to the ground in heaps.

“All we need is a match,” grunted Kabumpo, pounding along unmindful of the scratching and clawing. “They’re good for nothing but kindling wood.”

“Don’t be gormish,” he screeched scornfully, as he flung the last Twig out of his way and Wag and he never stopped till they had put a good mile between themselves and the disagreeable pinchers.

“Are you hurt?” asked Kabumpo, stopping at last