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[Illustration]

THE CHILDREN’S LIBRARY

THE FEATHER




_THE CHILDREN’S LIBRARY._


    THE BROWN OWL.
    A CHINA CUP, AND OTHER STORIES.
    STORIES FROM FAIRYLAND.
    TALES FROM THE MABINOGION.
    THE STORY OF A PUPPET.
    THE LITTLE PRINCESS.
    IRISH FAIRY TALES.
    AN ENCHANTED GARDEN.
    LA BELLE NIVERNAISE.
    THE FEATHER.

    (_Others in the Press._)

[Illustration: “BUT THE EAGLE HAD THE BEST OF IT AFTER ALL.”]




THE FEATHER

    BY
    FORD H. MADOX HUEFFER
    AUTHOR OF ‘THE BROWN OWL’


    _WITH FRONTISPIECE BY
    F. MADOX BROWN_


    LONDON
    T. FISHER UNWIN
    1892

[Illustration]




_TO JULIET_


              ‘_True, I talk of dreams,
    Which are the children of an idle brain,
    Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
    Which is as thin of substance as the air._’




THE FEATHER


ONCE upon a time there was a King who reigned over a country as yet,
for a reason you may learn later on, undiscovered—a most lovely
country, full of green dales and groves of oak, a land of dappled
meadows and sweet rivers, a green cup in a circlet of mountains, in
whose shadow the grass was greenest; and the only road to enter the
country lay up steep, boiling waterfalls, and thereafter through rugged
passes, the channels that the rivers had cut for themselves. Therefore,
as you may imagine, the dwellers in the land were little troubled by
inroads of hostile nations; and they lived peaceful lives, managing
their own affairs, and troubling little about the rest of the world.

Now this King, like many kings before and after him, had a daughter
who, while very young, had, I am sorry to say, been very self-willed;
and the King, on the death of his wife, finding himself utterly unable
to manage the Princess, handed her over to the care of an aged nurse,
who, however, was not much more successful—but that is neither here nor
there.

For years everything went on smoothly, and it seemed as if everything
intended to go on smoothly until doomsday, in which case this history
would probably never have been written. But one evening in summer
the Princess and her nurse, who had by this time become less able
than ever to manage her charge, sat on a terrace facing the west. The
Princess had been amusing herself by pelting the swans swimming in the
river with rose-leaves, which the indignant swans snapped up as they
fluttered down on the air or floated by on the river.

But after a time she began to tire of this pastime, and sitting down,
looked at the sun that was just setting, a blinding glare of orange
flame behind the black hills. Suddenly she turned to the nurse and said:

‘What’s on the other side of the hills?’

‘Lawk-a-mussy-me, miss!’ answered the nurse, ‘I’m sure I don’t know.
What a question to ask!’

‘Then why don’t you ask some one who has been there?’

‘Because no one ever has, miss.’

‘But why not?’

‘Because there’s a fiery serpent that eats every one who comes near
the hills; and if you’re not eaten up, you’re bound to tumble down a
precipice that’s nearly three miles deep, before you can get over the
hills.’

‘Oh, what fun! Let’s go,’ said the Princess, by no means awed. But the
nurse shook her head.

‘No, miss, I won’t go; and I’m sure your pa won’t let you go.’

‘Oh yes, he will; let’s go and ask him.’

But at that moment a black shadow came across the sun, and the swans,
with a terrified ‘honk, honk,’ darted across the water to hide
themselves in the reeds on the other side of the river, churning dark
tracks in the purple of the sunlit water’s glassy calmness.

‘Oh dear! oh dear! it’s a boggles, and it’s coming this way,’ cried the
nurse.

‘But what is a boggles, nurse?’

‘Oh dear, it’s coming! Come into the house and I’ll tell you—come.’

‘Not until you tell me what a boggles is.’

The nurse perforce gave in.

‘A boggles is a thing with a hooked beak and a squeaky voice, with hair
like snakes in corkscrews; and it haunts houses and carries off things;
and when it once gets in it never leaves again—oh dear, it’s on us!
Oh-h-h!’

Her cries only made the thing see them sooner. It was only an eagle,
not a boggles; but it was on the look-out for food, and the sun shining
on the Princess’s hair had caught its eyes, and in spite of the cries
of the nurse it swooped down, and, seizing the Princess in its claws,
began to carry her off. The nurse, however, held on to her valiantly,
screaming all the while for help; but the eagle had the best of it
after all, for it carried up, not only the Princess, but the nurse also.

The nurse held on to her charge for some seconds, but finding the
attempt useless she let go her hold; and since it happened that at the
moment they were over the river, she fell into it with a great splash,
and was drifted on shore by the current.

Thus the Princess was carried off; and although the land far and wide
was searched, no traces of her were discoverable. You may imagine for
yourself what sorrow and rage the King indulged in. He turned the nurse
off without warning, and even, in a paroxysm of rage, kicked one of his
pages downstairs; nevertheless that did not bring back the Princess.

As a last resource he consulted a wise woman (ill-natured people called
her a witch) who lived near the palace. But the witch could only say
that the Princess would return some day, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t
say when, even though the King threatened to burn her. So it was all
of no use, and the King was, and remained, in despair. But, since his
Majesty is not the important personage in the story, we may as well
leave him and return to the Princess.

She, as you can think, was not particularly happy or comfortable,
for the claws of the eagle pinched her, and besides, she was very
frightened; for, you see, she didn’t know that it wasn’t a boggles, as
the nurse had called it, and a boggles is a great deal worse than the
worst eagle ever invented.

Meanwhile the eagle continued flying straight towards the sun, which
was getting lower and lower, so that by the time they reached the
mountains it was dark altogether. But the eagle didn’t seem at all
afraid of the darkness, and just went on flying as if nothing had
happened, until suddenly it let the Princess down on a rock—at least,
that was what it seemed to her to be. Not knowing what else to do, she
sat where the eagle had let her fall, for she remembered something
about the precipice three miles deep, and she did not at all wish to
tumble down that.

She expected that the eagle would set to and make a meal off her at
once. But somehow or other, either it had had enough to eat during the
day, or else did not like to begin to have supper so late for fear of
nightmare; at any rate, it abstained, and that was the most interesting
matter to her. Everything was so quiet around that at last, in spite
of herself, she fell asleep. She slept quite easily until daylight,
although the hardness of the rock was certainly somewhat unpleasant.
When she opened her eyes it was already light, and the sun at her back
was darting black shadows of the jagged mountains on to the shimmering
gray sea of mist that veiled the land below. Her first thought was
naturally of the eagle, and she did not need to look very far for him,
since he was washing himself in a little pool close by, keeping an eye
on her the while.

As soon as he saw her move he gave himself a final shake, so that
the water flew all around, sparkling in the sunlight; after which he
came towards her by hops until he was quite close—rather too close,
she thought. Nevertheless she did not move, having heard somewhere
that, under the circumstances, that is the worst thing to do; she also
remembered animals cannot stand being looked at steadily by the human
eye, therefore she looked very steadfastly at the eyes of the eagle.
But the remedy did not seem to work well in this case, for the glassy
yellow eyes of the bird looked bad-tempered, and it winked angrily,
seeming to say, ‘Whom are you staring at?’ And then it began to stretch
out its bill towards her until it was within a few inches of her face.
This was more than she could stand, and she said sharply, ‘Take your
head away.’

The eagle, however, took no notice whatever of this; and seeing nothing
better to do, she lifted up her hand and gave it a smart box on the
ear, or rather on the place where its ear should have been. The eagle
drew back its beak in a hurry and scratched its head with one claw as
if it were puzzled. After a moment’s reflection it put out its head
again, and once more the Princess lifted up her hand; but when the
eagle saw that it jumped backwards in a hurry, as if it did not care to
receive a second box on the ear, and began to stride sulkily away as if
it thought it better to wait a while. When it reached the edge of the
rock—for I have forgotten to tell you that they were on a flat rock at
the top of a mountain—it sat preening its feathers in a sulky manner,
as if it imagined itself a very ill-used bird; moreover, although it
seemed inclined to remain there a long time, I need not tell you
that the Princess had no objections. However, after a time even the
waiting began to grow unpleasant; but suddenly a peculiar sound, as of
something shooting through the air, came from below, and the eagle gave
a leap and fell down a mass of tumbled feathers with an arrow quivering
in their centre, and, with hardly a shudder, it was dead.

The Princess, as you may imagine, was a good deal startled by this
sudden occurrence, but I cannot say she was very sorry for the eagle;
on the contrary, she was rather glad to be rid of him, and it suddenly
came into her head that the man who had shot the arrow might possibly
be somewhere below, and in that case might come up and save her if she
called to him. So she tried to get up, but she was so stiff that she
could hardly move, and when she did stand up she had pins and needles
in one of her feet, and had to stamp hard on the ground before it would
go away. So that it was some time before she got to the edge and looked
over. Now it happened that, just as she bent carefully forward to look
down the side, the head of a man appeared over the edge, and his hands
were so near her that he almost caught hold of her foot as he put them
up to help himself. As she drew back a little to let him have room, he
suddenly noticed her, and almost let go his hold in astonishment.

‘Hullo, little girl,’ he said; ‘how did you come here? It’s rather
early in the morning for you to be up. But who are you when you’re at
home?’

‘I’m the daughter of King Caret.’

‘King how much?’

‘King Caret, I said; and I should be glad if you would help me down
from this height, and show me the way back.’

‘How on earth can I show you the way back when I don’t know who King
Caret is?’

‘But surely you must know who he is?’

‘Never heard of him. What’s he like, and what’s he king of?’

‘He’s the King of Aoland.’

‘And where’s Aoland?’

‘I don’t know—it’s somewhere over those mountains—the eagle brought me
here, you know.’

‘Ah! the eagle brought you here, did he? It’s a little habit he’s
got; he’s carried off no end of my kids and young sheep, so I suppose
he thought he’d try a change and carry off one of King Turnip—I mean
Caret’s. But if he brought you from over the mountains you won’t get
back in a hurry, I can tell you; you’d have to jump up a precipice
three miles high, and then you’d be eaten by old Kinchof the dragon.’

‘Oh dear! then I shall never get back!’

‘No, I’m afraid you won’t. But don’t begin to cry now—there, there—and
I’ll take you to King Mumkie; he’s the king of this country, you know.’

‘What an awful name—Mumkie!’

‘Yes, it is rather unpleasant, isn’t it? And then, he’s a usurper—he
drove the last king out and made himself king instead. He used to be
a cat’s-meat man, but he got up an army and drove the other off the
throne, and now _he’s_ turned into a gardener—his name’s Abbonamento.’

‘Oh, never mind what his name is, only get me down—I’m awfully hungry;
for you see I’ve been up here all night.’

‘Oh! all right. But I say, how are you going to get down—you can’t
climb, can you?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered; ‘I’ve never tried.’

‘Then you can be sure you can’t. The only thing seems to be for me to
carry you down.’

But the Princess did not seem to relish the idea at all.

‘You might let me drop, you know; it’s rather steep.’ And it was pretty
steep, too—about as steep as the wall of a house, and a good deal
higher than a very high house. However, it seemed to be the only thing
to do, so she let herself be carried down. The man took her on one
arm, and yet seemed to climb down about as easily as if he were going
downstairs. However, the Princess did not notice that, since she kept
her eyes shut hard, for, to tell the truth, she was rather nervous.

But at last they were at the bottom, and he let her down on to the
ground.

‘Now, what are you going to do?’ he said.

‘I don’t know at all. What can I do?’

‘You’d better go and see King Mumkie and ask him what to do.’

‘But he has got such a dreadful name; it sounds as if he was awfully
ugly,’ she said.

‘But he’s not at all; he’s just like me, and I’m sure I’m handsome
enough for any one.’

The Princess looked at him now for the first time; for you see, she
had not noticed him very much while she was on the mountain. But now
she could hardly repress a shudder; for he was awfully ugly. To begin
with, he was big enough for any giant, and then his hair was of a
purple hue, and his eyes of a delicate sea-green that flashed in the
shade like a cat’s; and then his nose was awfully red, and shaped like
a mangel-wurzel; and his teeth, which were long and bright green, shone
in the sun like danger-signals. Altogether he was not prepossessing;
and the Princess could hardly help smiling when he said that the King
was as handsome as himself. However, he went on:

‘My name’s Wopole; I’m King Mumkie’s falconer, and so I can tell you
all about him. Come, let’s go towards the town.’

And as there seemed nothing else to do, she set out with him; but he
walked so fast that she could hardly keep up.

‘How slowly you do walk!’ he grumbled in a bad-tempered manner; ‘can’t
you keep up? Come along, I can’t wait all day.’ And he went on faster
than ever, so that she had to run to keep up with him. Suddenly he
stopped as if he had been shot.

‘Confound it, I’ve forgotten to bring the eagle, and I shall have to
go all the way back and get it. Oh—ouch!’ And he began to howl in such
a dreadful manner that the Princess felt quite relieved when he turned
and ran towards the hill at the top of his speed, howling all the way.

‘What on earth shall I do now?’ thought the Princess. ‘If I wait for
this dreadful giant, goodness knows what may happen, and then his king
has such an unpleasant name; at any rate, I should like some breakfast,
for I’m awfully hungry. I think I’ll go on towards the town, and see if
I can’t find some one who’ll show me the way home.’

So she went on down the lane for some way, until, coming to a place
where a stream went across the path, she knelt down and scooped up a
little water in the palm of her hand and drank it; for, you see, the
sun was very hot now, and the heat made her throat feel quite dry and
parched. When she had finished she went and lay down in the long grass
that bordered the road, for she was rather tired. She intended to wait
till some one came along, only she was quite resolved not to go with
the giant at any rate. So she lay quietly in the shade listening to
the loud humming of the bees and the chirp of a linnet that was pluming
itself, swinging on a bough above her head.

She had not been waiting long before she heard a dreadful noise behind
her coming down the road, and in a few minutes she recognised the voice
of the giant, who seemed to be in a terrible temper. Gradually the
sound of his voice and his footsteps came nearer. The Princess did not
know what to do, for if she tried to run away he would only catch her
up; so she lay perfectly still, hoping he would pass her without seeing
her. And that is just what did happen; for, in a few moments, he came
rushing round the corner shouting out, ‘Stop! stop! will you?’ And as
his eyes were fixed on the road far in advance, of course he did not
notice her, and was soon round another bend in the road. The Princess
noticed that he had the eagle hanging with its claws round his neck,
and the jolting, as he went by, had shaken one of its large tail
feathers out, and as soon as she had got over her fright, she went and
picked it up out of the dusty road.

Just as she picked it up, the clatter of feet running along the road
came to her ears, and for a moment she feared that the giant had
returned; but soon a cow trotted round the bend and stopped at the
stream to drink, presently another, and then a third. Each of them took
a long look at the Princess, and then bent down its head to take a
draught out of the stream. Just then an old man came round the corner,
and when he saw the cows had stopped he called out:

‘Gee on, Lightfoot; now, Daisy; come up, Cherry,’ and the cows gave
their heads a toss, and walked slowly through the stream.

The Princess hurried to one side of the road, for, like many people,
she had an instinctive dread of anything like a cow or a bull.

The old man noticed it and smiled.

‘Oh, you needn’t be afraid, miss, they won’t hurt you,’ he said; but
all the same, she didn’t care to go too near them. ‘They’ve just been
frightened by Wopole, King Mumkie’s falconer,’ he went on. ‘Wopole came
running round the corner suddenly, and almost knocked Lightfoot—that’s
the dun cow—over. He was roaring out “Where is she?” awfully loud. I
pity her when he gets her, whoever she is.’

‘But who is _she_?’ asked the Princess.

‘I don’t know—how should I?’

‘Oh, I only thought you might know. But what will he do with her when
he gets her?’

‘I don’t know; fry her in lard or something—that’s what they generally
do to strangers in the town now.’

‘Oh dear!’ said the Princess; ‘how am I to get away from him?’

The old man looked at her curiously.

‘Oh! you’re her,’ he said.

‘I rather think I am. But how am I to get away?’ she answered.

‘If you’ll come with me I’ll take you to my cottage over there, and
they’ll never think of looking for you there.’

But the Princess did not exactly like the idea.

‘Aren’t you one of these people?’ she asked; ‘because I don’t relish
being fried in lard, or oil, or anything else.’

But the old man shook his head.

‘Good gracious me, no!’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t let them roast the last
stranger that came to the town, and so they turned me out.’

‘Oh,’ said the Princess, ‘then you must be King Abominable.’

‘I am Abbonamento.’

‘Then I suppose I shall be safe with you?’

‘Quite safe, if you like to come; only just help me to drive the cows.’
And the old man called to his animals who were browsing in the grass
at the wayside, and they trudged quietly on till they came to a gate
in the hedge. This they waited for the old man to open for them, and
then went through the meadow until they came to a little farmhouse half
hidden by trees.

‘This is my house,’ the King said. ‘Just wait a moment till I have put
the cows in the byre, and then I’ll come back and let you in; for you
see my wife’s away at the market, and there’s no one else at home.’

So the Princess stopped where she was, and the old man went whistling
round to the back of the house driving his cows before him.

It was a very small house, with the thatched roof coming so low down
that you could touch it almost with your hand, and the windows were
quite overshadowed by it. Over a little arbour of trellis-work before
the door ran a rose-tree of deep red flowers, and the roses were full
of bees that came from the hives arranged on benches under the eaves,
and a few chickens were asleep on one leg under the porch.

In two or three minutes the door opened, and the old man appeared, and
the chickens walked lazily away.

‘I entered by a back door,’ he explained. ‘Come in and make yourself at
home.’

The inside of the house was just as small and homely as the outside,
and the rooms were refreshingly shady and cool after the hot sunlight
without.

‘Sit down,’ said the old man, pointing to an arm-chair; and the
Princess did as she was told.

‘Now,’ said he, ‘if you will tell me where you come from, I will try to
find out how to take you back.’

So she told him all her story, and he listened very attentively. When
she had finished he said:

‘It’s lucky for you that Wopole forgot the eagle, or goodness knows
what would have happened to you; but how you’re to get back I don’t
know. It’s my opinion you never will, for no one was ever known to pass
those mountains safely yet.’

I don’t know what else he would have gone on to say, but by this time
the Princess had begun to cry bitterly.

‘Oh dear me!’ said the old man, ‘what a fool I was to go and tell
her all that. Now goodness knows what’ll happen. Oh dear, oh dear,
Princess, don’t go on weeping like that, or you’ll melt altogether; do
leave off.’

But the Princess did not seem at all inclined to leave off, and she
might have melted altogether, only just then the door opened, and an
old woman with a market-basket on her arm and a big umbrella in her
hand came into the room, but stood transfixed with her eyes and mouth
wide open when she saw the Princess.

‘My! Abbonamento, what’s the little girl crying for? and where does she
come from? and what does it all mean?’

And she picked up her umbrella, which she had dropped, and leaned it
against the table, and put her market-basket on a chair. This she did
very slowly, and all the while the old king was telling her what had
happened, so that by the time she had finished her preparations she
knew nearly as much about it as he did. When he had finished she shook
her head.

