Hardly had they finished the last chorus, when they heard once more the clank of the Court Crier's bell, and there were the Court Crier, himself, and all the courtiers running up the hill to join them.
The King turned to fly, when Lobsterneck, with a sudden snort, straightened himself up, and stretching out his long neck, began sniffing the breeze.
"What is it, Six-foot?" asked Coco Bolo.
Without waiting to reply, the dragon bolted into his tower and up the stairway, when, no sooner had he reached the top than he clapped his fore-paws to his mouth and began bellowing like a cow. At the very first bellow all the dog-fish down in the bay began to bark, while Periwinkle, excitedly jumping about, joined in the chorus, though he had not the least idea what he was barking about.
"What is it, Lobsterneck?" shouted the King. "Who's coming?"
"Can't tell yet," the dragon shouted back. "All I can see is the upper half of a mast with a big gray cat sitting on top of it."
"A cat!" cried the King. "Then it must be the Archbishop."
"The Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half?" asked Margaret.
"Yes, the Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half. He promised to drop in to-day. He's cruising around on his private raft."
"That's who it is!" cried the dragon, leaning over the edge of the tower and calling down to the King. "I can see him now. He's just come through the cloud-wall. Hooray, for the Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half!"
With that, the enthusiastic Lobsterneck dived head-first down his staircase, with a clash as though someone had flung a shovelful of tenpenny nails on a stone pavement, bolted out of the arched doorway, and galloped off down the hill toward the beach to welcome the Archbishop.
"Come on!" shouted the King; and away he went, himself, down the hill, followed by Margaret and Frances, the little Coco Bolos, the Admiral, the Court Crier and all the courtiers, everyone of them running so fast that stumpy-legged Periwinkle, the only one who had not had any aëro-plane water, was the last in the race.
As soon as they arrived at the pier, they saw the raft slowly approaching, escorted on all sides by the whole pack of dog-fish. It was a trim and well built raft, about as big as a bedroom floor, with a mast in the middle, to which was attached a square sail, blown out tight by the wind. On top of the mast, having evidently been scared up there by the barking of the dog-fish, sat a big gray cat; while in front of the sail, holding his crozier in one hand and kissing the other to the people ashore stood the Archbishop, himself.
To Margaret and Frances, who had never seen one before, an Archbishop was almost as much of a curiosity as a snap-dragon. At the same time, however, they had formed in their own minds a sort of picture of what an Archbishop would be like, expecting to find him a dignified old gentleman, dressed in black, with a bald head, a long white beard, and most probably wearing a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.
What was their surprise, therefore, when, as the raft drew near, they saw that the Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half was not by any means the kind of person they had imagined. He was a jaunty young gentleman with a neat little black moustache; instead of gold-rimmed spectacles, he wore in his right eye an eyeglass which he kept in place with difficulty by screwing up one corner of his mouth; on his shoulders, concealing all but his white silk stockings and red shoes, he wore a purple cloak embroidered all over with gold lace; while, most noticeable of all, on his head was an archbishop's mitre of ample size and antique design.
Slowly the raft glided forward, until it presently bumped gently against the pier, when the frisky Archbishop, using his crozier as a jumping pole, leaped lightly upon the steps, and running up them with hand extended, he cried:
"Well, Coco, how goes it? How are you, old block; and how are all the little chips? All cheerful and smiling as usual? Ah!"—catching sight of the two little girls—"You have guests, I see. Won't you present me?"
"With pleasure," replied the King. "Ladies, let me present the Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half. Archbishop, these are my friends, Margaret and Frances, who have done me the honor to come to my garden-party. And talking of garden-parties," he continued, "come along up to the palace and have some refreshment. Bring your cat, too. I expect he's hungry. What's his name?"
"Thomas A'Becket," replied the Archbishop. "Come on, Thomas!" he called to the cat. "Come and have some milk."