THE KNIGHTS OF KING ARTHUR
By AGNES BARDEN DUSTIN
I HAD come, uninvited, into a hall strange and new. wanted to stay. Light-footed pages were moving here and there, making all ready for some event.
"What event ?" I questioned. Only the high-up clock ticked solemnly in answer. A helmeted figure, clad in armor, came through the guarded gate and laid some command on a willing page. I heard a message, in which "knights" and "conclave" figured, and the helmeted one went out.
I was awake; I was sure of that, and this was the twentieth century. I looked about the hall. At one end rose an elevated throne. A page that instant touched a button and mysterious lights shone through its red draperies, casting a ruddy glow over the steps, where, to my further amazement, I saw sitting a small jester in black and yellow, muttering to himself as if reciting a lesson. The throne was roofed with crossed spears, a sheathed sword leaned against it, on it were carved the words "Arthur Pendragon." Above a banner worked with some unknown device, framed "Castle Joyous Guard." From one and another of the shields on the wall I read emblazoned, "Knights of King Arthur."
I had heard and read much of the modern knights and their thousands of castles throughout the world. So this was one of them. I wanted to stay more than ever. Outside had risen a* tumult, the sound of tramping feet, the clash of arms, shouts of "Joyous guard" and "Camelot" mingled.
"Camelot," I repeated. "Another castle! They have visitors, and so won't pay much attention .to me."