‘Poor girl! poor girl! So you come from the land on the other side of
the mountains. I know it.’

The Princess had by this time left off crying, and when she heard the
old lady say ‘I know it’ she said:

    ‘“Kennst du das Land
      Wo die Citronen blühen?”’

But the old lady shook her head.

‘That’s Greek, and I never could understand Greek. If it had been
German or French now—but just translate it for me, will you?’

So the Princess translated it for her.

    ‘“Knowest thou the land where blooms the lemon-flower?”’

But the old lady shook her head.

‘I don’t know so much about the lemon-flower; but my grand-aunt
Thompson had a sister whose daughter had a servant who’d seen the
dragon eat up the last man that ever tried to cross the mountains.’

‘But I don’t see how that is to help me to get back—do you?’

‘No, I don’t exactly; but perhaps something will turn up to help you.
Won’t it, Abbonamento?’

Abbonamento nodded.

‘But what shall I do in the meanwhile?’ said the Princess; ‘for, you
see, I don’t want to be fried in lard, as you say the townsmen are in
the habit of doing.’

‘You’d better stop with us,’ said Abbonamento. ‘Eh, wife, what do you
say?’

And his wife said:

‘Oh yes, certainly; it’s the only thing to do. Do stop.’

‘Well, I suppose I must,’ said the Princess. ‘Only, shan’t I be rather
in the way?’

But the King answered:

‘Oh, not at all, quite the other way. You’ll be very useful. You can
milk the cows, and pluck the fowls, and feed the pigs, and all sorts of
things.’

‘But what will the people of the town say if they see me?’ asked the
Princess.

‘The people of the town—oh, they never come near me, although they are
glad to buy butter and milk and eggs of me in the market. They think
it seems grand to say they buy their things of a king; but they never
trouble about me at all except for that.’

Just at this moment the old lady, thinking it her turn to say
something, said:

‘By the bye, you have not told us your name yet.’

‘Would you like it in full, or only what I’m generally called?’ asked
the Princess.

‘Oh, say it in full, unless you’ve any objection.’

‘Well, you see, it’s rather long; it generally takes about a quarter of
an hour to say, only if you want it particularly I’ll tell you.’

But the Queen answered:

‘Ah! well, perhaps we’ll wait for a time, until we’ve got leisure to
listen to it. Meanwhile you might tell us what the short of it is.’

‘They generally call me the Princess Ernalie. Now you might tell me
your name, if you don’t mind.’

‘They generally call me Queen Araminta. If you like, and are not too
tired, I’ll show you the farm, and then we’ll have dinner.’

So the Princess went through the yard to the cows’ byre, and from the
stalls to the pig-sties, and from the sties to the poultry-run, and
thence to the orchard, and from the orchard to the flower-garden, and
after that home again.

So it was arranged that the Princess Ernalie was to stop with the King
and Queen until something should turn up. But nothing ever did turn up,
and the days lengthened into months, and the months into years, and
still she stayed with the old couple; and as time went on she seemed
to do almost all the work of the farm, for the old King and Queen were
beginning to get too old and weak for hard work. And gradually she
began to forget about her native land, and it seemed as if the farm
were to be her home for ever. And every year she grew taller and more
beautiful; but that’s a habit that princesses have pretty often. So
five years passed quietly away, and nothing seemed likely to disturb
the peace of the household.

Every morning regularly she got up at five o’clock to drive the cows
to the pasture, and then she fed the poultry, and, if it happened to
be a Thursday or Saturday, she went with the Queen to take the butter
and eggs to market; besides which she had to milk the cows and cook the
dinner, and all sorts of things, so that she was gradually turning into
a simple country maid.

During all the five years no one from the town ever came near the
house, and so you may imagine how surprised she was one morning when
she got up and opened her bedroom window to see a man coming across the
clover-field towards the house. She watched him come right up to the
door, and then, when she heard him knock, ran down to tell the King and
Queen that a man was knocking at the door.

‘Who on earth can it be?’ asked Abbonamento.

‘It’s not the tax-collector, is it?’ asked Araminta.

‘Oh no, it’s not him; he’s an old man, and this one is quite young,’
answered the Princess.

‘Nor the water-man?’

‘No, it’s not him either. There he is knocking again.’

Indeed, the knocking was becoming quite furious.

‘He’s a very impatient young man, whoever he is,’ said Abbonamento.
‘You’d better go and tell him not to make such a noise. Let him in—be
quick, or he’ll knock the door down!’

And it seemed so likely, that Ernalie ran down as fast as she could and
opened the door.

‘Why can’t you open the door faster?’ said an angry voice; and then
Ernalie saw a young man looking at her in a state of great surprise.
‘Why, who are you?’ he asked. ‘Is this not the house of their Majesties
King Abbonamento and Queen Araminta?’

‘They used to be King and Queen at one time,’ answered Ernalie.

‘They ought to be now,’ said the young man with a frown.

‘That’s quite another thing,’ retorted Ernalie.

‘Oh, is it?’ said he, with a smile this time. ‘But who on earth are
you, if I may ask?’

‘I am Her Royal Highness Princess Ernalie of Aoland; and who on earth
are you, if I may ask?’

‘I am Prince Treblo of this country,’ answered he.

‘I suppose you are the son of King Mumkie, then?’ said she.

‘Good gracious, no!’ said the Prince.

The Princess was just about to say, ‘Then whose son are you?’ when the
old King burst into the room. He had evidently got up in a hurry, and
he was only attired in his flowered dressing-gown.

‘My long-lost chee-yld!’ he exclaimed, as he threw himself into the
stranger’s arms. ‘Araminta! Araminta! come along, it’s Treblo.’

And the Queen came rushing down in haste, as you may imagine. Over the
rest of this affecting scene we will draw a curtain—that’s what they
generally do with affecting scenes—in books, at least.

The Princess Ernalie easily perceived that she was a little—as the
French say—_de trop_; that is, finding that ‘three was company and four
none.’ So she left the room and went upstairs to comb her hair and wash
her face and hands, and make herself look smart generally; for she
thought that would be only right on the day on which the eldest son of
the house came home—especially as he was very handsome.

Now it happened that as she was bending down to pick up her best shoes
from under her toilet-table, one of them had gone a little far back,
and as she drew it out she noticed that something lay behind the
shoe, and she drew that out too. You may perhaps remember that she
had picked up out of the road an eagle’s feather which Wopole had let
fall as he hurried by with the eagle on his back. Well, then, it was
this feather that she now drew out from under the toilet-table. It had
lain there since she had first entered the room five years ago. Now
this doesn’t say much for the cleanliness of the floors, but in those
unsophisticated days they never thought of sweeping any hidden spot in
the floor. This habit, curiously enough, survives even now among some
people. However, to return to the Princess Ernalie.

When she picked up the feather she stood upright again and examined it
carefully.

‘Why, how nice,’ she said. ‘It’s the old eagle’s feather. Now that’ll
come in handy; my hat rather wanted a new feather, and it’ll just suit
the colour of my hair and eyes.’

So she went to the looking-glass and held the feather close against her
hair. But to her astonishment nothing was to be seen in the glass—not a
vestige of herself; it seemed as if she had vanished altogether.

‘Why, what’s the matter with the glass?’ she said. ‘Something seems to
have gone wrong with it.’ So she put the feather on the table and went
to rub the glass, but when she looked at it she was there all right
again.

‘That’s queer,’ she thought; ‘I can’t have been right in front of the
glass.’ So she took up the feather and went in front of the glass.
This time she saw herself very well, but as soon as the feather touched
her hair she vanished just as before.

‘Good gracious!’ she said; ‘what is the matter with the glass?’ So she
tried again, and the result was always the same—whenever the feather
touched her hair she vanished. ‘It must be something the matter with
the feather.’ So she examined it quite closely, and she found rolled
round the quill end of it a small piece of paper on which was written:

‘Guard well the feather, for whoso toucheth his hair therewith—though
he be but feather-brained—shall be invisible, yet shall he see all.’

Ernalie read it over once or twice from beginning to end.

‘The writing says “his” hair; but it seems to act just as well with
“her” hair—that is, my hair. What fun I shall have now. I think I’ll
try it on at once on the King. But then, it might frighten him. No,
I’ll wait, and try it on Treblo; and that reminds me I think that
they’ve had enough of it all to themselves now. I’ll go and see if I
can do anything for them.’ So she locked the feather up in one of the
drawers, and then, putting on her shoes, went downstairs.

Now it happened that just as she had almost reached the bottom step her
heel came out of her shoe, and as she stopped to put it firmly on again
she heard the voice of the stranger saying:

‘By the bye, mother, who was that girl who opened the door to me?’

‘Oh! that’s Ernalie,’ answered the Queen’s voice.

(It seemed as if the shoe took some time to get on again.)

‘So she told me; but who is Ernalie?’ he asked again.

‘Oh! you’d better get her to tell you that too when she comes down.
Well, what do you think of her?’

‘Oh, she’s—she’s just lovely,’ answered he.

(‘Listeners never hear any good of themselves,’ thought the Princess.
However, the shoe had come on just at that moment, and she entered the
room.)

‘Speak of the—ahem!’ the King was just saying, when the Prince
interrupted him.

‘“Speak of angels, and you hear the rustling of their wings,” you
mean,’ he said.

‘Thank you for the compliment, if it was meant for me,’ said the
Princess.

‘Oh! don’t mention it—it’s nothing when you’re used to it,’ said
Treblo, who, to tell the truth, seemed rather confused.

‘And are you used to calling young ladies angels?’ said his father
sharply. ‘I suppose it’s some of the foreign manners you’ve learnt.’

‘Suppose we change the subject,’ retorted his son, and the subject was
changed.

Ernalie retired again. She wanted to look after the dinner, so that
it might not be late, and so nothing else in particular happened, for
Treblo went round the farm with his father, and Araminta went into the
kitchen to help Ernalie with the dinner. When the goose was turning on
the spit, and the apple-tart had been put into the oven, the Princess
had time to ask some questions about Treblo, and the Queen told her
that he had been sent out of the way by Mumkie, in order that he might
not attempt to put his father on the throne again; but after seven
years he had come back safe, having had all sorts of adventures, and he
now felt quite confident that he would be able to restore his father,
for he was very popular with the army that had just returned from the
war, and as to the people of the town, they cared very little who was
king—in fact, they rather preferred Abbonamento to Mumkie. So Araminta
was quite cheerful over it, for she much preferred living in a palace
to living in a cottage.

Things went merrily through the day, and at dinner-time they drank the
health of the King and Queen of the country, and altogether they seemed
very happy. After dinner the King composed himself for his afternoon
nap, and the Queen took down a volume of sermons and began to read.
Ernalie went out to milk the cows and take the eggs from the hens’
nests. As to the Prince, he said he was going out to take a walk.

Before going out the Princess slipped up to her room, and took the
eagle’s feather from the drawer where she had locked it up. She
intended to try if she were invisible to the cows and poultry. So she
put it in her sunbonnet and went out. It really seemed as if it was
quite correct about the feather, for as soon as she got out of the door
a bee ran right against her, and then a sparrow that was chirping on
a rail allowed her to catch hold of it before it took any notice of
her approach. However, she let it go, and it flew away, looking very
astonished indeed, as you may imagine.

She reached the pasture, and opened the gate, calling to the cows:

‘Daisy, Daisy; come, Lightfoot; Cherry, come!’

The cows looked up from the ground, and came towards the gate, looking
very astonished indeed; but when they got quite close and saw no one
they stopped, and however much she called them they refused to move.

‘This will never do,’ she said; ‘I must really let them see me, or they
won’t come.’

So she took the feather from her bonnet, and called again. This time
the cows seemed quite ready to come, and they trotted along to the gate
and crowded round her to be stroked. So she shut the gate again and
told the cows to go on—for they understood her quite well—and then
she went on after them. When they got to the dairy she milked them one
after the other as they came in their regular order to the stool. She
was milking the last one—Cherry, the best of them all—and she leaned
her face against its side, and listened to the ‘thud, thud,’ of the
milk as it streamed into the pail with a foam like the sea in a rage.
She was in fact almost lulled to sleep by it, when she was startled
by a voice behind her. It was so sudden that she almost upset the
milk-pail in her fright.

‘It seems to be easy work milking,’ said the voice, and she looked
round and saw it was the Prince, who had come quietly up behind, and
was leaning over the fence at her back, looking on lazily at her.

‘Oh! how you startled me, Prince,’ she said.

‘Did I?’ he answered. ‘I am very sorry for that; but you needn’t call
me Prince yet. I’m not a Prince, you see, and then you’re the adopted
daughter of my parents, so you ought to call me your brother.’

‘Oh, really!’ said she. ‘However, you soon will be a Prince, and then I
shan’t be able to call you brother, shall I?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you will be a Prince, and I am only a dairymaid.’

‘But you’re a Princess, aren’t you?’ he asked.

‘I was a Princess once,’ she said, with a sigh; ‘but——’

‘You shall be again,’ he said.

‘But how do you know?’ she asked.

‘I know—oh, well, let’s change the subject. As I said before, it seems
to be easy work milking. You might let me try?’

But she said:

‘It wouldn’t be any good. Cherry wouldn’t let any one but me touch
her. Besides, I’ve just done, and I’m going to carry the pails to the
house.’

‘Let me carry them for you?’ he said quickly.

‘Oh, thanks; if you’ll take two, I’ll take the other two, and thus we
shall do it all in one journey,’ she answered.

So he did as he was told, and the pails were put safely in the house.

‘Now I must go and get the eggs,’ she said.

‘Can I be of any use?’ asked the Prince.

But she answered:

‘Oh no, there’s nothing for you to do, thanks.’

But he went with her all the same. I suppose he thought he might be of
some use. So she let him hold the basket for her, and the eggs were
also put safely in the house. Just, however, as he had put them down,
a shrill whistle sounded twice from behind the garden hedge, and the
Prince said:

‘Oh, that’s a friend of mine. You must excuse me for a few moments,’
and he went towards the hedge.

‘I wonder who his friend is,’ she said to herself. ‘I think I’ll put
the feather on again and go after them. It would be a good way of
trying my feather on men.’

So she took the feather out of her pocket again, and put it in her
bonnet, and then ran after him. He had got over the fence some time
before she reached it, but he was still in sight on the other side, and
with him his friend was walking. He seemed to be a soldier, so far as
she knew. They were talking very earnestly; but, from where she was,
she was not able to hear what they said. So she too got over the fence,
and went towards them; but she reached them rather too late to hear
anything much that they did say. What she did hear was this, from the
soldier:

‘Then you will come to-night at half-past twelve?’

‘Yes,’ answered the Prince.

‘We’ll have everything ready, and it will be easily done. If I were you
I wouldn’t tell the King or Queen, it would only make them nervous, and
we’re sure to succeed.’

‘Very well,’ said Treblo; ‘at half-past twelve.’

(‘Half-past twelve,’ thought the Princess; ‘what on earth is he going
to do at that time of night? It sounds funny. I think I’ll go with him
to look after him.’ For, you see, Ernalie was rather inquisitive, as
you may have found out by this time.)

So the soldier went one way, and Treblo went back to the house
whistling ‘When the king shall enjoy his own again.’

But the Princess ran on in front of him and reached the house first,
so that by the time he was there she had taken the feather out of her
bonnet and was quite visible again.

He came in quite naturally, as if nothing had happened, and the rest of
the day went off quietly enough.

They went very early to bed at the farm, and the house was quiet by
half-past eight.

Just before they went to bed Ernalie asked the Prince:

‘Do you like walking at night much?’

‘It depends upon the night very much,’ he answered.

‘Such a night as this, for instance,’ said she.

‘Oh yes—“a moonlight night for a ramble,” don’t you know?’ he said,
laughing.

‘About half-past twelve, I suppose.’

The Prince looked astonished and shocked.

‘Half-past twelve!’ he said, with his eyes wide open; ‘why, I’m never
out after eight. My mother says the night air’s not good for me.’

‘Oh, is that it?’ said the Princess. ‘However, I’m tired; good-night.’
And she went to her room and lay down on her bed with all her clothes
on. It was rather hard work keeping awake for such a time, but at last
she heard the kitchen clock strike twelve, and she knew it was twenty
past. So she got up as quietly as possible and put on the feather, for,
you see, she didn’t want any one to see her. It seemed very ghostly
getting up so late at night, and although she stepped very lightly,
the stairs creaked loudly. She went into the sitting-room and sat on
a chair waiting for the Prince to come down. She had to wait close on
half an hour; for, you see, the Prince had heard the clock strike too,
but didn’t know it was twenty minutes slow. However, at last he came
downstairs holding the candle in his hand. He hadn’t put his boots on
for fear of waking any one, and so he, too, sat down on a chair to put
them on. This was rather unpleasant for the Princess, for of course she
had to keep as quiet as a mouse for fear of making him suspicious; for,
you see, it was so quiet that the least breath she took could be heard.
At last the putting on of his boots was finished, and he stood up,
saying to himself out loud, ‘Now, where’s my hat?’ and then he looked
straight at the Princess and said, ‘Ah, there it is,’ and he began to
walk towards her.

‘What can he want?’ thought the Princess; and then she looked down at
the chair—for, you see, she could see right through herself—and she
discovered she was sitting on his hat. By this time he was quite close
to her and bending down to pick his hat up, so she jumped sideways off
the chair as fast as she could; but even then, as he put his hand out,
he caught hold of hers, which had not time to get out of the way. As
soon as his hand closed on it, however, he let go as if it had stung
him.

‘Good gracious! what is that?’ he said in astonishment. And he did look
so funny that she had hard work to keep from laughing at him. However,
he calmed down in a minute, and again tried to take up his hat. This
time you may be sure that the Princess’s hand was no longer there, for
she had taken herself and it over to the other side of the table. So he
took up the hat and looked at it.

‘Looks as if it had been sat on,’ he muttered. ‘Just like ’em; people
always do sit on my hat if they can.’ However, he pushed it out
straight again and looked at his boots to see if the laces were quite
tight; and then he blew the light out, seeming, by the noise he was
making, to be trying to get out of the door. When she heard him in the
passage she thought it was about time to follow him. So she tried to
do it, making as little noise as possible; but although she did try
very hard she did not succeed very well, for she fell right over a
chair and made noise enough to be heard all over the house.

‘What on earth’s that?’ she heard the Prince ask, and then he lit a
match to look. But he didn’t see anything, and the light allowed the
Princess to get quite close to him without upsetting anything more, and
he opened the door, letting the moonlight shine in clear and white.
While he was standing at the door she managed to slip past him into the
open air, and there she waited for him. He wasn’t very long coming, and
then she followed him down the garden, keeping to the grassy edge, and
not walking on the path for fear of the noise that her feet would make
on the gravel. They reached the field and then the road, and the Prince
was joined by the other man whom the Princess had seen before. This
man—whom, by the bye, the Prince called Ablot—was dressed in complete
armour, and he carried another suit, which the Prince proceeded to put
on.

