It was afternoon, and Billy was resting in the shade of the Singing Tree while Barker played about at his side. He was laughing softly to himself over his experience with Gehsundheit that morning. "He's a funny little fellow—calls himself a hero. Ha! ha! ha!"

"Woof, woof, woof!" said Barker, and Billy looked up just in time to see him rush madly at a man and try to bury his teeth in his leg. I say try, because if there was ever a surprised dog in all the world that dog was Barker. Billy could hear his teeth grit and scrape on the man's leg, but he made no more impression on it than if it had been made of stone; and that's not strange, because it was stone. Barker opened his jaws, ran back a few feet, stared at the man's leg, then up at his face, tucked his little button of a tail between his legs, gave one yelp of terror, and leaped into Billy's arms.

It is hard to tell whether it was surprise at his failure or the man's face that frightened Barker—perhaps it was both. Certainly the face was enough to frighten any well-brought-up dog.

He was made entirely of stone; even his constant smile showed the chisel marks; but his head was the oddest part of him—just one straight line from the tip of his nose to the top of his head.

"Hello! where did you come from?" asked Billy.

"From the quarry," said the man. "I'm an Aztec Fragment. Can't you tell that from my well-chiseled features? He-he-he! That's a good, silly joke, isn't it? You see: stone—my well-chiseled features—stone chiseled. He-he-he!"

"Who is that back of you?"

"That's my sister, Her Terics. I'm His Terics. Does your dog bite?" said the Fragment, and he and his sister burst into gales of laughter.

"Sometimes, when he's hungry," said Billy, knowing that they were making fun of him; "but he's not very fond of stone legs."

"He-he! that's funny. He ought to eat stone; it would give him grit."

"I don't see anything funny about that."

"Neither do I, but it is silly, isn't it?" said the man, and he and his sister giggled harder than ever.

"Well, of all the Sillies I ever saw," said Billy in disgust.

"Silly is as silly does, in Silly Land," said the Fragment; and again he and Her Terics laughed until Billy thought their stone sides would crack.

"Look out," said he, "you'll burst."

"We've already bursted," said His Terics.

"Where?"

"We've bursted into laughter of course. He-he-my-my, but isn't that a good joke?"

"You enjoy your own jokes, don't you?" said Billy, trying to be sarcastic.

"So would you if you could make them—I was just cut out for a joker—he-he-he."

"I should say that you were just plain foolish," said Billy. "Why do you laugh so at nothing?"

"Because we've just brains enough to be silly, and of course we have to laugh at everything whether its anything or nothing—isn't that so, Her?"

"Yes," said the girl. "He-he-he."

"For goodness' sake stop giggling," said Billy; "you set my teeth on edge."

"He-he-ho-ho, that's good," cried His Terics, "but suppose they weren't on edge and lay flat in your mouth, you would have to lie on your side to chew. He-he-he."

"Stop it," said Billy, "I'm so nervous now I could jump out of my skin."

"Oh, do," laughed both of them, "please do; that would be awfully funny!"

"He-he-he! Yes," said His Terics, "then you would be beside yourself, wouldn't you?"

"Well, I can't waste time with you any longer, I'm going."

"You think you're going but you're not—he-he-he," said His Terics.

"I'll show you."

"Oh! no—he-he-he oh! no, but you'll not, you know—he-he-he," said both of them, suddenly throwing their arms around his neck.

Billy fought and squirmed and kicked, but of course as the Fragments were stone they easily held him down, nor could he make any impression on them with his heels or fists.

"Oh! don't go—please don't go," said His Terics; "I really shouldn't go if I were you—he-he-he."

"That's all right," panted Billy, "you've got me now, but remember that he who laughs last laughs best."

"I know that," said His Terics, "because I laughed last and it was the best I've had in a long time."

"Let me go," said Billy, "I've a message to deliver to Bogie Man."

"That's the reason we're here," said His Terics, "but we will take the message—he-he-he, oh! Yes, we will take the message."

"I have to deliver it myself—and besides I don't believe you'd take it to him anyway."

"Of course not—we'd take it, but just out of your pocket—he-he-he-he! ho-ho!"

"Oh! here comes the Gillies," cried Her Terics. "Now we will have some fun."

Billy looked in the direction in which she pointed and saw three very, very stupid looking fellows slouching toward them.

When the Gillies got up to where Billy and the Fragments stood, they stopped, and without looking up one of them said:

"Do you know where His Terics and Her Terics are?"

"Here we are," cried His Terics, "at least we think we're here, if we're not won't you go find us and then come back and tell us where we're to be found—he-he-he."

"Why, so you are," cried the first speaker. "I didn't think to look."

"Who are these people?" asked Billy.

"Gillies," explained His Terics—"Big Gillie, Silly Gillie, and Dottie Gillie."

"You don't happen to know whether or no the moon is made of green cheese, do you, boy?" asked Big Gillie.

"Of course it's not," said Billy.

"Thank you—you're sure I suppose."

"Certainly."

"My, my, my, the poor man in the moon—I wonder what he eats," and Big Gillie began to weep.

"There is no man in the moon," said Billy.

"No man in the moon!" cried all the Gillies and all the Aztecs in one breath.

"No."

"Wicked boy," said His Terics. "We were warned by Nickel Plate that you didn't believe in your Mother Goose, but we didn't think it would be this bad."

"What is the harm if I don't believe in such things?" asked Billy.

"Why if all the children in the world stopped believing in wicked giants, and Bogie Man, and witches and bad things generally, they would have to go to work and earn an honest living," said His Terics.

"What do they do now?"

