There was a queer little gurgling "Ha! ha!" which was at once
suppressed.

"Well, how could you know away off in this remote region?"

"I am sure I don't understand you at all," said Leo.

"No, I see you don't; and it's by no means remarkable. You live so
entirely alone, and are so wretchedly neglected, that it is a wonder you
know anything."

Leo began to be angry, but it was too much of an effort; besides, what
was there to be angry at--a voice? So he remained sulkily silent until
the voice resumed, in a changed tone:

"I beg your highness's pardon; I quite forgot myself. I am very apt to
do that when I am much interested; it is a great fault, for I appreciate
fine manners. But to explain. In the faraway cities where people live
like ants in an ant-hill, all crowded together, there is often much
cruelty and oppression, as well as vice and poverty. Now for this state
of things they have laws and punishments, means of redress; but they
relate principally to grown people's affairs; so the kind-hearted ones,
noticing that little children are often in need of pity and care and
protection, have an association called the Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Children. It is as old as the hills, but they think it a
modern invention. I am one of the original founders of that society,
little as they know me; but human beings are _so_ vain."

"Indeed!" said Leo, lazily; he was already tired of the whole matter.