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the top of their tiny lungs. The canine mob immediately surrounded Olivia, leaping up into the air and standing on their hind legs to whine and yip and wag their tails in a show of puppy ecstasy.
    This breathtaking onslaught was followed by the far more dignified entrance of a small girl dressed in cream and pink ruffles. She, in turn, was followed by a tall woman in black who looked as if she had eaten a surfeit of pickled cucumbers.
    For those who have not experienced it directly, I can hereby attest that the mantle of royalty is a most mystical adornment. It can cause grown men and women to stop whatever they are doing and make their deepest possible reverences to little children. Even a wild pack of fluffy white dogs seeking to gnaw at one’s slipper toe will be ignored while this duty is performed. Further, that mantle causes the youngest of children to understand that as long as they can pipe out certain phrases, they wield a great deal of power.
    “Peggy, you will introduce us, please,” announced the princess, the dignity of the command spoiled only slightly by the royal lisp. Her Highness, the Princess Anne, was six years old, and the first of the three girls George Augustus, the Prince of Wales, had fathered thus far. She was a pretty, sturdy, determined child who was fully aware of her position and power. One of the least expected developments of the previous summer was my becoming Her Tiny Highness’s friend. This was in part due to my own merits, but had been much assisted by the fact that I was the one who had arranged for her to be gifted with this flock of obnoxious, spoiled, overfluffed dogs.
    “Certainly, Your Highness,” I murmured, lowering my curtsy an extra inch, just to show I could. “May I make known to you Sir Oliver Trowbridge Preston Pierpont, my uncle. Lady Trowbridge Preston Pierpont, my aunt.” Aunt murmured and bobbled. “And this is their daughter, my cousin, Olivia Amelia Preston Pierpont.”
    At this, dignity fell away, and the little girl dashed up to Olivia to seize both her hands and squeal, “Oh, I am glad to meet you! You must miss them so much! Don’t they look well?” She scooped up two of the fluffy flock and pushed them into Olivia’s arms. For a moment, I thought Olivia was going to cry. Until I’d interfered, these creatures had indeed been her beloved pets.
    “I’ve taken most particular care of them,” the princess informed Olivia while grabbing her elbow to sit her down in a chair so she could help hold the squirmy dogs on her lap. “And Peggy’s helped, haven’t you, Peggy?”
    “It’s been my pleasure, Your Highness.” I kept my gaze pointed toward the floor, because Olivia knew full well her dogs and I had never been on speaking terms.
    “I cannot thank Your Highness enough for your kindness to them.” Olivia hugged the two she held. The princess beamed. I was in no way enamored of the now-royal hounds, but I had to admit, they had taken well to palace life. They were fluffier and fatter than ever, with little blue and pink ribbon bows about their necks and tails. Despite these new ornaments, they remained ready to leap to the defense of whoever had fed them last by growling and lunging at every hemline and ruffle that dared move an inch in their presence.
    “As Miss Pierpont misses her dogs so terribly, surely it is time they returned home to her,” said the black-clothed governess. Her name was Lady Portland, and she was quite probably the only person in the palace who felt less affection for the dogs than I did. “We spoke about this matter, did we not, Your Highness?”
    “Oh, but I could not,” said Olivia at once. “I can see how happy they are. It would break their hearts to leave Her Highness now.” She made a good show of meaning it too.
    The princess was picking up each dog in turn and presenting them to Olivia to be praised and kissed and exclaimed over. I glanced at my uncle, and I confess, I let all my triumph show on my face. Aunt