Somebody had utterly demolished it. The low walls were broken and
scattered, the sand tables and chairs were torn down, and the throne was
entirely upset.

"Who did this?" roared Tom.

But as nobody knew the answer, there was no reply.

"It couldn't have been any of your servants, could it?" asked King of
the Craigs. "I know it wasn't any of ours."

"No; it wasn't ours, either," said Tom. "Could it have been your little
sister?"

"Mercy, no!" cried Marjorie. "Rosy Posy isn't that sort of a child. Oh,
I do think it's awful!" and forgetting her royal dignity, Queen Sandy
began to cry.

"Why, Mops," said King, kindly; "brace up, old girl. Don't cry."

"I'm not a cry baby," said Midget, smiling through her tears. "I'm just
crying 'cause I'm so _mad_! I'm mad clear through! How _could_ anybody
be so ugly?"

"I'm mad, too," declared Tom, slowly, "but I know who did it, and it's
partly my fault, I s'pose."

"Your fault!" exclaimed Midget. "Why, Tom, how can it be?"