This made the nephew so mad that he began to dig the papa with his fist, and the papa began to laugh. He said, as well as he could for laughing: "You see, the trouble was to keep her from bouncing up higher than the top of the tower. She was light weight, anyway, because she was a witch; and after the first bounce they had to have two executioners to keep throwing her down--a day executioner and a night executioner; and she went so fast up and down that she was just like a solid column of enchantress. She enjoyed it first-rate, but it kept her out of mischief."
"Now, uncle," said the niece, "you're just letting yourself go. What did the fairy godmother do after they all got married?"
"Well, the story don't say exactly. But there's a report that when she became a fairy grandgodmother, she was not half so severe about cleaning up, and let the poor old General-in-Chief have some peace of his life--or some war. There was a rebellion among the genii not long afterwards, and the General was about ten or fifteen years putting them down."
The nephew had been lying quiet a moment. Now he began to laugh.
"What are you laughing at?" demanded his uncle.
"The way that Khant scrambled up on top of the chariot when the cow came along. Just like a girl. They're all afraid of cows."
The tears came into the niece's eyes; she had a great many feelings, and they were easily hurt, especially her feelings about girls.
"Well, she wasn't afraid of the cannon, anyway."
"That is a very just remark," said the uncle. "And now what do you say to breakfast?"
The children sprang out of bed, and tried which could beat to the door. They forgot to thank the uncle, but he did not seem to have expected any thanks.