“Yes,” said the large piece of coal which had spoken first. “That is the old song I mean. A fine one it is, to be sure. But what care I how the king spelt his name, or how the person who wrote the song spelt it? My grandfather once lived in a king’s coal-bin in a great palace. That is, he must have. Of course he never told me about it myself for he was burnt before I came around. But one of my grandfathers must have been in a king’s coal-bin and maybe he is still there. Kings must have coal-bins and be kept warm, mustn’t they?