(‘This begins to look exciting,’ thought Ernalie. ‘Perhaps he’s a
highwayman, or a footpad—anyhow, I mean to keep up with them.’)

So she walked on faster, for she had fallen a little behind. When she
got up with them she heard the Prince say:

‘Well, we’ll surround the Palace, take Mumkie prisoner, and turn him
into the market-gardener; and then we’ll proclaim it to the rest of the
citizens that my father and mother are King and Queen once more, and if
they won’t give in—so much the worse for them. The soldiers are all on
my side.’

The other answered:

‘Oh, but they’ll give in without the soldiers. They’re not at all fond
of Mumkie. He has made himself very unpopular of late. You see, he put
a farthing on the income tax, and he’s raised the price of everything
that begins with “S,” like “sausages” and “sealing-wax” and “soap” and
“sewing-machines.” Now your father only raised the price of things that
begin with “Z,” and there aren’t many “Z’s,” you know; there’s “zebras”
and “zeal,” and you can’t make much out of selling zeal.’

(‘Ah, that’s what you’re up to!’ thought the Princess. ‘We ought to
have some fun then.’)

However, they were walking too fast for her to think much. All she
could do was to keep up, and that she did to the best of her power,
until at last they reached the middle of the town, where the King’s
Palace stood. Here they halted to take counsel.

‘You wait here while I go and fetch the men,’ said Ablot, and as
the Prince made no objection, he went and left him standing in the
moonlit square. As Ablot seemed gone rather a long time, the Princess
thought she would have a little fun, and going close to the Prince she
whispered in his ear:

‘Does your mother know you’re out?’

The Prince turned round once or twice, as if to assure himself that
there was no one hiding behind his back; but as he could see no one, he
simply said:

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘That’s very good of you; but I thought you were never allowed out
after half-past eight o’clock. I heard you tell Ernalie so this
evening. I’m afraid you told a fib.’

The Prince looked very astonished.

‘Who or what are you?’ he asked.

‘Never you mind. I’ve a good mind not to let you succeed this evening,
because you deceive not only your old mother who is asleep at home,
but you have also told a fib to that innocent girl, of whom I’m very
fond.’ (‘That’s quite true,’ thought the Princess. ‘I’m very fond of
myself.’ And so she was.)

The Prince looked astonished.

‘How on earth could you know that?’ he said.

‘I heard it, I tell you.’

‘But there was no one in the room except the Princess and myself.’

‘All the same, I heard every word you said, and, what’s more, I shall
hear every word you ever say to her,’ answered the Princess.

‘Well, then, you’ll be a great nuisance,’ said the Prince angrily.

‘Very well, I’ll tell the Princess all that you say, and I’ve a good
mind not to let you succeed, as I’ve said before.’

‘Then you’ll do the Princess a great deal of harm if you do.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s—she’s——’ he began.

‘She’s what?’ asked the voice.

‘Oh, well, never mind.’

‘But I do mind,’ said the voice.

‘“She’s all that fancy painted!” if you want to know so much,’ said the
Prince.

‘But I don’t see how that’ll make any difference to her in case you
should succeed,’ said the voice.

‘You’re uncommonly dull if you don’t see it,’ said the Prince, who was
beginning to feel bad-tempered over being cross-questioned thus.

‘Don’t be rude, or you shan’t succeed,’ said the voice.

‘If I don’t succeed the Princess will never become Queen of the
kingdom.’

‘How can she become Queen of the _king_dom?—it would have to be a
_queen_dom. And I don’t see, if you do succeed, how she is to become
Queen!’

‘As I’ve said before,’ said the Prince, ‘you’re excessively dull if you
don’t see.’

‘I shall tell her what you said.’

‘Oh, do anything you like, only leave me alone, do,’ said the Prince,
who by this time was quite in a temper.

So she let him alone, and made no answer when he wanted her to talk
again. However, in a few minutes Ablot came into the square, followed
by a large number of men, whom she heard him command to surround the
Palace, which they accordingly did; and then, choosing five men, he and
the Prince entered the Palace, Ernalie following them, for she didn’t
know exactly what else to do. The first of the Palace guards they came
to was fast asleep, and they did not molest him; but the second one was
awake, and so was the third one. These two made some resistance, but
they were soon knocked down and bound; but that was not much good, for
they made such a noise that they would soon have brought the household
about their ears, only it happened to be Saturday and all the servants
were having a half holiday, and the only effect of the shouting was to
bring King Mumkie out on to the landing. He had been sitting up to let
the servants in when they came home, and he was in rather a bad temper.

‘What the deuce are you making such a noise for?’ he shouted to the
guards.

But as the guards had been gagged by this time, they could only gurgle
hopelessly.

‘Why don’t you answer?’ roared the King. But the guards made no reply,
and the King came running down to see what was the matter. He was
holding a candlestick above his head, and the light that fell on his
face showed that he was in a very great rage indeed. When he saw the
Prince in the hall he stopped, and said:

‘What do you want making this unearthly row at this time of night?
Every one’s in bed, and I shall catch my death of cold coming down in
my dressing-gown into this cold hall. Now, just go off—do, and leave me
alone.’

‘I shall not,’ answered the Prince.

‘Why not? What do you want at this time of night?’

‘I want the throne!’

‘Then you can’t have it; it’s a reserved seat, and I’ve taken it
already.’

‘But what right have you to it?’

‘I’m the sovereign,’ said Mumkie.

‘You’re a false coin then—you’re not _half_ a sovereign!’

‘I’m quite as good as the last sovereign. He’s lost the crown, so he’s
only worth fifteen shillings.’

‘Well, fifteen shillings is three crowns, and you haven’t got one.’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Well, then, you won’t have it long.’

‘I shall have it to the end of my life.’

‘Not if I can help it,’ retorted the Prince.

‘But you can’t help it.’

‘Why not, pray?’

‘Well, you can’t, unless you scalp me,—it’s the crown of my head I
mean.’

‘Well, then, I’ll have your head cut off.’

‘I shall die then, so I shall keep the crown until I die. Besides, I
shall have your head cut off instead, for I’ll call out the soldiers.’

‘That’s no good. They’re all on my side,’ answered the Prince.

‘Then it’s all up with me. As Julius Cæsar says—let’s see, what did he
say, now?—ah yes!’ and he began to roar ‘A horse! a horse! my kingdom
for a horse!’

‘You’ll make _yourself_ hoarse if you go on roaring like that. Besides,
your share of the kingdom isn’t worth a horse—it’s not even worth a
horse-chestnut.’

‘That’s rather old,’ said the King. ‘However, what are you going to do
with me?’

‘I’m going to turn you into what you wanted to turn my father into. You
shall have his cottage and all the live-stock and implements thereto
appertaining.’

‘What does that mean?’ asked the astonished Mumkie.

‘Oh, find out,’ said the Prince. And he found out eventually.

The Prince now gave orders that he should be taken to the coal-cellar
and locked in there for fear of escape. And so the poor old man was led
off, muttering to himself, ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’

But the Prince answered:

‘Well, you needn’t talk; your head doesn’t wear a crown.’ And from that
time forth it didn’t.

While this was being done, the Princess had noticed that a man had been
stealing round the corner. He was standing close beside her now, and
he seemed quite unconscious of her presence. The Princess looked at him.

‘He must be one of the five they brought in with them,’ she said to
herself. So she counted; but to her astonishment she found there were
six of them—with him.

‘He must be some one belonging to the Palace,’ she thought, ‘and he may
be up to some mischief.’ So she watched him closely. It was evident
that the rest thought he was one of themselves, for they took no notice
of him in particular.

The man, however, seemed quite innocent; but the Princess noticed that
he was fingering a pistol that he had in his belt in a most suspicious
way. So she kept quite close to him while they descended the stairs to
the cellars. And she was right; for, in the twinkling of a bed-post, he
drew the pistol from his belt and aimed straight towards the Prince.
But before he could draw the trigger, she lifted up her hand and gave
him such a box on the ear that, in his astonishment and pain, he
dropped the pistol altogether, and it exploded harmlessly. As for the
man, he was so astonished that he sat down on the floor with his mouth
and eyes wide open, looking like an expiring frog.

At the report of his pistol every one turned, and Ablot noticed him for
the first time.

‘Why, who are you?’ he said.

But the man only gasped.

‘Who is he?’ asked the Prince of the men.

‘We thought he was one of us,’ they all answered in astonishment.

‘Who are you?’ asked the Prince.

But he only gasped on in silence.

‘Stick a pin into him, and see if that will bring him to.’ And a man
was just going to do it when he said, in a gruff voice:

‘Don’t; I’m Wopole.’

‘Oh, you’re Wopole. And who’s he?’ asked the Prince.

‘I used to be the falconer of the late tyrant, now sojourning in the
coal-hole there.’

‘Oh! and so you tried to shoot me?’

‘Not at all, your Majesty. I was only firing a royal salute to show my
joy at your ascent to the throne.’

‘That’s not true,’ said the voice of the Princess, so suddenly that
every one started and the falconer collapsed again.

‘I’ve a good mind to have your head cut off,’ said the Prince, who by
this time had grown used to the voice. ‘However, I’ll just put you in
the coal-hole along with your late master.’

Wopole having been accordingly put into the hole, everything seemed
quiet; and as it was getting late, the Princess thought she would leave
them. She therefore returned as fast as she could, and getting into
bed slept soundly till morning.

She did not awake until long after her usual hour, for you see she was
not used to being out so late, and she was only roused in the morning
by the Queen knocking at the door.

‘Ernalie! Ernalie!’ she called; ‘get up. It’s half-past seven. You
ought to have been up this two hours.’

She got up as fast as she could; and when she had laid the table, the
King and Queen came down.

‘I wish you’d knock at Treblo’s door and tell him we’re waiting
breakfast for him,’ the Queen said to Ernalie, and she accordingly
went; but she couldn’t get any answer, and she went downstairs once
more and told them he seemed to be out.

‘Where can he be?’ asked the King.

‘I rather think he’s gone out for a walk,’ suggested the Princess.

‘It’s funny; he usedn’t to be fond of getting up so early. Just go to
the door and see if he is coming across the fields.’

Ernalie obediently went to the door, and shading her eyes from the
glare of the sun, looked over the fields towards the road.

She came back quickly.

‘I can’t see him,’ she said; ‘but there’s a whole lot of people coming
across the field.’

The King looked vexedly astonished.

‘What on earth do they want?’ he said. ‘It must be some fresh trick of
Mumkie for bothering me.’

However, by this time the people had reached the garden gate, and they
could hear a man’s step on the gravel-walk. It stopped at the door, and
a knock was heard.

‘Come in,’ cried the King; and the man entered, bowing profoundly.

When the King saw who it was he looked surprised, and said:

‘Why, Lord Corax, what do you want with me?’

‘I have come to receive your Majesty’s orders,’ said the man in a
singularly hoarse voice.

The King looked still more astonished.

‘My orders! What _do_ you mean?’

‘I mean your Majesty’s orders for the management of affairs,’ said the
man, with a still deeper obeisance.

A light broke on the King’s face.

‘Oh! that’s what you mean, is it?’ he said.

‘It is, your Majesty,’ answered the courtier, bowing once more.

‘It strikes me you’re rather late in the day coming here, aren’t you?’
asked his Majesty.

The courtier pulled out a large watch.

‘It is, I believe, at the present moment thirty-five and a half
minutes after eight A.M., your Majesty. At eight precisely I received
orders from your Majesty’s son to come hither, bringing with me your
Majesty’s coach and guard of honour. Likewise a person, by name Mumkie,
who is for the future to inhabit this cottage, and to enjoy the
privilege of using for his own purposes all the live stock—sheep, oxen,
kine, sows, pigs, cocks, hens——’

Here the King interrupted him.

‘That is enough. Tell them to get the carriage ready for three, and
send Mumkie to me.’

‘Just so, your Majesty,’ said the courtier, and departed on his errand.

When he had gone the King said to the Queen and Ernalie:

‘Now, my dears, run up and put on your best things, and, Araminta, just
see if our crowns are _very_ tarnished. We ought to make our triumphal
entry in state, for we are reinstated. And, by the bye, see if you’ve
got an old coronet of Treblo’s that will fit Ernalie.’

‘What for, your Majesty?’ asked Ernalie in surprise.

‘For you to wear, of course,’ said the King.

‘But what do I want with a crown? I have to stop here with Mumkie—I’m
part of the live stock.’

‘Good gracious! what do you mean?’ said the King and Queen together.

‘Well, you see, the agreement between your son and Mumkie was that
Mumkie should have _all_ the live stock of the farm, and as I’m alive I
suppose I’m part of the live stock.’

‘I suppose you are,’ said the King.

Just at that moment a voice was heard outside, saying:

‘May I come in?’

‘Oh yes, come in,’ said the King.

And Mumkie entered, looking very dirty and black with coal-dust, for,
you see, he had spent the night in the coal-cellar. They were all very
much surprised, and naturally too, and the King remarked:

‘Good-morning! _Have_ you washed?’

Mumkie shook his head.

‘I’ve been watched—only it’s not quite the same thing, your Majesty.’

‘Well, never mind. So there’s been a revolt, has there?’

‘A revolution, sire,’ answered Mumkie.

‘Ah, well, it’s all the same. They manage these things quickly here. By
the bye, what was the arrangement that my son made about this house?’

‘He said I was to have the house and all the live stock.’

‘_All_ the live stock?’ said the King.

‘All, your Majesty.’

‘Then I’m afraid it’s all up with you, Ernalie!’

‘I’m afraid it is, your Majesty, unless your Majesty would buy me from
this gentleman.’

‘Good idea! What’ll you take for her, Mumkie?’

Mumkie looked at her critically.

‘What’s your weight?’ he said to her suddenly.

‘I don’t exactly see what that has to do with it.’

‘Well, I suppose you’re good, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, very good,’ said the Princess.

‘She’s as good as gold,’ said the Queen.

‘Just so,’ said Mumkie. ‘That’s why I wanted to know her weight. You
see, I’ll sell her to you for her weight in gold.’

The King put his hand in his pocket, and drew out his purse and looked
into it.

‘Will you take threepence-farthing on account?’ he said.

But Mumkie shook his head.

‘We only take ready money here, or pay on delivery.’

‘Then I suppose the only thing to do is to go to the Palace and fetch
the money. Good-bye till then, Ernalie.’

So Ernalie kissed the King and Queen, and watched them go down the
garden walk to the carriage, and saw them get in. The guard of honour
fired a royal salute, and they drove off at a gallop. But Ernalie
turned back into the house where Mumkie was awaiting her.

‘I’ve got a friend coming here to-day, shortly, and I don’t want to
have our conversation overheard, so when he comes you cut your stick.
Go and perform some wholesome menial function—clean the plates.
Understand? And don’t you listen at the door, miss.’

‘I am not in the habit of listening at doors, and you’d better call me
“your Royal Highness,” if you please.’

‘And why, your Royal Highness?’

‘Because I’m a Princess.’

‘Oh, you are! Then, I suppose, you’re a foreigner? And they have a
custom here with foreigners of boiling them alive. How would you like
that, your Royal Highness?’

‘You daren’t do it,’ said the Princess; but all the same she felt
rather frightened. Just then a knock came at the door.

‘That’s Wopole,’ said Mumkie, ‘so your Royal Highness may take yourself
off, and if I catch you listening at the door I’ll skin you alive.’

‘I never listen at doors,’ said the Princess. But she thought to
herself: ‘I listen inside the room sometimes, though.’ And she ran
upstairs to fetch her feather. She got it very quickly, and ran
downstairs as lightly as possible. They had shut the door of the room,
but she opened it boldly, and stepped in as quietly as she could.
Mumkie looked up, as if he expected to see some one come in; but of
course he did not.

‘It’s the wind, I suppose,’ said Wopole. ‘Anyhow, you’d better shut it.
Some one might be listening.’

So Mumkie got up and shut it, and then went back to his seat again.

‘You say you can’t try to murder this Prince again?’ he said.

Wopole shook his head.

‘It’s no good. I tried last night, and I got such a box on my ear that
I was half killed.’

‘But who gave it to you?’

‘How on earth should I know? I could see nobody. Just as I was raising
the pistol to shoot—bang! it came. I wouldn’t try it again for
anything.’

‘What a nuisance it is that you let that feather fall out of the
eagle’s tail. You could have done it easily then. As it is, I don’t
know what to do. You won’t try again, and I’m too old, and no one else
in the country would hurt him for love or money. There’s only one other
thing to do, and it’s not an easy task, anyway.’

‘Oh, never mind the ease or difficulty. If it’s possible to be done,
I’ll do it.’

‘Then I’ll tell you. You’ll have to cut his thread of life.’

‘Really, and what with?’

‘Oh, anything you like. The trouble is to get to the place where
they’re kept.’

‘Oh! and where is that?’

‘They’re kept by three old women who live in the moon. They’re called
the Fates.’

‘And how am I to get to the moon?’

‘That’s just it. You’ll have to take a boat one evening at six, and if
you sail straight towards the moon while she is visible, and anchor
when she is out of sight, in three weeks and two days you will reach
the end of the sea, where the moon touches at night, and then you can
get out of the boat; and take care to haul it up out of reach of the
sea, or else it’ll be carried off, and you won’t be able to get back
to the earth again.’

‘And when I’ve got to the moon what am I to do?’

‘The moon’s not a very large place, although it’s certainly larger
than it looks from the earth. There are five people who live in the
moon. One is the man in the moon, the rest are all women; these are
three Fates, who sit twisting the threads of life into one large rope,
and besides that there’s Diana; but she keeps to herself, and never
troubles about the other four. When you touch the shore you’ll see
the man in the moon. He’s a wrinkled old man, who carries a bundle of
sticks and a lanthorn. When you meet him, give him a loaf of bread to
pacify him, for the moon being made of green cheese they have nothing
else to eat, and so they’re very fond of bread to eat with it. Ask him
the way to the Miss Parkers—those are the three Fates. He’ll show you
in reward for the bread, and then you’ll see the house. Knock at the
door, and when it’s opened, slip in. The Fates are blind, and won’t see
you. When you get in you’ll see a lot of reels of silver threads. Among
them you’ll see his thread. You’ll know it by the label on the reel.
Cut that and those of the King and Queen, and then come back again as
soon as you like.’

‘Very well, then; when shall I start?’ asked Wopole.

‘When you will.’

‘Will to-morrow evening do?’

‘Yes, quite well.’

‘Very well, I’ll start to-morrow evening about eight. In the meantime,
I must see about getting food, as I’m not a fasting man.’

‘Very well, do.’

Just then came a knock at the door, and Wopole said:

‘Well, I suppose it’s settled. I shall open the door and see who’s
knocking.’

‘Yes, do. I suppose it’s some one come to buy this Princess.’

‘Oh, is it?’ and Wopole went to open the door.

The Princess meanwhile quietly slipped upstairs and took the feather
out. In a few moments she heard a voice calling her, and she went down.
She found the Prince with the other two in the little parlour.

