My reception at Why had been such a very one that I had made up my mind to return home at once, but his the Wallypug begged me so earnestly to stay with him, at any rate for a few days, that I , out of friendship to him, to put up as best I could with that extraordinary person the Sister-in-Law, and the rest of the creatures, and remain, in order to help him if possible to establish his position at Why on a firmer basis.  
So I took possession of a of rooms in the west wing of the palace, near his Majesty’s private apartments, and we spent a very pleasant evening together in my , playing till bedtime, when his Majesty left me to myself, that he would show me around the palace grounds the first thing in the morning.
 
After he had gone, there being a bright wood fire burning in my bedroom, I drew a high-backed easy-chair up to the old-fashioned fireplace, and made myself comfortable for a little while before retiring for the night.
 
My bedroom was a large, old-fashioned apartment, with a low ceiling and carved oak wainscoting, and I watched the firelight , and casting all sorts of odd shadows in the dark corners, till I must have fallen asleep, for I remember awaking with a start, at hearing a crash in the corridor outside my bedroom door. A muttered , and a , carrying a bedroom candlestick marched in, and carefully fastened the door behind him.
 
“Great clumsy things—I can’t think who can have left them there,” he , sitting down and rubbing one foot against the other, as though in pain. And I suddenly came to the conclusion that he must have stumbled over my boots, which I had stood just outside the door, in order that they might be cleaned for the morning.
 
The Pelican had not noticed me in my high-backed chair, and, being rather curious to see what he was up to, I kept still.
 
Going over to a clothes press, which stood in one corner of the room, the bird drew a long white night-gown and a nightcap; these he proceeded solemnly to array himself in, and then, getting up on a chair, he turned back the bedclothes with his enormous , and was just about to into bed, when I thought that it was time for me to .
 
“Here! I say, what are you up to?” I called out in a stern voice.
 
“Oh—h-h! Ah—h-h! There’s a man in my room!” screamed the Pelican, evidently greatly alarmed. “Murder! Fire! Police! Thieves!”
 
“Hold your tongue!” I commanded. “What do you mean by making all that noise at this time of night, and what are you doing in my room?”
 
“Your room, indeed!” the bird; “my room you mean, you featherless biped, you!”
 
“Look here!” I remarked, going up to the Pelican, and shaking him till his beak again. “Don’t you talk to me like that, my good bird, for I won’t put up with it.” You see I was getting tired of being treated so contemptuously by all of these creatures, and was determined to put a stop to it, somehow.
 
“But it is my room. Let me go, I say!” screamed the bird, struggling to get free, and at me viciously with his great beak.
 
“It is not your room,” I maintained; “and what is more, you are not going to stay here,” and I pushed the creature towards the door.
 
“We’ll soon see all about that,” shouted the Pelican, himself from my grasp, and rushing at me with his beak wide open, and his wings outstretched.
 
He was an enormous bird, and I had a great struggle with him. We went banging about the room, knocking over the furniture and making a terrible racket. At last, however, I managed to get him near the door, and giving a terrific shove I pushed him outside, and, pulling the door to, quickly turned the key.
 
I could hear Mr. Pelican slipping and stumbling about on the highly polished floor of the corridor outside, and muttering indignantly. Presently he came to the door, and banging with his beak, he cried, “Look here! this is beyond a joke—let me in, I say—where do you suppose I am going to sleep?”
 
 
“Anywhere you like except here,” I replied, feeling that I had got the best of it. “Go and or roost, or whatever you call it, on the banisters, or sleep on the mat if you like—I don’t care what you do!”
 
“Impertinent !” yelled the bird. “You only wait till the morning. I’ll pay you out;” and I could hear him muttering and in an angry way as he down the corridor to seek some other resting-place. “What ridiculous nonsense it is,” I thought, as I tumbled into bed shortly after this little episode; “these creatures giving themselves such airs. No wonder the Wallypug is such a little person if he has been subjected to this sort of treatment all his life.” And pondering over the best method of altering the extraordinary state of affairs, I dropped off to sleep.
 
I do not know how long it may have been after this, but a terrific , this time in the courtyard below my window, caused me once more to jump from my bed in alarm. I could hear a most unearthly yelling going on, a babel of voices, and occasionally a crash as though something hollow had been violently struck.
 
Pushing open the latticed windows I saw in the moonlight a little man dressed in a complete suit of armor with an enormous shield, like a dishcover, arranged over his head, playing the guitar, and endeavoring to sing to its accompaniment. He was continually interrupted, however, by a shower of missiles thrown from all of the windows overlooking the courtyard, out of which angry heads of animals and other occupants of the palace were thrust; he was surrounded by a miscellaneous collection of articles which had evidently been thrown at him, and some of them, had it not been for his suit of armor and the erection over his head, would have caused him considerable injury.
 
He did not seem to mind them in the least, though, and continued singing amid a perfect storm of boots, brushes, and bottles, as though he was quite accustomed to such treatment: and it was only when an figure, which somehow reminded me of his Majesty’s Sister-in-Law, clad in white garments and flourishing a pair of , appeared in the courtyard, that he took to his heels and fled, pursued by the white-robed , till both disappeared beneath an archway at the farther end of the courtyard. Most of the windows were thereupon closed, and the disturbed occupants of the palace returned to their rest. I was just about to close my lattice too, when I caught sight of a familiar figure at the adjoining window. It was my old friend A. Fish, Esq.
 
“Oh! id’s you iz id,” he cried. “You have thed, I heard that you were egspegded.”
 
“Yes, here I am,” I replied. “How are you? How is your cold?”
 
“Oh, id’s quide cured, thags; dote you dotice how butch better I speak?”
 
“I’m very glad to hear it, I’m sure,” I replied, the question and trying to keep solemn. “What’s all this row about?”
 
“Oh! thad’s the troubadour, up to his old gabes agaid; he’s ad awful dusadce. I’ll tell you aboud hib in the bordig—good dight.” And A. Fish, Esq., disappeared from view.