 creatures, except that they were heirlooms, assets
inherited, along with the throne, from the former firm. Nothing of their history
had been transmitted with their persons, and so the inheriting owners had
considered them of no value, and had felt no interest in them. I said to the
queen -
    »Then why in the world didn't you set them free?«
    The question was a puzzler. She didn't know why she hadn't; the thing had
never come up in her mind. So here she was, forecasting the veritable history of
future prisoners of the castle d'If, without knowing it. It seemed plain to me
now, that with her training, those inherited prisoners were merely property -
nothing more, nothing less. Well, when we inherit property, it does not occur to
us to throw it away, even when we do not value it.
    When I brought my procession of human bats up into the open world and the
glare of the afternoon sun, - previously blindfolding them in charity for eyes
so long untortured by light - they were a spectacle to look at. Skeletons,
scarecrows, goblins, pathetic frights, every one: legitimatest possible children
of Monarchy by the Grace of God and the Established Church. I muttered, absently
-
    »I wish I could photograph them!«
    You have seen that kind of people who will never let on that they don't know
the meaning of a new big word. The more ignorant they are, the more pitifully
certain they are to pretend you haven't shot over their heads. The queen was
just one of that sort, and was always making the stupidest blunders by reason of
it. She hesitated a moment; then her face brightened up with sudden
comprehension, and she said she would do it for me.
    I thought to myself: She? why what can she know about photography? But it
was a poor time to be thinking. When I looked around, she was moving on the
procession with an axe!
    Well, she certainly was a curious one, was Morgan le Fay. I have seen a good
many kinds of women in my time, but she laid over them all, for variety. And how
sharply characteristic of her this episode was. She had no more idea than a
horse, of how to photograph a procession; but being in doubt, it was just like
her to try to do it with an axe.
 

                                   Chapter 19

                           Knight-Errantry as a Trade

Sandy and I were on the road again, next morning, bright and early. It was
