"'Sandy Prize Puzzle. Prize, a musical top, donated by the author. Question: Is the number of sands on the seashore odd or even? Anybody in this court who can answer this question truthfully will receive the prize. Signed, Sandow.'"
"That's nonsense," cried Hester. "How can anybody tell whether we answer truthfully or not?"
"I can tell," said Sandow, gravely. "Whoever first answers it truthfully will get the prize."
"But it's ridiculous," said King. "In the first place, how much seashore do you mean? Only that here at Seacote, or all the Atlantic shore? Or all the world?"
Dick considered. "I mean all the seashore in all the world," he said, at last.
"Then that's silly, too," said Tom, "for how far does the seashore go? Just to the edge of the ocean, or all the way under?"
"All the way under," replied Dick, solemnly.
"Then you really mean all the sand in all the world!"
"Yes; that's it. Of course, all the sand in all the world numbers a certain number of grains. Now, is that number odd or even?"
"You're crazy, Dick!" said Hester, but Marjorie said, "No, he isn't crazy; I think there's a principle there somewhere, but I can't work it out."
"I guess you can't!" said King. "I give it up."
"So do I!" declared Tom, and at last they all gave it up.
"Now you must answer it yourself, Dick," said King.
"Then nobody gets the prize," objected Sandow.
"No, you keep it yourself. Have you got one, anyhow?"
"Yes, a nice musical top Uncle John sent to me. I've never used it much, it's as good as new. I wish somebody would guess."
Nobody did, and Dick sighed.
"Bet you can't answer your old puzzle, yourself," said Hester.
"Yes, I can," averred Dick, "but you must ask it to me."
"All right," said King. "Mr. Sandow, honorable and noble courtier of Sand Court, is the number of sea sands odd or even? Answer truthfully now."
"I don't know," replied Dick, "and that's the truth!"
How they all laughed! It was a quibble, of course, but the Maynard children were surprised at themselves that they hadn't seen through the catch.
Dick sat on the sand, rocking back and forth with laughter.
"The witch ought to have guessed it," he cried; "or else the Queen ought to."
"Yes, my courtier, we ought," Marjorie admitted. "You caught us fairly, and we hereby give you the post of wizard of this court. Sand Piper, what's next in your journal?"
"The next is a poem by the Honorable Edward Maynard. That is, he wrote part of it, and then, as he had to go to New York on business, his honorable wife finished it. Here it is:
"Royal Courtiers, great and grand,
Ruling o'er your court of sand,
Take this greeting from the pen
Of an humble citizen.
May you, each one, learn to be
Filled with true nobility;
Gentle, loving, brave, and kind,
Strong of arm and pure of mind.
May you have a lot of fun,
And look back, when day is done,
O'er long hours of merry play
Filled with laughter blithe and gay.
May your court of mimic rule
Teach you lore not learned in school;
Rule your heart to think no ill,
Rule your temper and your will."
"Gee, that's real poetry, that is!" exclaimed Tom. "Say, your people are poets, aren't they?"
"Why, I think they are," said Marjorie, "but Father says they're not."
"I'd like a copy of that poem," said Hester, looking very serious.
"All right," said King, catching the witch's glance. "I'll make you a nice typewritten copy of it to-morrow."
"And now, my royal Sand Piper, is there any more poetic lore for us to listen to?"
"Aye, my liege Queen, there is one more poem. This is a real poem also, but it is of the humorous variety. It was composed by the mother of our royal Sand Witch, and was freely contributed to our paper by that estimable lady. Methinks she mistook our club for a debating club, and yet, perhaps not. This may be merely a flight of fancy, such as poets are very fond of, I am told. I will now read Mrs. Corey's contribution:
"There once was a Debating Club, exceeding wise and great;
On grave and abstruse questions it would eagerly debate.
Its members said: 'We are so wise, ourselves we'll herewith dub
The Great Aristophelean Pythagoristic Club.'
And every night these bigwigs met, and strove with utmost pains
To solve recondite problems that would baffle lesser brains.
They argued and debated till the hours were small and wee;
And weren't much discouraged if they didn't then agree.
They said their say, and went their way, these cheerful, pleasant men,
And then came round next evening, and said it all again.
Well, possibly, you'll be surprised; but all the winter through
The questions they debated on numbered exactly two.
For as they said: 'Of course we can't take up another one,
Till we have solved conclusively the two that we've begun.'
They reasoned and they argued, as the evenings wore along;
And each one thought that he was right, and deemed the others wrong.
They wrangled and contended, they disputed and discussed,
They retorted and rebutted, they refuted and they fussed;
But though their wisdom was profound, and erudite their speech,
A definite conclusion those men could never reach.
And so the club disbanded, and they read their last report,
Which told the whole sad story, though it was exceeding short:
'Resolved—We are not able to solve these problems two:
"Does Polly want a cracker?" and "What did Katy do?"'"
"Well, isn't that fine!" cried Marjorie. "Why, Hester, your mother is more a poet than ours."
"She does write lovely poetry," said Hester, "but I like your mother's poem, too, because it,—well, you know what I mean."
Somehow the children all understood that tempestuous Hester appreciated the lines that so gently advised the ruling and subduing of an unruly temper and will, but nobody knew just how to express it.
So King broke a somewhat awkward silence by saying, heartily, "Yep, we know!" and all the others said "Yep" in chorus.
"I think, O Royal Court," the Queen began, "that our first paper is fine. How often shall we issue The Jolly Sandboy?"
"'Bout once a week, I think," said Tom.
"All right," agreed King; "and you fellows get your stuff in a little earlier next week so's I can typewrite it in time."
"And now, my beloved court," resumed Midget, "I think we have sat still long enough, and I decree that we have a game of Prisoner's Base. And what I say goes!"
There was no dissenting voice. The Queen unpinned