‘Good-morning, Ernalie,’ he said; and she answered, ‘Good-morning.’

‘This absurd man,’ the Prince went on, ‘insists that you shall be
weighed, although I offered him two thousand ounces of gold; and I’m
sure you don’t weigh that. However, he will have you weighed, and it
can’t be helped.’

‘I suppose it can’t,’ said the Princess.

So she was weighed. It doesn’t matter what she did weigh, but it was
less than two thousand ounces. The Prince ordered the two men whom
he had brought with him as bearers of the gold, to stop and see it
properly weighed out, and then he set out with the Princess for the
town.

‘I thought you wouldn’t mind there not being an escort,’ he said
apologetically; ‘but all the people about the Palace are busy preparing
for a festival.’

The Princess said she didn’t mind at all.

She had not had much time to think about what she had heard Wopole and
Mumkie say, nevertheless she determined to tell the Prince all she had
heard.

When he had listened to it all, he laughed.

‘Ah, well, if that’s all I’ve got to fear I’m quite safe. He’s sure
to get drowned if he tries,’ was all he said; and he refused to say
anything more on the subject.

So they went quietly on till they came to a slight hill down which
the road went, and from the top they could see the city shining in the
morning sun.

‘It’s a very beautiful place, isn’t it?’ said the Prince.

‘Very beautiful; only my own country is far more beautiful.’

‘It must be very beautiful indeed, then. However, I suppose this is
good enough for you while you are away from your own country.’

‘It’ll have to be, at any rate,’ said the Princess dismally, as they
went down the hill.

They soon reached the city, and went, through crowds of bowing citizens
and citizenesses, to the Palace, where they found the King and Queen
anxiously awaiting them.

‘So you’ve come at last,’ the King said; ‘I was afraid that you would
come to some harm with that Mumkie.’

But the Princess laughed.

‘Oh no,’ she said; ‘I’m quite able to take care of myself and of other
people too; and while I was in the house I heard something of great
importance.’ And she proceeded to tell them what she had heard.

But when she had finished, the King laughed even more than his son had
done.

‘Why, my dear little girl,’ he said, ‘do you believe all that
rigmarole? They were having a joke at your expense. They must have
heard you outside the door and wanted to frighten you. Don’t you think
of such rubbish. Why, if they tried it on alone they’d get swallowed up
in a storm; and I’m sure none of my people would ever help them.’

But the Princess did not feel at all convinced, all the same.

‘You might just as well have them put in prison, and then they couldn’t
do anything.’

But the King shook his head.

‘That’s just it, you see; I’ve only just let them go, and I can’t put
them into prison unless they’ve committed some fresh crime.’

‘But isn’t it treason to compass the death of the King or his eldest
son?’

‘It is; but then it’s such a foolish scheme that no one would believe
any one capable of inventing it. So we’d better leave it alone.’

But still the Princess was not at all convinced.

‘If you won’t stop him going, I shall go with him,’ she said.

‘But he won’t take you,’ said the King.

‘He won’t be able to help it,’ said she.

‘Oh, well, have your own way, my dear,’ said the King good-naturedly;
for he thought she would change her mind. But she was quite in earnest.

However, she didn’t say anything more about it, and the rest of the day
went on quietly.

The old King and his son attended the council just as if nothing
unusual had ever intervened between it and the last council they had
held before they had been turned out. As for the Queen and Princess,
they occupied themselves with choosing dresses for a grand ball that
was to be given on the day after the morrow. So that the time was
pretty well filled up until the evening; and as the Princess said she
felt rather tired, she went out to take a walk on the sands by the sea.
To tell the truth, she intended to see whether Wopole were not making
preparations.

Now it so happened that the Prince, too, was going out to take an
evening stroll, and so they went together; and as the town was
rather full, they walked along the beach to get out of the way of
the enthusiastic populace, who insisted on congratulating him on his
good fortune. This is a habit of populaces, they are all fond of
congratulating any one who is successful—but they never assist any one
to success if they can help it. So they walked on for some time, and as
the evening was approaching, turned back towards the harbour.

Now it happened that as they came round a bend of the shore they
noticed a crowd assembled round one of the boats.

‘I wonder what the excitement is?’ said the Princess.

‘I don’t know, really, unless it’s some gigantic dog-fish, or perhaps
they’ve found a scale of the sea-serpent. Shall we go and look at it?’

‘Yes, let us,’ said the Princess eagerly.

And so they went towards the crowd, who made way at their approach.

‘Why, it’s Wopole!’ said the Princess suddenly; and so it was.

‘What is he up to?’ asked the Prince of one of the bystanders.

‘I don’t know, your Majesty, only we saw him coming along bringing
packages of things to his boat here, and we thought we’d come and see
that he wasn’t up to mischief.’

The Prince then spoke to Wopole, who was looking angrily at him.

‘Well, Wopole,’ he said, ‘what are you up to now?’

‘I’m going to leave the country,’ said he angrily.

‘A good thing for the country,’ said several of the crowd. But the
Prince said:

‘I’m sorry you’re going to leave us. However, I shall be glad to make
you a small present before you go.’ And he felt in his coat, and after
a moment’s search he drew out a minute pair of nail-scissors. ‘Perhaps
these might be of some use to you. They’re very good for cutting
threads of any kind. Good-day.’

And pretending not to notice his look of astonishment, he drew the
Princess’s arm through his, and they walked off.

‘Why did you do that?’ asked the Princess, after they had got out of
hearing.

The Prince laughed.

‘I thought it might surprise him a little,’ he said. ‘And they wouldn’t
cut butter if they were heated, so he won’t do much harm with them.’

‘So you don’t mean to stop him?’

The Prince laughed.

‘No, no!’ he said; ‘why should I? He’ll never get to the moon.’

‘Then if you don’t stop him I shall go with him.’

‘I think he’ll take care that you don’t,’ retorted the Prince.

‘But he won’t be able to help himself.’

‘And why not?’

Because he won’t be able to see me.’

‘Nonsense!’

‘You may call it nonsense if you like. But do you remember some one
who spoke to you last night in the square? You couldn’t see me then,
and why should he stop me if he can’t see me?’

‘Good gracious! Was that you last night? How stupid of me not to
recognise your voice! But you won’t go with him, will you?’

‘I shall, unless you stop him.’

‘But I promised not to stop him, and I can’t break my promise.’

‘Then I must go, that’s all. I can’t allow you and your father and
mother to be killed because you’ve promised not to stop him.’

‘But, Ernalie, can’t I go instead?’

‘He wouldn’t take you, and you can’t make yourself invisible, you see.’

‘But all the same, you must not go; it’s absurd.’

‘Why?’

‘You may be drowned, or anything.’

‘If I’m drowned or anything Wopole will have to be drowned or
anythinged too, so that you’ll be safe in any case.’

‘But I don’t want to be safe if you are drowned.’

‘What difference will it make to you if I’m drowned or not?’

‘Oh, Ernalie, you are too bad,’ he said earnestly. ‘Can’t you see I
love you more than all the world?’

The Princess looked at him in utter astonishment.

‘You love me!’ she said, with her lips parted and the colour coming and
going in her cheeks. ‘Why, whatever made you?’

And the Prince answered naturally:

‘Why, you did, of course.’

‘But you’ve not known me for more than two days.’

‘If I had known you only for two hours it would have been more than
enough. You are the most beautiful girl I ever saw.’

‘Perhaps you’ve not seen many,’ said the Princess.

He took no notice of her flippant remark—he was very much in earnest.

‘I love you as much as the whole world, and a great deal besides. And
don’t you love me a little in return?’

‘Well, to tell the truth, I never thought of it at all before; but now
I come to think of it I do love you, and a very great deal too—if you
don’t tease.’

So they prolonged the stroll indefinitely, thinking nothing about the
unpleasant walking that the heavy shingle afforded, or even that it
was getting very dark, and that the air was chilly with the night and
the sea-foam that the wind blew against them, so that it was after
supper-time by a great deal when they arrived at the Palace once more.
But all that he could say would not persuade her not to go with Wopole,
although she was very sorry that she could not stop. But, as she said,
it was no use stopping if her love died, and if any one was to die she
would be the one. Wopole was sure to die with her, so the Prince would
be safe at any rate. And although the King and Queen both tried to
dissuade her it made no difference. She refused to promise not to go.

So on the next day they watched her carefully, though without hindering
her going about.

The day went past just as the day before had done, and about the same
time in the evening she asked the Prince to go down to the beach with
her, and they went just as before. But all the while the Prince kept
fast hold of her hand.

So they walked along the beach as the wind freshened, and they talked
of all sorts of things,—it is not necessary to say what.

But the Princess noticed that the boat which Wopole had loaded with
provisions was almost in the water, and Wopole and Mumkie were both
standing talking by it.

So she drew the feather quietly out of her pocket, for you may be sure
she had not forgotten to bring it. Suddenly she said:

‘Oh dear! my shoe’s full of sand. I must take it off and shake it out.’

‘Will you let me do it for you?’ said the Prince, who stepped easily
into the trap.

‘Yes, you might, if it’s not too much trouble,’ she said.

So he knelt down, and unlaced her shoe, took it off, and shook out the
sand, and then put it on again for her. He was just getting up again
when the Princess gave him a little push, so that he lost his balance
altogether, and before he could recover himself she put the feather to
her hair, and ran along the sands to the boat which Wopole and Mumkie
were just about to launch.

She stepped over the back just before they reached it, and then she
went at once to the front of the boat in order not to be in the way of
Wopole when he got on board. In a moment the boat was dancing on the
water, and Wopole sprang in over the stern. The boat shipped a good
deal over the bows, and the Princess got rather wet. However, she was
too excited to care much about a little water.

In a few moments Wopole had hauled up the sail, and the boat began to
move through the dancing waters. Just at this moment Treblo reached the
edge of the sea, and saw the boat well out of his power.

‘Come back!’ he cried to Wopole.

‘Don’t you!’ said Mumkie.

‘You needn’t be afraid!’ Wopole called as loud as he could. ‘I shan’t
come back!’

‘But you’ve got the Princess on board!’

‘You bet!’ remarked Wopole with familiar vulgarity now he was out of
the Prince’s reach.

The Princess thought it was her turn to say something, so she called:

‘Good-bye, Treblo, my love, good-bye!’

Wopole was naturally somewhat surprised at this voice that appeared to
come from nowhere in particular.

‘I suppose she’s hanging in the water,’ he said to himself out loud.
‘I shan’t trouble to help her on board if she is. I shall just let her
drown.’

‘How very good of you,’ remarked Ernalie sweetly.

Wopole looked surprised.

‘Sounds as if she was on board. However, she isn’t.’

And as the Princess thought it best to be quiet, he remained of the
same opinion.

All the while the boat had been getting rapidly out of the bay, and
the Princess thought they were quite safe from pursuit. But suddenly
Wopole rose from his seat in the stern and let down the sail.

‘What on earth is he going to do?’ thought the Princess. ‘He can’t be
going to stop.’

However, it was soon pretty clear what he was going to do, for she
noticed he was steering towards a large vessel that lay near them.

The way that the sail had left on the boat was sufficient to carry them
to the vessel, which the boat soon bumped against. Wopole now seemed
to be coming forward; and as there was not room in the boat for her to
slip past him, she jumped from the bow and managed to scramble on board
the ship, although it was rather difficult, and boats have a habit of
slipping away under any one who tries jumping off them.

However, she luckily managed it, and was soon safe on board.

She was followed almost immediately by Wopole, who didn’t find much
difficulty in getting on board; in fact, he came so quickly that he
almost fell on top of the Princess. However, she just managed to slip
out of his way, and he did not notice her, as he was occupied in tying
the boat-rope to a cleat.

He then went through various nautical exercises—such as boxing the
compass, and shivering his timbers, and danging his lee-deadlights, and
other things which it takes a sailor, or a nautical novel-writer, to
understand. The effect of these operations was to make the sails run
up, and then the vessel bent to the freshening gale and began to walk
the waters like a thing of life—at least, as like a thing of life as a
wet sheet and a flowing sea and a wind to follow after, but no legs,
could make it walk.

Wopole had taken the helm by this time, and he was steering a course
east by west, so that they stood—that is, they walked—straight out
from the shore. Thus they sailed on for an hour or two till the moon
began to show itself, and then Wopole altered the course so that they
sailed straight towards her. It might be as well to explain that in
those days a ship was only provided with two sails, and so one man
could manage a pretty large ship; and as Wopole was a very strong man,
it stands to reason that he could manage a rather large ship. So, you
see, it was not altogether so impossible as it looks to sail for three
weeks alone on the sea, although I own it would be somewhat difficult
nowadays.

When the moon rose, as I have mentioned before, Wopole steered straight
for it, and he continued steering straight towards it all night—at
least all the time that the moon could be seen.

Towards sunrise, however, the moon set; and as soon as he could see it
no more, he let down the sail, threw his anchor overboard, and in a few
moments the ship was at rest.

When this had been done he walked to a hatch, which he opened, and took
out some beef, captain’s biscuits, and pickled pork. From these he cut
slices and placed the slices on plates, after which he took the joints
back to the hatchway and put them in the meat-safes again. Then he
filled a glass with water from a little cistern that stood on deck.

After these preparations, he sat down and made a comfortable meal, and
then he went downstairs—that is, down the hatchway—and into his cabin.

He seemed to have departed for good, so the Princess followed his
example—at least, so far as the eating was concerned; only, she washed
the knives, forks, and plates before she used them.

‘I wonder if he’ll see any difference in the size of the joints?’ she
thought to herself. ‘If he does, he won’t know how it is, so that’s all
right.’

So she made a hearty meal, and then replaced the things just as he had
put them.

The question now was—how to pass away the time?—and it was a very
difficult one to answer. There were no books to read—at least, she
was not able to find any on deck. So she tried playing cat’s-cradle
by herself; but that was not a very great success, because there was
no one to take it up. She next attempted going to sleep, but that
was not a success either. Then she tried counting how many times the
ship rolled in the course of an hour; but she always forgot how many
hundreds she had counted. At last she went and sat on one of the
bulwarks and watched the porpoises as they played about the ship’s
bows. So the day passed away and evening came, and just as the sun set
Wopole came on deck yawning and stretching himself.

He looked at the vane, which was blown out nearly straight in the
evening wind.

‘A nice breeze,’ the Princess heard him say to himself. ‘If the wind
holds good like this it won’t take more than a fortnight.’

‘Thank goodness,’ the Princess said to herself; for she was beginning
already to grow rather tired of the adventure. ‘I think I’ll go down
and see what the vessel is like below-stairs.’

So she descended the dark hatchway as well as she could, though it was
no easy matter, for the boat was beginning to roll in a most unpleasant
manner; for, you see, the wind was freshening a good deal, and Wopole
had not yet hoisted the sails. However, she managed to get to the
bottom without tumbling down more than four steps at a time.

It was not quite dark in the cabin below, for an open port-hole let in
the last rays of daylight.

The cabin was a very small one, though it did not seem very cosy;
however, the Princess was delighted to see one thing, and that was that
there were some books on a table in the centre of the cabin.

She went and looked at their titles, but it was too dark to read them,
and she didn’t know where to find the matches. Through the porthole
she could see that the sea was getting rougher, and the waves were
beginning to dash loudly against the side of the boat.

‘It’ll be getting wet on deck,’ she thought to herself; ‘I think I
shall stop where I am, for I hate being damp, and I’m quite comfortable
here.’ Just at this moment she heard heavy steps coming down the
hatchway. ‘Good gracious! here’s Wopole coming down. What does he want,
I wonder?’

Wopole opened the door and looked in, but he didn’t seem to notice her.
He just put his arm round the door and unhooked a tarpaulin coat that
was hanging there. Then he took a sou’-wester from another peg and put
it on his head and shut the door again, and she heard him tramp up on
to the deck.

‘I suppose he’s gone for good,’ she said to herself. ‘Anyhow, I’ll lock
the door, and then he won’t be able to get in.’ So she locked the door
with the key that was in the lock. ‘Now I wonder where the bed is?’ she
thought. ‘That place like a shelf can’t be it; but it’s got bed-clothes
on it. However, I can’t get into it. I shall just lie on this sofa for
the night.’

So she lay down and slept all night in spite of the noise that the wind
and waves made.

She awoke next morning on hearing a most tremendous rumble and
splashing.

‘What is that?’ she said to herself. ‘He must be letting out the
anchor.’

And so he was; for in a moment she heard him coming downstairs.

‘I wonder what he’ll do when he finds the door locked?’ she thought.

Just then he reached the door and turned the handle, but the door
refused to move; and although he kicked and banged, it was all no use.

‘I’ll go and fetch a hatchet and prise it open,’ he grunted, out of
breath with his exertions; and he thumped up the stairs again.

But meanwhile the Princess unlocked the door, and seizing a couple of
books at random off the bookshelf she ran up on deck; but she kept
possession of the door-key.

Now it so happened that Wopole had dropped his hatchet in front of the
hatchway, and he was bending down to pick it up just as she came out
of it, so that the result was a collision; and as Wopole was bending
down he got considerably the worst of it, although the books that the
Princess was carrying were thrown right out of her hands.

Wopole got up from the sitting posture which the sudden shock had made
him assume.

‘Well, this is extraordinary! Shiver my old lee-scuppers if it isn’t!
Here first I can’t get into my cabin, and then I’m knocked over by my
own books that come flying at my head. I think it’s those books that
are the cause of the mischief, and I’ll just throw them overboard,’ and
he was just bending over to pick them up. But this was too much for
the Princess, who had no wish to be left for the whole of another day
without books. So she snatched the books from just under his hand—at
least, the book he was going to pick up—and as soon as she touched it,
it became invisible.

Wopole shook his head dismally as if he had quite expected it, and then
he tried to pick up the other one; but just the same thing happened.
Now the Princess had just been bending down to pick the book up as
he bent down, and the wind blew her hair right across his eyes. He,
feeling the tickling, put his hand up to his face and caught the hair
before she could draw it away.

‘What is this now?’ he said, as he examined his hand. ‘Feels like
hair,’ he mused. But in his fit of musing he let his fingers relax
their grasp, and she drew her hair away very quickly.

‘I thought so,’ Wopole said. ‘It was only the hair—the wind, I mean. I
wonder what’s the matter with the books, though? It must be the cabin
that’s bewitched them. I won’t sleep in that cabin to-day. I’ll change
my apartments at once.’

And he did. So, for the rest of the time, the Princess had the cabin
all to herself, and she was quite contented; for Wopole was so sure
that it was bewitched, that he moved his clothes and things out of it,
and never came near it again.

And the Princess had decidedly the best of it; for Wopole slept all day
and watched all night, and she kept awake all day and slept all night
just as usual. So the time passed away, and every night the moon got
larger and larger as they got nearer and nearer, until it was quite
close.

They had been a fortnight and three days out before they came to the
edge of the sea, but it was eight o’clock in the evening, and the moon
had just left the water, as it flew into the air like a large—a very
large—white bird.