"They all have more business than they can attend to frightening children. It's very easy work, and most amusing to make little children shiver and shake and cry, especially when we all know that there never was one of the wicked ones that could really hurt anyone that is not afraid. But my, my! I'm divulging state secrets—that's what comes of trying to be serious," and His Terics grinned sadly.

"What shall we do with the boy?" asked Silly Gillie.

"Tie his feet together and make him run himself to death," suggested Dottie Gillie.

"How could I run if my feet were tied?" asked Billy.

"I don't know," said Dottie, "that's why I suggested it—there is nothing like finding out for certain."

"I know," said Her Terics, "make him laugh at your jokes, brother; that will be an awful punishment—he-he-he."

"Or yours," said His Terics; "that would be worse. No, we will tie him out here for a year and let him think things over; then if he promises to go straight home we will let him go."

"But I'd starve," said Billy.

"Don't be obstinate," said Silly Gillie, "or we'll make it two years."

"Hand me the rope," said His Terics.

"Which one of us has it?" said the Big Gillie; "have you, brother, or you?"

"I don't know, have we?" said the other two.

"I don't know, I'm sure," said the big one, "maybe I have it." At that each one began to search in the others' pockets for the rope.

"Not in your pockets, you Gillies," said Her Terics. "He-he-he, how funny!" said His Terics, "not in your pockets."

"Well, it might have been, you never can tell," said Big Gillie. "I don't believe any of us has it; hold this," handing his coil of rope to his brother, "while I hunt in my hat." The other Gillies took the rope and stood looking at their brother while he took his hat off his head and tore the lining out.

"There—you two are holding it," said His Terics, almost beside himself. "You, Big Gillie, just handed it to your brother."

"So you did—what a coincidence!" said they.

"Why of course," said Big Gillie, "how foolish of you! I knew all the time that I didn't have it."

"Now tie him tight," said His Terics.

"We'll do that," answered Big Gillie, and in a jiffy they had tied, not Billy at all, but His Terics and Her Terics, though they still held Billy.

"Oh! you Gillies," cried His Terics, "can't you see you've tied up the wrong persons?"

"How strange!" said the Gillies, letting go of Billy in their surprise.

"Now is my chance," thought Billy, and stepped away to get room for his jump.

"Safe," he had just said to himself, when he found himself caught by his collar.

"Not yet, my fine fellow," said a voice. "Haha, so it is you," said Nickel Plate, tapping his boots with the limber cane he carried.

"Nickel Plate," cried Billy.

"Nickel Plate," cried the Aztec Fragments and the Gillies.

"Foiled—foiled again," he hissed between his teeth; "then you recognize me—tell—a—me—do you?"

"Of course," said Billy.

"He recognizes me in spite of my disguise—strange—strange," said Nickel Plate.

"Oh! are you disguised?" asked Billy.

"Sh-h-h, not so loud. Yes, completely disguised—even an utter stranger would not know me—I have changed my mind."

"Wonderful!" said Big Gillie; "if we had not seen your face and figure we should never have known you."

"Ha-ha, you see?" said Nickel Plate, shaking Billy.

"Yes sir," said Billy.

"He-he-he," laughed Her Terics, "how funny!"

"Isn't it silly?" said His Terics.

"What?" asked the others.

"I just happened to think of a joke about a mind."

"What is it?" asked Nickel Plate, "and look sharp because we're wasting time."

"Never mind—he-he-he," and Her Terics threw back her head and laughed aloud.

"Enough," thundered Nickel Plate—"boy, where are those papers?"

"What papers, sir," asked Billy.

"The note, base varlet—the note, or by me halidom——"

"The note for Bogie Man?" interrupted Billy.

"Yes, but why in the world did you interrupt me?" said Nickel Plate, pettishly. "I've been studying that speech for a week, and now you've put it out of my head."

"Where did he put it? I'll find it," said Big Gillie, looking on the ground.

"He-he-he," laughed the Aztecs.

"I'm sorry, sir," began Billy.

"It's all very well to say you're sorry, but I know you're glad you're sorry. The note, give it to me."

"I can't, sir," said Billy.

"You dare to refuse?"

"I'm sorry, sir——"

"Don't use that word again; give me the note," said Nickel Plate.

"I can't, sir, it is addressed to Bogie Man, and I must carry it to him."

"Ah! but I have learned that in delivering it you would betray us. I must have it back. Besides it is not needed, Honey Girl is in me power, ha-ha!"

Billy's heart sank way, way down into his boots.

"You have captured Honey Girl?" he asked in a trembling voice.

"Yes, even now she languishes in a donjon cell, ha-ha. To-morrow she goes to work in the factory, while Glucose takes her place in the Queen Bee Palace."

"You villain," cried Billy.

"Thank you, thank you most kindly, me boy, not only a villain, but a polished villain."

"She won't stay there long after I have seen Bogie Man."

Nickel Plate snapped his fingers in Billy's face. "That for you, I do not fear your threats, I have you in me power now."

"That for you," cried all the Aztecs and the Gillies, snapping their fingers and treading on Billy's toes, just to show that they didn't fear him.

"The note—the note, or I shall strike you to the gr-r-ound," cried Nickel Plate, and raising his cane he stepped back to strike. But it was a fatal step, for he stumbled over Big Gillie and fell flat on his back. In falling he let go of Billy's collar, and you may be sure Billy didn't waste any time in jumping up and away.

"Catch him," cried Nickel Plate.

"Certainly," cried the Gillies, stumbling over each other.

"Certainly," cried His Terics and Her Terics, stumbling over the Gillies and falling plump onto Nickel Plate. And you can well imagine that it was not a very light fall.

"Ugh!" groaned Nickel Plate.

"How funny. He-he-he," laughed the Fragments, rolling over and over on Nickel Plate.

"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!" cried Billy, and floated away.