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“Thank you, Uncle Isaac. Good-by.” With this Johnny Blossom bowed and vanished. “But when we did come it was our turn to be disappointed.” Here the cavalry officer took up the story. “Bob Hazard and his friends had got ahead of us too.” “It’s good we fixed up this door and put this bolt on,” Bob heard Wesley remark as the bar fell into place. “Now both of us can go back to the ranch so’s it won’t look suspicious. The kid is safe here till doomsday.”.

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“Johnny Blossom had permission to invite all his friends to Kingthorpe today. He was to ask all who had been kind to him, and it looks as if he had a great many kind friends. This is his first birthday since he became heir of Kingthorpe. Perhaps you think it is an easy thing to be that—that it means only to shake ripe fruit into your lap and to live in big, bright rooms. Johnny Blossom will understand more and more, as time goes on and he grows older, that it is not easy to be the Kingthorpe heir. He had placed himself at the head of a party of banditti, and, pleased with the liberty which till then he had never tasted, and with the power which his new situation afforded him, he became so much attached to this wild and lawless mode of life, that he determined never to quit it till death should dissolve those ties which now made his rank only oppressive. This event seemed at so great a distance, that he seldom allowed himself to think of it. Whenever it should happen, he had no doubt that he might either resume his rank without danger of discovery, or might justify his present conduct as a frolic which a few acts of generosity would easily excuse. He knew his power would then place him beyond the reach of censure, in a country where the people are accustomed to implicit subordination, and seldom dare to scrutinize the actions of the nobility. The King and the Prince advanced, bowing low, and said, "Sire, we have come from afar, to show you a portrait." They drew forth Rosette's portrait and showed it to him. After gazing at it a while, the King of the Peacocks said, "I can scarcely believe that there is so beautiful a maiden in the whole world." "She is a thousand times more beautiful," said the King. "You are jesting," replied the King of the Peacocks. "Sire," rejoined the Prince, "here is my brother, who is a King, like yourself; he is called King, and my name is Prince; our sister, of whom this is the portrait, is the Princess Rosette. We have come to ask if you will marry her; she is good and beautiful, and we will give her, as dower, a bushel of golden crowns." "It is well," said the King. "I will gladly marry her; she shall want for nothing, and I shall love her greatly; but I require that she shall be as beautiful as her portrait, and if she is in the smallest degree less so, I shall make you pay for it with your lives." "We consent willingly," said both Rosette's brothers. "You consent?" added the King. "You will go to prison then, and remain there until the Princess arrives." The Princes made no difficulty about this, for they knew well that Rosette was more beautiful than her portrait. They were well looked after while in prison, and were well served with all they required, and the King often went to see them. He kept Rosette's portrait in his room, and could scarcely rest day or night for looking at it. As the King and his brother could not go to her themselves, they wrote to Rosette, telling her to pack up as quickly as possible, and to start without delay, as the King of the Peacocks was awaiting her. They did not tell her that they were prisoners, for fear of causing her uneasiness. Emilia saw the time of madame's departure approach with increased distress. They left each other with a mutual sorrow, which did honour to their hearts. When her last friend was gone, Emilia wandered through the forsaken apartments, where she had been accustomed to converse with Julia, and to receive consolation and sympathy from her dear instructress, with a kind of anguish known only to those who have experienced a similar situation. Madame pursued her journey with a heavy heart. Separated from the objects of her fondest affections, and from the scenes and occupations for which long habit had formed claims upon her heart, she seemed without interest and without motive for exertion. The world appeared a wide and gloomy desert, where no heart welcomed her with kindness—no countenance brightened into smiles at her approach. It was many years since she quitted Calini—and in the interval, death had swept away the few friends she left there. The future presented a melancholy scene; but she had the retrospect of years spent in honorable endeavour and strict integrity, to cheer her heart and encouraged her hopes..