‘What a confounded nuisance!’ Ernalie heard Wopole say. ‘Now I shall
have to wait the whole of another day for it to rise above the sea; and
then it’s so jolly dangerous.’

The Princess couldn’t help wondering why it was so jolly dangerous;
and how, if it were dangerous, it could be jolly. So she asked—quite
without thinking that she was invisible:

‘Why?’

‘Why, you dunderhead!’ retorted Wopole; ‘because we’re quite near the
edge of the world, and if a strong wind should rise we should be blown
right over it, and then we should fall right into the sun. See, stupid?’

The Princess replied meekly:

‘I thank you.’

‘I should think you ought to thank me,’ Wopole retorted angrily. ‘It’s
bad enough to have spirits on board a temperance ship without having to
talk to them.’

‘But I’m not a spirit,’ said Ernalie.

‘Then who are you?’

‘I’m——’ But she thought it best not to tell him more.

‘Oh, you are, are you?’ he replied. ‘Thanks for the information. I’m
sure it wasn’t necessary for you to tell me so much, and I don’t want
to know any more about you. Only, look here, I don’t know whether you
want to be roasted?’

‘Of course not,’ answered the Princess.

‘Well, then, if a storm comes up it will blow us right over the world’s
end into the sun; so look out. If the anchor holds, we are safe.’

‘What does the anchor hold?’ asked Ernalie.

‘The ground, of course. If it doesn’t, we shall have to hoist the sails
and try to beat against the wind.’

‘I suppose you beat against the wind to make it run away?’ said Ernalie.

But Wopole replied gruffly:

‘No puns allowed on board. Now, if we have to beat against the wind, I
shall have to manage the sails, so you must go to the helm.’

‘What is the helm?’ she asked.

‘That’s it,’ said Wopole, pointing to it.

‘Oh, that’s the helm; and what am I to do with it?’

‘Do what I tell you.’

‘Very well.’

‘That’s all.’

So the Princess, not seeing anything better to do, went down below to
bed.

The night passed safely, and nearly the whole of the next day; but
towards evening the wind began to get up. Wopole was on deck, and as
he did not seem to wish to talk she let him alone. About seven the
moon was to rise, and at about half-past five Ernalie went down to her
cabin to get a book. She selected a small one that she had not noticed
before. It was called ‘The Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson
Crusoe of Hull, Mariner, who——’ But before she had half finished the
title-page—which, by the bye, is rather long—a sudden reeling of the
vessel threw her right over to one corner of the room, and at the same
time from above there sounded a shrieking as of ten thousand demons.

‘What on earth is that?’ she thought as well as she could, for she was
lying in one corner of the room among chairs and various other articles
of furniture. However, she got out of it as quickly as she could, and
ran on deck, or at least she tried to run, for the vessel was rolling
and pitching, and the shrieking continued to resound from above. At
last she did reach the deck; but she rather wished she had stopped
below, for the wind was so biting it nearly bit her hair off, and
this same wind behaved so badly to the ropes of the vessel that they
shrieked in their pain as the blast cut past them, causing the strange
sounds that the Princess had heard below.

It was nearly as difficult to stand on deck as it had been in the
cabin, and the spray that came dashing over the boat made it very
difficult to see, for it got into her eyes and half blinded her.

However, she managed to steady herself by holding on to a rope, and in
a few minutes she was able to see Wopole standing in the bow of the
boat, and looking over the side. So she went towards him as well as she
could, for the wind and spray came from over the bows. Nevertheless,
she reached him somehow. He was leaning quietly against the bulwarks
over the hawser-hole watching the straining cable, just as calm as if
there were nothing in particular depending on whether the anchor held
or not.

As soon as she could find her breath she touched him on the shoulder
and shouted in his ear as loud as she could:

‘Will the rope break?’ But it was no use trying to out-roar the
tempest—at least for her.

When Wopole felt something touch him on the shoulder he looked round.

‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ she heard him cry. But the wind was still too
high for her to answer. She only nodded; but she might have spared
herself the trouble.

Presently, after she had waited some minutes in silence, the wind fell,
almost as suddenly as it had risen.

‘Thank goodness! It’s over now,’ she said, and it was so quiet that
Wopole overheard her easily.

‘Don’t hulloa till you’re out of the wood,’ he said. ‘Look there!’

The Princess did look, and she saw that the horizon was hidden by
masses of white foam that rose and fell as if the sea were one great
cauldron full of boiling water.

‘That’s the storm coming down again,’ Wopole went on. ‘Hurry to the
helm and put it hard down when I hoist the sail, for the cable will
snap like thread before it. Quick—quick!’

The Princess ran like lightning along the deck, for the sea was quite
quiet, and the vessel hardly pitched at all, and she reached the helm
in a very few minutes.

When she got there she stood still and listened. Everything was quiet
and still; the vessel only rolled slightly, and the cordage creaked
uneasily, as if it feared the coming strain that it would have to
stand. From where the sea boiled a noise came—so low and grumbling that
it might have been the faint growl of an angry cat before it makes a
spring.

Just then Wopole looked towards the helm:

‘Mind and put it hard down!’ he shouted.

‘I wonder why he wants me to put it down,’ she thought.

But before she could ask the storm was upon them again. Swifter than
the arrow leaps from the bow it came, and the churned sea fled from
the attack of the wind like a mighty white horse. The flying scud and
rain beat mercilessly against her face; but she held bravely to the
tiller, and stemmed the storm as well as she could, with her eyes shut
and her teeth set.

The noise the storm made would have frightened Neptune himself; but
high over it she heard Wopole shout:

‘The cable’s parted! Hard down!’

And she pressed on the tiller as hard as she could; but the stubborn
bar refused to go down, and though she leant her whole weight on it, it
only fell away to one side, and she had only strength to lie against
it in vain hope of putting it down. Just then the sail began to raise
itself, and the vessel seemed to feel its influence, for it was turning
slowly round. Suddenly she saw Wopole appear in the mist of rain.

‘Let me have the tiller!’ he shouted; and she let go. Instantly he
seized it and pushed it the other way with all his might.

But at this critical moment a disaster happened, that made it look as
if everything had conspired against them. The tiller broke in half
under the strong hands of Wopole, and before they could wink the vessel
had turned its back to the wind, and they were carried at racing speed
towards the end of the world. They had but a mile or so to go, and a
mile is soon covered.

The last part of the journey was through a thick mist; but it didn’t
much matter to Ernalie.

‘Anyhow, Wopole won’t be able to cut the strings,’ she thought.

Just then the fog began to get lighter, as if some great fire were just
outside it, and in a few seconds they burst through the veil of mist
into a light so blinding that the Princess could not keep her eyes open.

‘This must be the sun we’ve fallen into,’ she thought. ‘But it doesn’t
seem very hot.’ Then there was a bump, as if the boat had run into a
lump of mud, and then a greasy slide, and then Ernalie fainted.

       *       *       *       *       *

When she came to herself, she heard voices close to her. One sounded
like the voice of an old man, and the other, she was quite sure, was
that of Wopole; but she had never heard him so polite before. They had
evidently only just met, for Wopole was saying:

‘I am very happy to make your acquaintance, sir. May I trouble you to
tell me your name?’

‘It’s a great deal of trouble,’ grumbled the other; ‘but I’ll tell you.
I’m the Man.’

‘How strange—I too happen to be a man.’

‘You’re only _a_ man. I’m _the_ Man.’

‘The Man in the Moon, I should think?’ said Wopole.

‘Exactly,’ answered the voice.

‘Why, we must be in the moon,’ thought the Princess; and it was the
case, for the ship had run right over the edge of the world on to the
moon, which had been hidden behind the clouds.

‘I’ll just go and look at him,’ she said to herself, and so she sat up
to look where the voices came from. ‘They seem to be behind the sail,’
she went on. So she walked to the sail, and peeped round the corner,
and there sure enough he was.

I daresay you’ve often seen the Man in the Moon—at all events, you
ought to have. Perhaps you mayn’t have; if so, this is what the
Princess saw.

He was a very old man, and looked very much as if he was in his second
childhood, and he carried an enormous lanthorn, which made him even
more bent than he might have been if he had not carried it so often. On
his shoulders he carried a bundle of thorns, which appeared to prick
him and cause him a good deal of uneasiness generally; and besides this
he had an ugly little dog by his side, which made continual attacks
on Wopole’s shins, and it made such a noise with its barking that the
old man in a temper aimed a vicious kick at it; but he missed his mark,
and the weight of the lanthorn overbalancing him he sat down rather
suddenly, and during the rest of the evening he remained there.

But the conversation proceeded just as if nothing in particular had
happened.

‘Being the Man in the Moon, perhaps you would be so kind as to direct
me to the place where the Misses Parker reside?’ Wopole said.

‘That I won’t,’ said the Man. ‘Why should I?’

‘I thought that you might be so good as to direct me, and I had
intended presenting you with a loaf of bread. However, that does not
matter. Good-day. I daresay I shall find the house by myself,’ and
Wopole made preparations for getting over the side of the vessel.

But the Man no sooner heard the word ‘bread’ than he became very eager
to help him on the way.

‘Oh, wait a minute,’ he said; and Wopole accordingly waited.

‘If you’ll give me two loaves I’ll show you,’ he went on.

‘I’ll give you one now, and the other when I have paid my visit and am
safely back on the ship.’

‘Well, that’ll do. Give me the one, and I’ll show you at once.’

So Wopole went to the hatch which covered the pantry and took out a
large loaf, which he handed to the old Man.

‘Now trot,’ he said; and the Man hurried to the side of the vessel and
scrambled down as well as he could, followed by Wopole and the Princess.

It was curious how bright it was when they got over the side; for
although it was past nine o’clock P.M. by the Princess’s watch, the
ground itself seemed to shoot out light, and what was still more
funny, they threw no shadows, although that was easily explained; for
as the moon itself provided the light, it would be rather difficult to
throw a shadow on the moon.

They plodded on for some time in silence; but although the old Man
hobbled very much he managed to get along very fast, almost too fast
for the Princess, for the walking was very heavy.

Presently Wopole said:

‘How soft the ground is; is it all the same about here?’

‘Of course it is. It’s all cheese; and you don’t want hard cheese.’

‘I don’t want cheese at all,’ said Wopole.

‘You’d want it if you were me,’ remarked the old Man.

‘Why?’ asked Wopole.

‘Because it’s all there is to eat in the moon, and if it were hard I
shouldn’t be able to eat it.’

‘Oh, I see; but why don’t you come to the earth? You’d make your
fortune in a show.’

The Man shook his head sadly.

‘I did try once; but I got my mouth burnt, and I shan’t try again.’

‘Why, how was that?’ asked Wopole.

‘Don’t you know the song?’ said the old Man in astonishment.

‘Not I.’

‘Then I’ll sing it.’

And forthwith he began to sing:

    ‘The Man in the Moon
     Came down too soon
     And asked his way to Norwich, O;
     He got sent to the south
     And burnt his mouth
     With eating cold plum-porridge, O.’

The Man’s voice itself was about as melodious as that of a peacock;
but in the final ‘O’ of the song he was joined by his dog and Wopole,
who both sang—or rather bawled—a wrong note; and as each was proud of
his voice the ‘O’ was prolonged indefinitely, and it might have been
kept up till doomsday, only, just at that moment, they happened to turn
the corner of a heap of cheese and came in sight of a cottage at some
distance off.

‘That’s the cottage where they live,’ said the old Man.

And no sooner did the Princess hear his words than she started off at a
run towards it.

‘I must get there before him,’ she said; and so she went as fast as she
could over the soft cheese. She really needn’t have hurried so much,
for Wopole and the old man had stopped, and it might have saved her a
world of trouble if she had listened to what they said; but she didn’t.

When she reached the cottage she stopped a moment to gain breath; but
that was soon done, and she went to the door and tapped. No answer
came; so she lifted the latch gently and walked in as quietly as she
could.

‘There goes that door,’ she heard an ill-tempered voice say.

‘I shouldn’t take the trouble to close it again if I were you. It’s the
fifth time it’s blown open to-day.’ This was in another voice.

It was impossible for the Princess to see where the voice came from,
for the cottage was so dark after the light outside that for some
moments it was quite as black as night. However, gradually her eyes
became accustomed to the twilight, for the open door did let in a good
deal of light.

What she did see, however, did not please her eyes much, for the three
sisters, to whom Wopole gave the name of Parker—they are called the
Parcae generally—were about as ugly as they make them; and as they were
twins—that is, triplets—there was not much to choose between them.

The room in the cottage was very large, and at the wall at one end a
large number of frames stood on which were nailed reels, and from every
reel came a silver thread, and over every reel a small placard was
placed on which was written a name—the name of the owner of the thread.

Behind the frames stood one of the Fates, who took off used-up reels
and placed new ones in their stead; though how she did it the Princess
could not tell, for the Fates, as well as Love, are blind. Yet she did
it.

Between the reels and the last of the three sisters sat one clothed in
black, who held in her hand scissors wherewith she severed certain of
the threads—threads of those that die on earth. Last of the three sat
one who twisted all the threads into one great rope that ran from her
hands down a fathomless pit to the earth.

And so they all sat silently working busily, with no other sound than
the clipping of the scissors as their owner cut remorselessly here and
there, surely and safely—she needed no eyes.

But the Princess heeded little of this, for she was seeking out two
names. The names were arranged in townships, so she had but little
difficulty in finding them; and she changed the names that stood over
the strings. Over Wopole’s she put the name of Treblo, and over Treblo
she put Wopole’s name.

‘It is the only way to stop him killing Treblo. As for the others,
Abbonamento and Araminta, if Wopole cuts his own string and dies, he
will not be able to cut theirs; but if he die not instantly and cut the
other strings, I will knot them together again quickly. And I will also
knot together Wopole’s own thread, for he has done me no harm, and
once he saved my life; only, he must not kill Treblo.’

When she had got thus far, the light that came through the door was
interrupted for a moment, and Wopole entered.

He stopped for a few minutes to accustom his eyes to the faint light.
Then the Princess heard him mutter:

‘Lucky for me the old ladies are blind and deaf. Here are his own
scissors to cut his own thread. That is to fight him with his own
tools—and I shall win.’

And then he walked towards the sets of threads.

In a few moments he had found the thread marked ‘Treblo,’ and reaching
out the scissors he cut it through. But he dropped the scissors almost
instantly.

‘What a pain I have in my side,’ he said. ‘I won’t cut any more threads
if it’s to hurt me like this each time. Old Abbonamento and Araminta
won’t last long after their son; and as for the lovely Princess, Mumkie
promised her to me, so I won’t cut your string, Ernalie.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ernalie herself, so quietly that Wopole did not
notice it, and he left the house in somewhat of a hurry.

‘I’ll just join his thread, and then I’ll join him again; and so
there’s not much harm done.’

But it was not quite so easy to join the threads as it looked, for part
of the thread that went towards the earth moved on, while that which
came from the reel stood still. However, she pulled the thread rapidly
from the reel, and she managed to tie the two parts together before
they reached the lady with the scissors, and so the thread passed on
its way without notice.

‘That’s all right,’ said she thankfully, and she left the house to
follow Wopole.

He, however, had already passed the turning and was out of sight, so
she followed; but when she too had turned the corner he was nowhere to
be seen. However, she was quite sure of the road, so she went leisurely
on; but each hillock was so like the other, and there was no mark to
guide her, for no trees grew on the cheese. And so little by little
she began to feel convinced that she had lost her way, and though she
wandered on for hours and hours she came to no trace of anything that
would guide her to the vessel.

But at last she came to some footsteps in the cheese, and she was now
quite sure of being in the right track. So she ran on as fast as she
could, and she really was on the right path, and soon she came in sight
of the sea, and then she saw the vessel, but it was sailing away from
her as fast as it could, and although she shouted and cried to Wopole
to come back and fetch her, he took no notice.

‘Wopole! Wopole!’ she shrieked; but the wind carried her voice away,
and did not bring back Wopole.

Again she called:

‘Wopole!’

‘What _is_ the use of making all that noise?’ said a voice that came
from close to her side, and when she looked round she saw the Man,
sitting on his bundle of sticks, eating the bread ravenously, and
scooping up pieces of the moon-cheese from his side.

‘What is the use of making all that noise?’ he said again,
bad-temperedly.

‘I want Wopole to come back and fetch me,’ said the Princess.

‘I daresay he’d feel flattered if he knew; but he doesn’t. It’s no
use howling. By the bye, I forgot to tell you—“This lanthorn doth the
horned moon present.”’

‘But what _has_ that got to do with my getting home?’ said the
Princess.

‘I don’t know; but it’s my home. Look, the sea’s rising.’

The Princess looked round in alarm, for she was afraid of getting her
feet wet; but though the sea was rising, it did not hurt the moon at
all, for, you see, the water belonged to the earth, and so, while the
moon sank lower and lower, the water remained like a solid wall above
them, but did not close over them. The light of the moon attracted the
fishes and strange monsters of the deep, and the Princess saw them as
calmly as if they had been part of a large aquarium. She looked at them
for some time; but a strange sound behind her made her turn round:

‘I am about to sing a serenade,’ said the Man.

‘Please don’t,’ said the Princess.

‘I’m sure you’d like to hear it. “I’ll sing you songs of Araby,”’ he
said.

‘But I don’t care about Araby.’

‘You really must listen. Come, now, do hear.’

And he began waving his arms to and fro, roaring:

    ‘When moonlight o’er the azure seas
     In soft effulgence swells!’

But he sang it to the tune of the moonlight sonata.

The Princess did not wait to hear. She put her fingers in her ears, and
ran off as fast as she could; but still she heard the burden:

    ‘Ah, Angeline! ah, lady mine!’

And he seemed to keep it up for a long while. However, after she had
gone some miles the sound died away in the distance, and all was quiet.

The Princess now sat down to rest, and to look at the earth, for the
moon had dipped underneath it by this time, and she could see Australia
and New Zealand and various of the other lands of the Antipodes.

Her attention was drawn away from the earth to the moon by a sound that
seemed like the rolling of wheels. It was still distant, but approached
rapidly, and in a few moments a chariot, drawn by two milk-white stags
with golden horns, dashed past close to her, and rolled over a hill
near by, as easily as if they had been bubbles blown by the wind.

But the Princess did not look much at the stags or the chariot; the
thing that took her attention was the driver. A woman you could hardly
have called her; for, though she was clad in the garb of a huntress, it
was easy to see who she was, for who but Diana carried a silver bow?

‘Dear me!’ said Ernalie, ‘this must be the Goddess of the moon. I’ll
go to her and tell her everything, and ask her to take me back to the
earth when she goes. For she must go to the earth sometimes since
she’s the Goddess of the chase; there’s nothing to hunt here except
cheese-mites, and they’re not great sport for such a mighty huntress.’

So she followed as fast as she was able to the top of the hill over
which the chariot had disappeared; but it had gone so fast that it
had passed out of sight over another range of hills. However, the
hoof and wheel marks were plainly shown on the white surface of the
cheese. So she went on and on, following the tracks, until, just as
she was beginning to despair, she came to the brow of a hill, and in a
valley beneath she saw a large building, in appearance something like a
Grecian temple, except that instead of stone it was made of cheese.

In front of the building was a large heap of skins of various animals,
piled up so high that they made a sort of couch on which the Goddess
was lying up to dinner; for it was the fashion among the gods to lie up
or rather down, instead of sitting up to table.

The two white stags which had been harnessed to the chariot were
playfully butting at each other with their golden horns, and the
chariot itself was tilted on its back, just as you would see an
ordinary two-wheeled cart nowadays.

But the Princess was not particularly interested in this—to tell the
truth, she was feeling remarkably hungry and thirsty, for she had been
already for some hours without tasting anything at all.

‘I wonder if I’m invisible to the gods as well as to man,’ she thought.
‘I’ll just try if I am, at all events.’

So she went towards the Goddess, who was eating the food that lay on
the table in front of the couch; but Diana did not appear to notice
her, and she advanced more boldly until she was quite close to the
table.

‘She doesn’t seem to have much variety,’ thought the Princess, at
least she meant to think.

‘Do you think so?’ said Diana, looking up in some astonishment to where
the voice came from. ‘And who asked you to say so? and who are you, and
where are you, and why can’t I see you? Tell me, or I’ll shoot you.’

‘I don’t exactly see how you can,’ said the Princess.

The Goddess seized her bow and looked for her quiver; but even as she
reached out her hand to take it, it vanished, for Ernalie was too fast
for her.

Diana looked more and more astonished and annoyed.

‘Who are you?’ she said. ‘Are you a mortal?’

‘Certainly I am,’ said Ernalie.

‘Then how is it I can’t see you?’ asked the Goddess.

‘Because of the feather, I suppose,’ said the Princess.

‘You don’t mean to say you’ve got the feather? Tell me how you got it?’

The Princess did as she was told, for she saw no use in making the
Goddess angry.

When she had finished, Diana said:

‘You have been lucky, whoever you are. The feather belonged to one of
Jupiter’s eagles, and this eagle got angry and flew at Jove because
he gave its brother eagle more than its share of food. So he banished
the eagle to the earth, and it got shot. I would give anything for the
feather.’

‘But I wouldn’t part with it for any price,’ said Ernalie.

‘I’ll give you anything you like for it, you know,’ said the Goddess.

‘But I won’t part with it,’ said Ernalie. ‘Besides, I’ve got your
arrows, and I won’t give them back to you for nothing.’

‘What a plague you are! What do you want for the arrows?’

‘First, you must promise not to steal the feather from me.’

‘Well, I’ll promise that,’ said the Goddess.

‘Then promise not to do me any harm.’

‘Very well.’

‘And lastly, take me safely back to the earth.’

‘I should be only too glad if you had never come near me,’ said the
Goddess. ‘However, I promise them all. Now give me the arrows.’

The Princess gave the arrows back, for the word of Diana was not to be
doubted.

‘I wish you would show yourself to me,’ the Goddess went on; ‘I should
like to see you very much. I wonder what sort of a person you are? Do
show yourself.’

So the Princess took off the cap in which she wore the feather, but as
soon as it was off Diana vanished; for, you see, it was the feather
touching her head that gave Ernalie the power of seeing without being
seen, and a goddess is naturally invisible. But the Princess did not
think of that.

‘It must be some trick,’ she thought. So she put the feather back in a
hurry, but the Goddess had not moved. She was smiling quietly.

‘Can’t you trust me, child?’ she said; ‘for you aren’t much more than a
child, you know.’

‘I’m grown up, at any rate,’ said the Princess indignantly. ‘I’m
nineteen years old, so I’m not so very young.’

‘And I’m nineteen thousand years old,’ said the Goddess, ‘and I don’t
look so very old, do I?’

‘You certainly don’t. But then, you see, you’re a goddess and I’m a
mortal, and it makes a difference.’

‘It does,’ said Diana. ‘But do show yourself to me again.’

‘But if I make myself visible, you disappear,’ said Ernalie.

‘Oh, I had forgotten that. However, I’ll make myself visible too.’

So when Ernalie took the feather away this time Diana was easily
visible.

‘And you want to go back to the earth, do you?’ asked Diana.

‘I do, very much,’ answered the Princess.

‘And why?’

‘Because the moon has got so little to eat on it.’

‘Really!’ said the Goddess. ‘There’s plenty of cheese, isn’t there?’

‘But I don’t like cheese, and especially green cheese. I hate it.’

‘Do you, really? What a pity it is you’re not a mouse,’ said the
Goddess.

‘But I’m not,’ said Ernalie, ‘and that settles it.’

‘She might offer me some of her food,’ she thought to herself.

‘You wouldn’t be able to eat it if you had it,’ said the Goddess, who
seemed to hear what she thought just as well as what she said.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ asked Ernalie.

‘Because it’s ambrosia; and if you once ate any of it you’d never be
able to eat any other kind of food, which would be rather awkward for
you.’

‘Why?’ asked the Princess.

‘You’re always asking “Y.” Why don’t you use some other letter—“Z” for
instance; it gets so monotonous. Now tell me who you are, and all about
yourself.’

So the Princess did as she was told.

‘It would never do to offend her if she’s going to take me back to the
earth,’ she thought, and the Goddess remarked:

‘Quite right.’

When she had finished, the Goddess said:

‘You shouldn’t have interfered with the Fates. Even Jupiter daren’t do
that, and I’d as soon go near them as I would pat Cerberus.’

‘But what could I do? I didn’t want Wopole to kill himself.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ said the Goddess. ‘Why did you come at all?
If Wopole and the other chose to fall out I don’t see why you should
meddle to save him.’

‘But I couldn’t let Wopole kill Treblo.’

‘Why not?’ asked the Goddess.

‘Because he was my foster-brother, and he was going to marry me, and
I’m sure I didn’t want my husband to be liable to drop down dead at any
moment.’

The Goddess looked angry at this.

‘Why shouldn’t he? He’s only a man, and I hate men—nasty, vulgar
things! And you were going to marry him? If I’d known that I’d never
have spoken a word to you. Don’t you know I’m the Goddess of Chastity,
and I’ve sworn never to marry? The sooner you go the better.’

‘But I can’t go. I’ve got nowhere to go to; and besides, you promised
to take me back to the earth,’ said Ernalie.

‘I suppose I did,’ said the Goddess. ‘Besides, I don’t want to have you
always here. Well, the moon will begin to rise in half an hour, and
then I’ll take you in my chariot, that’s the only thing to do; so you
can help me to harness the stags.’

This was soon done, and the Goddess went into the house to put away
the remains of the food on which she had been dining. When she came
out again Ernalie noticed that she had made a considerable change in
her costume. What the change was I don’t exactly know, but she said to
Ernalie:

‘You see I have to dress lightly to follow the chase easily. However,
if you’re ready, I am.’

So saying, she slung her quiver full of arrows over her back, and
taking the silver bow in her hand, got into the chariot.

‘Get up,’ she said to Ernalie, for the stags were already pawing the
ground in their eagerness to be off. Ernalie jumped in quickly, and the
stags darted off at an immense pace. They went so smoothly, however,
that the Princess was not at all shaken or jolted. On over hills and
through valleys, until it almost made her head swim at the way in which
the scenery shot past. However, in a few minutes the roar of the waves
sounded in her ears, and they came over the hill-top to the sea-beach.
Just then the Goddess drew the reins in, and the stags stopped short.

‘What on earth is that?’ she said.

Now that the chariot had stopped, the Princess too could hear the sound
that came faintly borne on the breeze:

    ‘When moonlight o’er the azure seas.’

‘Why, it’s the Man,’ she said.

‘So it is,’ said Diana angrily. ‘I recognise his voice. He calls it
“mezzo-soprano.” It’s dreadful. I told him never to sing unless he had
somebody to sing to. Of course I thought no one would ever come to the
moon. I wonder whom he’s singing to?’

‘I rather imagine he thinks he’s singing to me,’ said the Princess
hesitatingly. ‘I begged him not to sing; but he insisted. So I ran
away, and I suppose he thinks I’m still there, for, you see, he can’t
see me.’

‘Oh, he thinks you’re still there, does he?’ said Diana. ‘Just make
yourself invisible, and I’ll do the same, and we’ll go a little closer.’

The Princess did as she was told, and Diana urged the stags in the
direction of the voice.

The rattling of the wheels was quite drowned in the noise of the Man’s
voice, as he sang:

    ‘And you’ll remember me . . e . . e,
     And you’ll remember me.’

‘You’ve improved a good deal in that last line,’ said the Goddess. ‘I
wish you’d sing it over again.’

‘You _are_ there then?’ said the Man. ‘I thought you had gone away. I
couldn’t get you to answer when I spoke to you.’

‘Ah! that was because I was too enchanted for words to express. Now,
_do_ sing the last line again. Only the last line; it _is_ so fine,’
said Diana.

The Man drew in a long breath:

    ‘And you’ll remember, re . member me . e . e.’

At the sound of his voice the Princess put her hands to her ears, and
Diana had the greatest difficulty in keeping the stags from turning
tail and bolting right away. However, she managed to quieten them, and
took a good grip of her whip handle, and the consequence was that the
last line came out:

    ‘And you’ll remember me . . e . . ow—ow!’

for the whip stung a good deal.

‘I hope you’ll remember me—ow—ow,’ said the Goddess calmly, as she
suddenly appeared to him, turning the chariot towards the sea.

‘You don’t mind getting a little wet?’ she continued, turning to the
Princess. ‘We’re going over the water.’

And she gave the reins to the stags, who sprang wildly down the steep
<DW72> into the sea. For a moment the Princess thought that there might
be rather too much of a good thing, even if that good thing were riding
in a chariot along with a goddess; for the chariot plunged deep into a
high wave, and it seemed to the Princess as if it never did intend to
come to the surface again. However, it did come up, and that was some
comfort, although the Princess was dripping all over with the sea-water.

But the stags were once more darting onwards, for the chariot ran as
lightly over the waves as over the land, and they went at such a rate
that although the great breakers chased them, and even curled right
over them, they were never so much as touched by the spray that the
wind blew from off the crests of the waves.

So they dashed on through the blue water that coiled up over the front
of the chariot but fell back when it saw the Goddess. On and on they
went, and as they got farther out the waves became steeper and steeper,
until it seemed as if they were going over very mountainous land
indeed, for they rose over every wave.

Suddenly the Goddess said:

‘This is a little too much,’ and drew the stags in.

The great waves rolled on like angry hounds hungering for their prey;
but the Goddess motioned with her hand:

‘Down, down!’ she cried. ‘Know ye me?’

And the waves sank, like hounds to whom their master shows his whip,
and instantly it fell a deep calm over the whole sea. Then the Goddess
lashed on the deer again, and once more they sped on over the sea, and
the chariot wheels cut two deep white furrows in the deep blue, and in
the moonlight Ernalie could see the two straight white lines glistening
right away to the horizon—for they went so quickly that there was no
time for the foam to die away, before it was out of sight. So they kept
on for a long while, and gradually the moon rose in the sky, and then
fell lower and lower, and still they journeyed on. Then the moon set,
the stars gradually faded from sight, and the hot rays of the morning
sun began to turn the eastern sky yellow.

Suddenly the Goddess pulled up the stags.

‘There’s the land,’ she said, pointing to a low blue line on the
horizon. ‘We must rise into the air now, for we are getting near the
place where ships ply to and fro on the sea, and if the sailors saw
the two white trails of the chariot wheels they would say it was the
sea-serpent, and I don’t want to be called a snake—it’s most insulting.
So if you’re inclined to be giddy you’d better sit in the bottom of the
car.’

But the Princess said:

‘Oh no. I’m never giddy, however great the height may be.’

So Diana gave the word to the stags, and they began to rise from the
water in a spiral line upwards as an eagle soars in chase of a swan.

When they had reached a sufficiently great height, the Goddess once
more let loose the reins, and the deer bounded forward again like an
arrow released from a bow.

Swiftly they neared the land; but from where they were nothing could be
seen of the things on it. Everything was blurred into one mass, as if
it had been a map spread out below them.

So they sped on again for a time, and the fresh morning air blew cool
on Ernalie’s face, and almost made her shiver, though by this time her
garments were dry again, and blew out like a cloud behind her, as if
they had been of thin gauze, though they were really of far thicker and
heavier material.

Suddenly a thought struck Ernalie.

‘Where are you going to take me?’ she asked as well as she could, for
the wind blew her words down her throat.

The Goddess smiled somewhat maliciously, Ernalie thought, and checked
the course of the stags that she might speak with greater ease.

‘You shall see,’ she said.

‘But I should like to know beforehand.’

‘I only promised to take you back to the earth,’ said Diana.

‘But you promised to do me no harm,’ said Ernalie dismally, ‘and if you
leave me in the middle of a desert you’ll do me a lot of harm.’

‘But I’m not going to put you down into the middle of a desert,’ said
Diana. ‘Look, we are descending. Now, see if you recognise the country
you pass over.’

The Princess looked over the edge of the chariot, and she saw that
the stags were descending in great spiral curves, and at each curve
the earth flew up nearer and nearer to meet them. As they got lower
down Ernalie could see what was below more clearly, as if she had been
looking through an opera glass, and was only just commencing to get the
right focus. When they were quite close the Goddess stopped the descent
of the chariot.

‘Now, do you recognise where you are?’ she asked.

But Ernalie shook her head.

‘I only see that we are over the tops of a range of mountains that
have snow on their peaks,’ she said. ‘But I was never here before—that
I am quite certain of.’

The Goddess shook the reins, and again the stags flew forward; but this
time not so fast as they had gone before.

‘You have been here before,’ she said. ‘And at just this height, and at
just this speed, only you were going in the opposite direction.’

‘Why,’ said Ernalie, ‘I must be in my own country. Oh, how cruel of you
to take me away from my Prince, and you promised to do me no harm.’

‘I am doing you no harm,’ said the Goddess. ‘To prevent you marrying is
not harm—it is good.’

But the Princess said:

‘No! no! it is harm. I would give anything to be back with him.’

‘Would you give your feather?’ said the Goddess eagerly.

‘No, not that,’ said the Princess.

‘I will give you anything you like for it,’ said the Goddess.
‘Anything——’

But the Princess said scornfully:

‘Not so, Goddess. I will get back to my love in spite of you. If I can
do nothing better I will pray to Venus and offer her the feather.’

The Goddess looked angrily at her, and it almost seemed as if her eyes
shot fire.

‘If it were not for my promise,’ she said, ‘I would hurl you from the
car; but as it is, I will put you safely down.’

But the Princess smiled in spite of herself.

‘Do you, then, hate Venus so much, great Goddess?’ she asked. ‘Well,
you have really done me much good, and therefore I promise never to
give the feather to any other goddess save you alone.’

Diana looked very much relieved; for, to tell the truth, the goddesses
in those days were very jealous of one another, and Diana could not
bear the thought that any one else should have the feather if she could
not get it.

So for a few minutes she was silent; and then suddenly she drew in the
stags.

‘I am going to set you down here,’ she said, and they plunged into
the darkness below. For you must know that though they were high up,
and the rays of the sun, still below the horizon, fell on them, yet,
beneath them, everything was dark in the shadow of the mountains.

The chariot sank slowly until it rested on the ground, but it was still
so dark that the Princess could see nothing.

‘Get out,’ said Diana; ‘you are quite safe here.’ And the Princess
obeyed. ‘Now remember,’ the Goddess went on, ‘I have kept my promises.
Remember to keep yours. Give the feather to no one except to me,
unless I send Iris for it. To her alone give it, for she is the
messenger of the goddesses.’

The Princess once more promised, and Diana shook the reins, and the
chariot once more darted up through the air and out of the lower
darkness into the sunlight, until it was so high that it vanished
altogether from her sight.

So the Princess looked wearily down again, and the earth around her
seemed doubly dark by contrast.

‘I wonder where on earth I am,’ she said, and then she took two or
three steps forward, but she came against a stone parapet or wall, or
something. ‘I wonder what this is,’ she said to herself. ‘I think I
shall stop where I am till daylight; it won’t be very long now, and I’m
safe here at any rate.’

So she leant on the wall and waited; but even though the dawn was near
it seemed long in coming.

But presently over the mountains in the east a yellow light stole,
changing the silence of darkness for the clamorous speech of light,
and the river flowing placidly in front was turned to liquid gold with
the yellow of the dawn, and a sense of yellow-fringed gray mist was on
everything, and forms erstwhile veiled discovered themselves.

‘Why, wherever am I?’ said Ernalie, rubbing her eyes in astonishment.
‘I seem to have been here before! Yes, there’s the fountain and the
rose-bushes, and—why, this must be the terrace of my father’s Palace!
Just where I was when the eagle carried me off. I wonder if the swans
are still here,’ and she walked to the other side of the terrace and
looked over the marble parapet into the water.

‘Yes, there they are.’ And on the marble steps that led down to the
water the swans were asleep, each on one leg, with its neck coiled up
on its back, and head under its wing. On hearing the footsteps of the
Princess one of them looked lazily up as if it had been waked too soon,
and then it shook its head, yawned, put down its other leg and waddled
slowly to the water, into which it jumped with a splash that woke the
others up; and they followed dreamily, being unused to the chill of the
water so early.

A cock crowed, and his challenge was answered from far and near, and
woke up the sparrows, who came down to the fountain for a shower-bath
in the sparkling spray. They were followed by the pigeons, who, after
cooing a little, stretched their wings and circled away on their
morning flight. So, by degrees, the world awoke as the day took a
firmer grasp on the land and the light grew stronger.

‘I wish they’d open the doors and let me get in,’ the Princess said.
But as yet there seemed no sign of any one waking up.

‘Ah, well,’ she said resignedly, ‘I’ve waited six years to come home—I
suppose I can wait a few more hours.’

So she quietly walked to the rose-bushes and plucked one or two of the
great red damask roses, and chafing the petals off between her hands,
threw the handfuls of them at the swans, who hissed and snapped as the
mass of red leaves fell over them. It was some time since they had been
subjected to such treatment; however, they seemed to get used to it
again pretty easily.

Thus the Princess managed to while away about half an hour, and then
she noticed smoke coming out of one of the chimneys.

‘They must be up in the kitchen,’ she thought. ‘I’ll just go and knock
at the door and get let in.’

Accordingly she went and knocked softly at the door, and an angry
voice shouted out:

‘Come in, do! and don’t stand knocking there. I’ve got the King’s boots
to black, and his eggs and bacon to cook, and I’ve only got three hours
to do it in. I haven’t got time.’

So the Princess lifted the latch and walked in.

‘Is the King up, cook?’ she asked.

‘No, he’s not! lazy old man as he is,’ said the cook, looking up
angrily. ‘But where are you? Come out from behind that door.’

‘Oh! I had forgotten,’ said the Princess.

She meant, of course, she had forgotten about the feather, but the cook
didn’t know that.

‘You’d forgotten, had you?’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ll teach you to forget if
I catch you!’

‘But you won’t, my dear cook,’ said the Princess sweetly.

‘You’ll catch it if you don’t look out!’ howled the cook, as she rose
from the floor where she had been cleaning the boots, and in doing so
she knocked over an enormous pot of liquid blacking.

‘That’s your doing!’ she cried, as she made a dash at the door.

But the Princess evaded her easily, and she ran outside fully expecting
to find the invisible questioner there. But the Princess meanwhile
walked through the kitchen and up the back-stairs to her own room.

The room was just as she had left it when she went away, except that
the bed seemed to have grown rather small for her, or rather she had
grown too large for the bed.

However, she went in, and locking the door, laid herself down on the
bed, and soon dropped off to sleep; for, as you may imagine, she was
rather tired, for she had not slept for nearly two days—that is, ever
since she had first reached the moon.

It did not seem that she had slept three minutes before she was
awakened by a tremendous noise below-stairs.

‘I wonder what that is,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll get up and see.’

And she went to the wash-hand stand to wash the sea-water off her face,
but the soap, from long want of use, had cracked in all directions, and
she had to content herself with the water that was in the jug. Then she
brushed her hair, which was full of salt, and after that tried to brush
the salt off her dress; for the sea-water had dried on it, and had
left it shining all over with the salt. Before she had quite finished,
however, the noise that had waked her sounded again. It seemed as if
some one were running downstairs very hard.

So the Princess took her hat off, not wishing to be invisible any more,
for a time at least, and then, opening the door, she walked quietly
downstairs.

There seemed to be no one about, and except that a terrible hurly-burly
proceeded from the whereabouts of the kitchen, one would never have
told that any one in the whole house was awake.

However, just then the clock in the hall struck eight, and a page came
rushing downstairs.

‘Breakfast! breakfast!’ he shouted, quite without noticing the
Princess, and he almost passed her before he saw her; but she stopped
him.

‘Where is the King?’ she said.

‘The King is in his counting—that is, I mean the breakfast-room. But
you can’t see him.’

‘But I must,’ said the Princess.

‘Well, of course, if you must——’

The Princess interrupted him.

‘Don’t you know who I am?’ she said.

‘No, I don’t; and I don’t want to,’ said the page. ‘Perhaps you’re the
person who brings home the washing, or the kitchen-maid. If you are, I
wouldn’t like to be in your shoes. The King is so jolly wild about his
eggs and bacon being late that——’

But the Princess didn’t wait to hear any more; she walked straight
towards the door of the breakfast-room. At the door two guards were
stationed; but as they were old and crusted—that is, trusted—they
remembered the Princess, and only saluted with their swords, wishing
her ‘good-morning’—for they were far too well bred to express surprise
or joy at sight of her. One of them opened the door for her, and said
in a loud voice:

‘The Princess, your Majesty.’

The King was seated in a chair with his back to the door, and did not
seem to hear what the man said. He only nodded, and did not look up
from the papers he was reading.

So the Princess stole quietly up behind him, and put her fingers over
his eyes—she always was rather irreverent.

‘Guess who I am,’ she said to the struggling monarch.

‘I won’t,’ he spluttered, for he was rather enraged.

‘Think a minute, papa,’ she said encouragingly.

‘I never should have thought of being assaulted in such a way,’ said
the King, who had given up struggling, finding it no use.

So the Princess drew her hands away, and kissed him on the top of his
bald head.

The King darted away out of the chair as soon as he was released, and
that so violently that he fell right on to the floor in a sitting
posture.

‘Why, who the——’ he was beginning; but his eye happening to fall on
Ernalie, he ejaculated:

‘Good gracious! How did you come here?’

‘I walked downstairs from my room to bid you good-morning, papa, and
you recoiled when I touched you as if I were a snake, instead of your
loving daughter. But wouldn’t you like me to help you up? It must be
rather uncomfortable sitting there.’

‘Yes, I think it would be as well,’ the King said, after reflecting
a moment. ‘I shouldn’t like any one to see me in such a posture—it’s
rather undignified for a king.’

So the Princess bent over and began to help him up; but it was a labour
of some time, for the King was rather stiff, and just as she had got
him half up a page entered and announced the breakfast. It was the same
page that had met the Princess on the staircase, and when he saw the
Princess assisting the King to rise, he rushed forward, shouting:

‘Help! help! She’s murdering the King.’

And catching the Princess by the arm, he pulled her away so roughly
that she had to let go of the King, who recoiled at the shock, and
rolled under the table on his back.

Alarmed at the page’s cries for help, a large number of people had
rushed in, and he turned to them expecting to be commended for his
bravery; but he saw that every one either looked as if he had put his
foot in it, or else was trying hard not to laugh. The Princess herself
could hardly help laughing at his perplexed face.

‘I think, sir, you were a little too vigorous in your help,’ she said
coldly. ‘You may leave us now.’

‘And you can all go,’ said the King from under the table.

The whole lot trooped out, shutting the door, and as soon as they were
outside shouts of laughter filled the air for some minutes.

The King meanwhile scrambled out from under the table and got up, this
time declining his daughter’s help.

‘It’s always the way,’ he said, as soon as the laughter had died away.
‘Whenever I do anything ridiculous and undignified there’s always a
lot of people to see it. Why, only last Thursday—no, last Tuesday,
I think—anyhow, it was the day of the last state banquet, my crown
tumbled into the soup-tureen, and then I was so nervous that, when I
was raising my wine-glass to propose a toast, my hand shook so much
that I dropped the wine down the Duchess of Carabas’s neck; and then
she fainted, and I helped to carry her out of the room, and as soon
as I got outside they all laughed so loud that the chandelier fell
into the middle of them. It broke right on a duke’s head, and he never
apologised for breaking it. However, I shall get over it now you’ve
come back. We really must get into more regular habits. I’ve actually
never had more than ten pages to serve my breakfast since you’ve been
away, and, by the bye, we’ve not _had_ breakfast; and I’ve forgotten
altogether to have the bells rung in your honour. Just knock that gong
there on the table—it’s cracked, but I can’t afford a new one, and it’s
quite good enough for the guards outside to hear.’

So the Princess knocked the gong, and it certainly _was_ cracked; it
sounded a good deal more like knocking an old pot than a respectable
royal gong.

At the sound one of the guards outside entered and saluted.

‘Let the breakfast be brought,’ the King said.

The guard withdrew, and presently the door opened, and a page appeared
with the royal coffee-pot on a cushion of cloth of gold. Next came
another page with the cream-jug on a similar cushion, and then another
with the slop-basin, and another with the sugar, and another with the
tongs, until the table was completely furnished. Last of all came,
with a loud fanfare of trumpets, four men, staggering under the weight
of an enormous silver dish with an equally enormous silver cover. When
this was placed on the table, amid another flourish of trumpets, the
royal butler entered, and said:

‘Breakfast is served, your Majesty,’ although the King could see it
very well himself. But that was the custom.

‘You may remove the cover,’ the King said.

And the butler did so, discovering the breakfast. I say discovering,
for the breakfast was so small that it seemed almost lost in the centre
of the great dish. The twelve pages had ranged themselves in lines of
six on each side of the table, and although they were very well bred,
on the whole they could not help smiling, whereupon all simultaneously
drew out their handkerchiefs and began to cough, and then they looked
at the windows, as if to see where the draught came from.

But the King did not take any notice, and as soon as he could make
himself heard, he said:

‘Ah! and what is this?’

‘It is the breakfast, your Majesty,’ said the butler.

‘Yes, I can see that,’ said the King. ‘But what is the dish called?’

‘Oh, the dish, your Majesty,’ said the butler apologetically. ‘It’s the
ordinary silver dish that your Majesty has with the breakfast. I think
it’s the fiddle pattern—no, that’s for spoons; but——’

‘You’re an ass,’ said the King, interrupting him angrily.

‘Thank you, your Majesty. Anything else?’

‘Send for the cook.’

‘Yes, your Majesty. Anything else?’

‘Yes; go away, and don’t come back.’

‘Yes, your Majesty. You’re quite sure there’s nothing——’

‘If you don’t go,’ said the King threateningly. But he had gone.

In a few minutes heavy footsteps were heard outside, and the door burst
open violently, and a very fat person entered. She seemed a perfect
mass of blacking and dust.

‘Who are you?’ said the King in astonishment.

‘I am the lady that does the cooking for you,’ said the cook solemnly.

‘Oh, you are,’ said the King; ‘and will your ladyship allow me to ask
what that is?’ and he pointed to the breakfast.

The cook went forward and, taking a fork from the table, tried to pick
the breakfast up, but it slid off the fork; so, without more ado, she
took it up in her fingers and examined it carefully, as if to see that
it had not changed since she sent it up. When she had done, she looked
up and said:

‘Why, it’s as nice an egg as can be bought for money, only it’s a bit
addled; and I dropped it in the blacking, but I wiped it on my own
apron—look there.’

And she lifted up her apron to look at; and it certainly looked as if a
good many eggs had been wiped on it.

However, the King did not notice that.

‘Oh, it’s an egg, is it?’ he said; ‘I didn’t know. I thought it was a
piece of coal, and——’

But at this point the cook broke in.

‘Call my eggs a coal! It’s a crying shame! You ought to be ashamed of
yourself, an old man like you, too. Here have I been working for three
hours this very morning at that egg, and he calls it a coal; and me
that plagued too with demons! Why, only this morning one of ’em came
and banged at the door so hard that it broke, and then it came in. It
was a blue one, with red eyes and a long green tail with a fork at
the end; and it stuck the fork in the egg, and then put the egg in the
blacking and threw it all over the kitchen; and then it kicked the
blacking pot over and flew out at the door before I could say “Gemini”;
and I saw it with my own eyes, and it was as ugly a little——’

But this was more than the Princess could stand.

‘Oh, what a—an untruth that is! Look at me. Am I a blue demon with red
eyes and a tail?’

But the cook was off again.

‘Oh, it was you, was it? And you ought to be ashamed of _your_self,
a-frightening a poor lone-lorn woman. Call yourself a Princess? I call
you a——’

This was too much for the King.

‘That is enough,’ he said. ‘Take a month’s warning.’

To which the cook replied contemptuously:

‘You give _me_ a month’s warning? Not a bit of it. I give you a
minute’s warning! it’s quite enough for the likes of you.’

‘Oh, very well,’ said the King. ‘Of course, if you go off without
warning, I don’t pay your month’s wages.’

‘Call yourself a King?’ roared the cook. ‘Why, you’re meaner than——’

‘I don’t know what I call myself,’ said the King mildly, ‘but if you
don’t go I’ll call a policeman and have your head cut off instead of
your wages.’

But the cook was not to be daunted.

‘That’s what the likes of you does with your old and faithful servants.
Here have I been, day in, day out, work, work, work, like a <DW65>
slave-driver, and this is my reward!’

The King did not listen to the rest. He beckoned to one of the pages
and said:

‘Just run and bring a sack and throw it over her head. Be quick!’

The page left the room.

‘There you go,’ said the irrepressible cook. ‘That’s it, send for the
police, ye oppressors of the poor. Ugh!’

And she began a fresh volley of abuse. She seemed as if she would
never lose her breath. But after a few minutes—it seemed ages to the
unfortunate King—the page returned; and although he did not enter very
quietly, yet the cook was making such a noise that she did not hear
him, and the page, who seemed to enter entirely into the spirit of the
thing, dropped the sack quietly over her head, and stopped her flow of
language.

‘Now, take her outside and put her out at the back door, and mind and
shut the door securely after her,’ remarked the King, with a sigh of
relief.

Six of the pages immediately caught hold of her and dragged her out,
and the other six were about to follow to see the sport when the King
stopped them.

‘Can any one of you cook at all?’ he said.

One of the pages stood out and professed to be able to do a little in
that way.

‘Well, then,’ said the King decidedly, ‘all six of you go to the
kitchen and see what you can find there; and mind you, if I don’t have
a breakfast in five minutes, I’ll—well, _I’ll_ see about it.’

When the pages had gone, he turned to the Princess and said:

‘That’s what I always have to put up with. Only the other day the man
who cleans the library windows flung his towel in my face and refused
to work any more for me, and all because I told him that his coat
wasn’t in the fashion.’

‘But wasn’t that rather an unwise proceeding, papa?’ asked Ernalie,
dubiously.

‘Do you think so?’ asked the King. ‘If I said that the cut of your
dress was rather outlandish—and it is, by the bye—you wouldn’t fling
something at me, would you?’

‘No; but then I’m your dutiful daughter, you see.’

‘Well, but he ought to be my dutiful son, for I’m the father of my
country.’

‘Well, but then, you see, sons are not always dutiful—daughters always
are.’

‘Or they ought to be,’ said his Majesty.

‘It’s the same thing, isn’t it?’

‘Do you think so?’ said the King, in a tone that showed he doubted it.

Just at this moment the pages entered, bringing the breakfast; and they
sat down to it.

I needn’t say it was much better than the first one, although I don’t
remember exactly what it consisted of; however, they did good justice
to it, for Ernalie was rather hungry.

Just as they had finished, the King threw down his knife and fork and
looked as if he had just remembered something dreadful.

‘What is the matter, papa?’ asked the Princess in alarm.

And the King burst out:

‘There, now! I knew I’d forgotten something!’ he said. ‘Run out, all
six of you,’ he went on, addressing the pages, ‘and set the joy-bells
pealing, and send messengers throughout the land. Quick!’

But when they had gone, he calmed down and said:

‘Now, Ernalie, tell me where you’ve been.’

So she began and told it all through, and the King listened quietly
till she had finished. Then he said:

‘Ah! You’ve had some wonderful adventures, and you’ve come back safe
out of them—only, I should very much like to see this wonderful
feather.’

So the Princess showed him the feather in her hat, which she had laid
on a chair; the King looked at it very carefully, and then he said:

‘H’m. Looks a very ordinary feather. How does it work? I should like to
see.’

‘You won’t see much,’ said the Princess with a smile, as she put it on
and vanished.

The King looked astonished.

‘Why, where are you?’ he said.

‘I’m just where I was before, papa,’ answered the Princess.

‘But I don’t believe it,’ the King said, and he looked under the table.
‘You’ve hidden yourself behind something—or some other trick.’

He was rather too startled to think of what his words meant exactly.

‘You are a sceptical old papa for any one to have to do with; but I’ll
soon prove it to you.’

And she walked quietly behind his chair, and blew in his ear, which
was a rather rude thing to do, on the whole.

‘Perhaps that will blow the disbelief out of your head,’ she said,
laughing to see how her unfortunate father shook his head in surprise.

‘Oh yes,’ he replied, ‘I’m quite convinced, and I don’t need any more;
and I’d much rather see what you’re up to, so just take the feather
off, there’s a good girl.’

And the Princess did as she was told, and the King said:

‘Ah! there you are. Don’t put it on again; I’ve had quite enough of
it. Now I can understand how it was that you did it all. But I can’t
understand why you didn’t let the young man save himself. You might
just as well have lent him the feather, and let him go and get drowned.’

‘But I didn’t want him to get drowned,’ said the Princess.

‘Why not?’ said the King.

‘Because his father and mother took me in, and saved me from Wopole,
and it wouldn’t have been a great return for their kindness to let
their only son be killed, and besides I——’ But her Royal Highness
stopped.

‘You what?’ said her father.

‘I mean he——’ and she stopped again.

‘Oh, it’s him this time, is it? What’s the matter with you?’ he said
in astonishment. ‘You don’t mean to say that you’re in love with one
another? Now I call that too bad. Here have I promised you to three
dukes, and you’ve gone and fallen in love with a Prince. Now I shall
have no end of a nuisance with them.’

‘I won’t marry them, at any rate,’ said Ernalie energetically.

‘I don’t want you to marry _them_—one’s quite enough at a time.’

‘But I won’t marry one of them, and I’m the principal person concerned.

And the Princess began to cry, and that of course softened the heart
of her father.

‘There, there,’ he said, as if he were soothing a baby. ‘Don’t cry; you
shall marry the Prince, if you can get him—only it’s rather awkward for
me. I can’t tell the dukes that you’re engaged to a Prince that can’t
be got at. I’m afraid the only thing to do will be to have all their
heads cut off. That’ll keep them quiet, at any rate. If I were you I’d
send this young man a letter to tell him where you are.’

‘But I’m afraid it wouldn’t reach him,’ said the Princess.

‘Then I don’t see what’s to be done,’ said the King perplexedly.
‘However, I shall give a grand ball to-morrow, and if I were you I
should go and have a dress made at once. Send for the Court dressmaker,
and tell her that if the dress isn’t ready by then you’ll turn her out
of her place; and then when you’ve done that go into the library, and
take a book and read. I’ve got a whole lot of work to do this morning;
but I shall have finished by one, and then I shall have the day to
myself.’

‘But can’t I stay with you while you work? I will be very quiet.’

But the King shook his head.

‘No—there’s a good girl. I’ve got a whole lot of people to give
audience to, and they’ll take up such a lot of time congratulating you
that I shall not get a stroke of work done.’

So the Princess went and was measured for her ball-dress, and then into
the library, and looked about for a book.

Most of them looked very dry and uninteresting, so the Princess took
one at a venture.

It was called _The Canterbury Tales_, by Geoffrey Chaucer.

‘Chaucer,’ said the Princess to herself, ‘I’ve heard of him. I’ll just
take it on to the terrace and read it in the arbour. It’s better than
sitting in this stuffy old library.’

So she opened one of the windows that led on to the steps of the
terrace, and taking the book with her, stepped out of the room.

On the terrace a peacock was airing itself with some pea-hens, and when
it saw the Princess it raised its great fan-like tail to display itself
to greater advantage, then it quivered all over until the feathers of
its tail rattled one against the other, and the hens looked admiringly
at him, and then sideways at one another, nodding their heads and
clucking, as if to say:

‘Ha! what a fine fellow our master is, and what a splendid tail he’s
got. Much better than that poor human being’s yellow stuff, which only
moves when the wind blows it.’ And then they looked contemptuously
at the Princess’s golden hair, and clucked to each other again, and
followed the peacock, which was strutting away to another part of the
terrace.

So the Princess went and looked for the swans; but they were busily
engaged right over at the other side of the lake, turning bottom
upwards in a very undignified manner, and they refused to come for any
amount of calling.

As there was nothing else to do, she went and sat down in a shady nook
in the white marble wall, and began to look at her book.

‘I shall skip the “Introduction” and the “Prologue”—that’s always dry.
Yes, let’s see, this will do—“The Knightes Tale.” It hasn’t got any
apostrophe to “Knightes.” That’s bad grammar, I’m sure. However, I’ll
go on.’

So she settled herself in a comfortable position with the book on her
lap, and began again:

    ‘Whilom as olde stories tellen us
     A certeyn duk highte Theseus.’

Here she stopped.

‘This man may be a good poet, but he spells awfully badly. Fancy
“certain” spelt with an “e-y-n,” and “duke” without an “e.” It sounds
like “duck.” And then, what was the “height of Theseus”? I can’t
understand it at all.’

However, she read on, skipping pages here and there, for it was almost
impossible for her to understand it. Now it happened that as she turned
the pages over listlessly—for she was thinking of something else—her
eye happened to fall on the name of ‘Dian.’

‘Why, that must be Diana! only they’ve forgotten the “a.” I’ll look a
little farther and see what it says about her.’

So she ran her eye down the page, and sure enough she came upon the
name.

‘Why, it’s spelt with a “y” now,’ she said. ‘Chaucer evidently doesn’t
know his own mind in the matter of spelling. I’ll write to him, and
ask him about it. Now, let’s see what it says. Why, it appears to be a
prayer, or an invocation, or something.’

So she read:

    ‘O chaste goddes of the woodes greene
     To whence bothe heven and erthe are seene
     Queen of the regne of Pluto dark and lowe
     Goddes of maydens that myn hert has knowe
     Ful many a yeer ye woot what I desire
     As keep me fro the vengeans of thilk yre
     That Actæon aboughte trewely . . .’

Just at this point she heard the rattling of chariot wheels, and Diana
appeared to her.

‘Well, what do you want now?’ she said.

‘I don’t want anything in particular,’ said Ernalie in astonishment.

‘Then why did you go on praying to me like that?’

‘I wasn’t praying, I was reading.’

‘It doesn’t matter to me. It was a very funny prayer. Whoever was it
by? He must have been a stupid man.’

‘He was the father of English poetry,’ the Princess said reproachfully.

‘I should have thought he was a great-great-grandfather when he wrote
that.’

‘Why?’ said the Princess in astonishment.

‘It seems uncommonly like the writing of a man in his second childhood.
However, that does not matter. About the feather now. What can I do in
exchange for it? I will give you anything you want.’

The Princess looked at the Goddess.

‘Why do you want the feather so much?’ she asked. ‘Are you not
invisible enough already?’

The Goddess looked at her sneeringly:

‘I _am_ invisible to dull mortals; but we gods can see each other well
enough, invisible or not. If I had this feather, though, it would be
different, and I should be able to laugh at Venus and that set.’

‘Then I’m sure I won’t give it you, for as Venus is the Goddess of
Beauty she might make me ugly, and that would not be nice for me.’

Diana laughed.

‘You evidently don’t consider yourself bad-looking,’ she said; and she
was just going on to say something else when an enormous wolf, without
a muzzle too, appeared coming round the side of the Palace.

‘There’s Mars,’ said Diana.

‘I don’t see him. I only see a horrible wolf, and——’

But the Goddess interrupted her.

‘Why, you stupid, that’s Mars’s wolf, and where it is Mars is sure to
be, or he isn’t far off.’

‘But what does he want here?’ asked Ernalie.

‘He’s going to escort me to Jupiter’s ball, and he’ll be awfully
impatient. However, he can wait. Now think, is there nothing?’

The Princess reflected a moment.

‘If I give it to you,’ she said, ‘you must do several things for it,
and those quickly.’

The Goddess nodded.

‘First, you must make a road across the mountains into the country
beyond.’

‘That is easy enough,’ said the Goddess.

‘Then you must kill the dragon.’

‘He died last week of sheer starvation. So that’s done. Next.’

‘You must bring Treblo here.’

‘Do you mean that he’s to marry you? That’s too bad, considering that
you know I detest marriages. However, it can’t be helped. Is that all?
Because if there’s much more you had better write it down.’

‘There’s nothing more, except that it must all be done by half-past
six to-morrow evening.’

‘Oh! is that all? You shall have it all done before then,’ said the
Goddess, very much relieved that the tasks that were to be done had
been set.

‘Then, if you’re here to-morrow evening I’ll give it to you.’

Just then Mars appeared round the corner, looking very bad-tempered.

‘If you _are_ coming at all, you’d better come at once.’

So Diana said:

‘Very well, to-morrow evening I shall be here.’

And she drove her chariot towards the God of War, and when he had got
in they turned the corner of the house and disappeared.

Just then the King came into the garden from the library window.

‘What have you been doing?’ he asked her. ‘I’ve been watching you for
some minutes from the window, and you’ve been going on in the most
extraordinary manner, talking and laughing, just as if you had been
speaking to some one.’

The Princess brushed back her hair from her face.

‘Oh! I didn’t know you could see me,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing—only a
little surprise I’ve been preparing for you.’

‘Indeed, you surprise me,’ the King said.

‘Ah, well! if I do that so easily perhaps I shall do it often,’ she
said.

‘What have you been doing all the morning?’ the King asked.

‘All the morning?’ said the Princess in astonishment. ‘It’s not late,
is it?’

The King pulled out his watch and looked at it.

‘It’s half-past five by my watch; but I don’t think that’s quite
right—in fact it stopped three days ago. Ah! I thought so—there’s the
dinner-gong. You needn’t wash your hands, or you’ll be late.’

So they went in together, and the rest of the day passed off quietly,
except that every now and then one of the enthusiastic nobles insisted
on coming in and welcoming the Princess, although the King had given
strict orders that no one should be admitted, as he wanted to be alone
for the day. In spite of this, every now and then an elderly duchess
_would_ rush into the royal presence, and offer her congratulations.

At last, just as they hoped that the last of them had come and gone,
the door opened, and an elderly man—he would have been offended at
being called old—rushed in and clasped the Princess in his arms.

‘My adored Duchess——’ he was just beginning.

But the Princess boxed his ears suddenly, and he let go.

‘What on earth does this mean?’ she said, turning to the King. ‘First
I am inundated with duchesses until I’m quite tired of the name, and
then this old fright rushes in and calls me _his_ duchess, when I’m not
a duchess at all. What does he mean, papa?’

The King looked rather embarrassed.

‘It’s one of them,’ he said meaningly.

‘Oh! it’s one of them, is it?’ she said. ‘Well, sir’—turning to the
Duke—‘what do _you_ mean by forcing your way here against the royal
orders?’

‘I thought,’ said the Duke, looking rather foolish, ‘that as you are
going to——’

‘But I’m not,’ said Ernalie suddenly, ‘after such rudeness. You may go,
and don’t come back again.’

And the Duke went.

‘That’s got rid of one of them, at any rate,’ the King said, with a
sigh of relief.

‘I’ll do my best to get rid of them all,’ said the Princess.

‘How?’ the King began. Then he stopped. ‘Wait a moment. I have an
idea,’ he went on.

‘Indeed, you surprise me,’ said the Princess.

But the King did not notice her impertinent remark. He went to a
drawer, and took out a large piece of paper, and wrote on it as large
as he could:

                       ‘NOTICE.

    ‘During the next twenty-four hours, any one found
    kissing, embracing, congratulating, or suing for the
    hand of the Princess—or King—will be submerged three
    times in the Palace draw-well.

                             ‘(Signed) CARET, etc. etc.’

‘That ought to do it,’ said the King, surveying his handiwork
approvingly.

Just then the door opened, and two more old gentlemen—each wearing a
ducal coronet—tottered in as fast as they could.

‘My dear Princess,’ ‘My darling wife,’ they duetted in feeble tones,
showing as much joy as their faces were capable of, which made them
look about as pleasant as a pair of Japanese masks.

‘Allow me to congratulate you,’ ‘Allow me to offer my congratulations,’
they went on.

‘Now you’ve done it,’ said the King. ‘Look here!’ And he showed them
the notice.

The two Dukes turned each a different shade of yellow.

‘But, your Majesty,’ one of them began.

‘But, your Majesty,’ said the other suddenly; ‘as I’m——’

‘As I’m——’ the other put in.

Each of them stopped and looked angrily at the other.

‘As the son-in-law elect of the King,’ the first one began.

‘As the affianced husband of the Princess,’ said the other.

‘I think I have the right to speak first,’ they both said angrily.

But the King said, coolly:

‘My lords, the case is very clear. You have each of you offended
against the law by congratulating the Princess, and as one of you,
if not both, intends to marry my daughter and become King, it is as
well to teach you from the beginning that the law must be abided by.
Therefore, you will be ducked—“submerged,” the notice says—until one
of you expires; the other will then marry Ernalie, and in course of
time—if he does not die of the effects in the meantime—he will ascend
the throne, having learnt a useful lesson.’

As the Dukes got greener and greener at this, the King went on:

‘The sentence had better be executed at once, so come along to the
courtyard.’

‘But, your Majesty,’ said one of them, ‘I am subject to rheumatism,
and I should not be fit to reign if this immersion in cold water should
make it so bad that I was unable to move.’

‘That’s just the case with me,’ said the other.

‘Ah, well, if that is so,’ said the King, ‘perhaps you would like
to give up your pretensions to my daughter’s hand. In that case, I
should let you off, because there would be no need to give you such a
practical exemplification of the majesty of the law.’

The Dukes looked perplexedly at one another.

‘I think,’ said one of them, ‘that, under the circumstances, I will
give up my pretensions to the Princess’s hand.’

Here he looked regretfully at her right hand.

‘And I too,’ said the other sadly, looking at her left hand.

‘How _very_ gallant of you,’ the Princess said ironically. ‘And now,
as you’ve got rid of me so easily, perhaps you will be so kind as to
leave us for a time. Good-day.’

‘Good-day,’ duetted the Dukes.

And they huddled out as well as they could, each trying to get behind
the other.

‘I think that’s got rid of all the suitors for to-day,’ the King said
when the door closed behind them. ‘I’ll just go and have the notice
hung on the door, and I’ll be back in a minute.’

And he went, too.

Now really, he thought he had let the Dukes off too easily, and he
intended to catch them up and fine them, but they had made off so
uncommonly fast that they had disappeared before he got to the street
door.

Meanwhile the Princess waited quietly for him; but hearing a noise of
wheels outside the window, she went to see what was the cause of it.

‘Why, it’s him!’ she said delightedly, and with utter disregard of
English grammar.

Opening the window she called out, ‘Treblo! Treblo!’ and, running down
the steps towards him, threw herself into his arms.

For a moment she was too much out of breath to say anything at all, and
Treblo too surprised to do anything but just hold her in his arms; and
the King, who had just returned from the search after the Dukes, was
far too taken aback to do anything but stand with his mouth and eyes
wide open.

‘I call this too bad,’ he said in a low voice; and then raising it, he
called out:

‘Young man, I say, have you seen the notice?’

Treblo looked annoyed.

‘What is the notice to me, you old fool?’ he said.

The King looked more and more astonished.

‘This is too much,’ he said. ‘Ernalie, when you’ve done kissing that
young man perhaps you’ll tell me who he is. You see, it’s no use my
putting up notices about other people embracing you if you go and
perform on some one immediately afterwards. Now just tell me who it is.’

‘Why, it’s him, papa,’ said Ernalie, who had by this time disengaged
herself.

‘Oh, it’s a _him_, is it?’ the King said. ‘That’s what the three others
said they were, but they wouldn’t suit you.’

‘But they were so very old; besides, this is _the_ him, papa.’

‘Ah, I see,’ said the papa, laughing. ‘It’s a case of “Ancient and
Modern Hymns,” and you prefer the modern. But what about the notice?’

‘What _is_ the notice?’ asked Treblo, rather puzzled; ‘and what has it
got to do with me?’

‘More than you think,’ said the King. ‘It’s worth reading, I can tell
you, especially during the next twenty-four hours. I should advise you
to learn it by heart—that is, if you intend. However, I’ll go and fetch
it, and you will be able to see for yourself.’

And the King went off to look for his notice.

When he had gone, the Princess said:

‘But how did you get here? I thought the mountains could not be
crossed.’

‘I don’t know anything about the mountains, or how I came here either,
for that matter. All I know is that I was suddenly caught up in a thick
mist which hid me from every one, and every one from me too, and before
I knew anything I was whirled off here in about a minute and a half,
and then you came running down the steps—and that’s all I know. Now
perhaps you’ll tell me where I am, for I haven’t the faintest idea?’

‘Why, you’re in the middle of the kingdom of Aoland, and that was my
father, and this is my home—and it’s all right.’

‘Yes, it’s all right now, but you wouldn’t have said it was all right
if you had been carried like me.’

‘But you should feel yourself highly honoured and not injured. Why, you
stupid fellow, it was a goddess who was carrying you like the heroes of
Homer.’

‘A goddess!’ said the Prince, laughing. ‘Why, you must have been the
goddess, Ernalie, and you’re quite——’

But the Princess stopped him.

‘What’s the use of saying that if you won’t believe me? It really was a
goddess; and if you would like to know her name, it was Diana.’

‘Diana!’ said the Prince. ‘Why did she carry me off like this?’

‘Because I told her to, of course.’

The Prince shook his head.

‘Come, I say, Ernalie,’ he said, ‘this is too much, you know. I suppose
you want me to believe that?’

‘Of course I do. Why should I have told you if I hadn’t wanted you to?’

‘Yes, that’s all very well,’ said the unbelieving Prince; ‘but how do
you do it?’

‘I just make myself invisible, and then I make people do everything I
like; they have to do it, or else I tease them till they do. But let’s
come into the house and I’ll tell you all about it. But why are you
holding me so tightly?’

‘I am afraid that you will suddenly vanish as you did once before, and
I don’t want that—you’ve been away from me long enough.’

‘Oh, but I won’t leave you again, Treblo,’ she said, ‘I promise
that—that is, if you don’t want me to.’

‘Then you won’t leave me, dear?’ he said; ‘for I shall never want to
lose sight of you again.’

So they went in, and the Princess told him what you know already—if you
haven’t skipped it. But all the same he did not leave go of her, and I
don’t think it was from mistrust.

Ernalie finished relating her story, and the Prince was beginning:

‘My dearest Ernalie, how can I——’ when the door opened, and the King
came in.

‘I’ve had such a job,’ he said, wiping his forehead. ‘There were about
three thousand people assembled reading the notice, and they jeered and
hooted so much that I had to make them a speech before they’d go away.
However, here’s the notice.’

The Prince read it through carefully, and when he had finished he
looked at the King and said:

‘Well?’

‘That’s just it,’ said the King; ‘the Palace draw-_well_.’

‘But as I’m the affianced bride of—I mean, as Ernalie’s my future
husband——’

‘That’s just what the other two said—at least they said, and more
correctly, that they were my sons-in-law elect; only that didn’t help
them.’

By this time the Prince was looking more puzzled than ever.

‘Who are these other two?’ he said, turning to the Princess.

(‘Beware of the green-eyed monster,’ the King said parenthetically.)

‘Oh, they’re only three dukes that papa had promised my hand to—only I
wouldn’t have them.’

‘You mean they wouldn’t have you,’ said the King, correcting her.

‘I don’t mean anything of the sort,’ said the Princess.

‘Oh, very well, my dear,’ said the King. ‘Of course, if you say so,
it’s all right. But how about the notice?’

‘I think we’ll tear that up,’ said Ernalie. ‘It’s done its duty, and it
will be rather in the way now.’

‘Indeed, you surprise me,’ remarked the King.

‘Ernalie is quite right,’ said the Prince.

‘Oh! is she?’ said the King. ‘Then I suppose I’d better tear it up.’
And he did.

When he had finished, and had thrown the fragments into the waste-paper
basket, he said:

‘Now I suppose you want me to consent to your marrying each other, and
I suppose I’d better, or else I shall have Ernalie pitching into me
like anything—only, I really don’t know who you are, young man, except
that Ernalie says you are “him” (she ought to say he), and so I suppose
you are Treblo, the Prince of the neighbouring kingdom?’

‘I am,’ said the Prince. ‘And I suppose you are the King of this
country?’

The King was just about to say ‘I am,’ when another voice sounded
through the room so clear and commanding that each of them looked
towards the window from which it came; but nothing was to be seen there.

‘The road is made,’ it said, ‘and now perhaps you’ll give me the
feather.’

‘Certainly,’ said the Princess. ‘Here it is,’ and she held it out in
the direction of the Goddess. ‘Only, you might let us see you before
you go for ever.’

‘Oh, certainly,’ said the Goddess, for, to tell the truth, Diana—like
others besides goddesses—was very fond of being admired; and
immediately she appeared in the middle of the room with her silver bow
and quiver slung over her back, and the star that she always wore
shining on her forehead.

She took the feather and, smiling, put it to her hair, and on the
moment passed away; so that, where she had seemed to be, they saw the
thin circlet of the moon hanging silvery and pale over the flush of the
sun’s departure.

       *       *       *       *       *

‘It really was Diana,’ Treblo said.

‘Yes, of course it was, you sceptical boy,’ Ernalie answered; and then,
with a little sigh, ‘I wish I had the feather still, it makes me feel
just like any other girl being without it.’

‘But you’re not—not a bit—there’s no one like you in the world!’ Treblo
said hotly.

‘Why, I believe you’re right—upon my word I do,’ the King said
suddenly, looking up from a book in which he had seemed immersed, ‘_I_
never knew any one like her—for obstinacy.’

‘Let’s go into the garden, Treblo,’ the Princess said.

‘You’ll catch your deaths of cold,’ the King remarked.

But somehow, although they quietly ignored his prudent observation,
which was really wrong of them, they never caught cold. And that is
all the stranger, because the evening was falling very rapidly, with a
feeling of cool dew after the heat of the day, with a faint scent of
roses and honeysuckle, and no sound on the air but the splash of a fish
as it jumped for a moment out of the smooth river, or the short, shrill
shriek of a bat that was circling in the air above them. They sat in a
marble niche in the wall that had roses running up it and hanging down
like a net in front of them—sat and talked till it grew so dark that
he could no longer see the golden threads in her brown hair; until he
could no longer see that her eyes were hazel-gray and long-lashed, or
even that her face was a long, sweet, serious oval. So, you see, it
must have been _quite_ a long time that they sat and talked thus.

But from this you are not to imagine that their example is to be
emulated—not by any means; because I am perfectly certain that if
any one were foolish enough to do it nowadays, they’d have perfectly
miserable colds-in-the-head at the very least, not to mention rheumatic
pains, so I should really advise you not to try any such tricks; very
likely the Prince and Princess had something especial to keep them
warm, or perhaps they sat rather close together—it’s just possible.

However, next morning the Prince and Princess set out together for the
court of King Abbonamento.

They arrived safely at the Palace, and were received with joy by every
one—except Mumkie, who was already making preparations to make himself
King again, for he was quite sure that the Prince had been carried off
for good. So, when he saw the Prince returning, safe and sound, he
was seized with such a fit of rage that he jumped into the sea, and
swam right out of sight. Wopole having, moreover, committed the fatal
mistake of setting sail from the moon when it set, had unfortunately
chosen the wrong side of the earth. And from that day to this neither
he nor Mumkie has ever been heard more of.

But in a very short time the Prince and Princess were married, and it
is needless to say—because, since we live in the nineteenth century,
no one will believe it, but still, if you’ll take my word for it—they
lived happily ever afterwards.


    THE END


    _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Feather, by Ford H. Madox Hueffer

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