'She didn't say that. And I don't think she does. That wouldn't
be comfortable - would it? I don't think my papa wears his crown
for a night-cap. Does he, nursie?'
'I never asked him. I dare say he does.'
'And she's been there ever since I came here - ever so many years.'
'Anybody could have told you that,' said the nurse, who did not
believe a word Irene was saying.
'Why didn't you tell me, then?'
'There was no necessity. You could make it all up for yourself.'
'You don't believe me, then!' exclaimed the
princess, astonished
and angry, as she well might be.
'Did you expect me to believe you,
princess?' asked the nurse
coldly. 'I know
princesses are in the habit of telling
make-believes, but you are the first I ever heard of who expected
to have them believed,' she added,
seeing that the child was
strangely in earnest.
The
princess burst into tears.
'Well, I must say,' remarked the nurse, now
thoroughly vexed with
her for crying, 'it is not at all becoming in a
princess to tell
stories and expect to be believed just because she is a
princess.'
'But it's quite true, I tell you.'
'You've dreamt it, then, child.'
'No, I didn't dream it. I went
upstairs, and I lost myself, and if
I hadn't found the beautiful lady, I should never have found
myself.'
'Oh, I dare say!'
'Well, you just come up with me, and see if I'm not telling the
truth.'
'Indeed I have other work to do. It's your dinnertime, and I won't
have any more such nonsense.'
The
princess wiped her eyes, and her face grew so hot that they
were soon quite dry. She sat down to her dinner, but ate next to
nothing. Not to be believed does not at all agree with
princesses:
for a real
princess cannot tell a lie. So all the afternoon she
did not speak a word. Only when the nurse spoke to her, she
answered her, for a real
princess is never rude - even when she
does well to be offended.
Of course the nurse was not comfortable in her mind - not that she
suspected the least truth in Irene's story, but that she loved her
dearly, and was vexed with herself for having been cross to her.
She thought her crossness was the cause of the
princess's
unhappiness, and had no idea that she was really and deeply hurt at
not being believed. But, as it became more and more plain during
the evening in her every
motion and look, that, although she tried
to amuse herself with her toys, her heart was too vexed and
troubled to enjoy them, her nurse's
discomfort grew and grew. When
bedtime came, she undressed and laid her down, but the child,
instead of
holding up her little mouth to be kissed, turned away
from her and lay still. Then nursie's heart gave way altogether,
and she began to cry. At the sound of her first sob the
princessturned again, and held her face to kiss her as usual. But the
nurse had her
handkerchief to her eyes, and did not see the
movement.
'Nursie,' said the
princess, 'why won't you believe me?'
'Because I can't believe you,' said the nurse, getting angry again.
'Ah! then, you can't help it,' said Irene, 'and I will not be vexed
with you any more. I will give you a kiss and go to sleep.'
'You little angel!' cried the nurse, and caught her out of bed, and
walked about the room with her in her arms, kissing and hugging
her.
'You will let me take you to see my dear old great big
grandmother,
won't you?' said the
princess, as she laid her down again.
'And you won't say I'm ugly, any more - will you,
princess?'
'Nursie, I never said you were ugly. What can you mean?'
'Well, if you didn't say it, you meant it.'
'Indeed, I never did.'
'You said I wasn't so pretty as that -'
'As my beautiful
grandmother - yes, I did say that; and I say it
again, for it's quite true.'
'Then I do think you are unkind!' said the nurse, and put her
handkerchief to her eyes again.
'Nursie, dear, everybody can't be as beautiful as every other body,
you know. You are very nice-looking, but if you had been as
beautiful as my
grandmother -'
'Bother your
grandmother!' said the nurse.
'Nurse, that's very rude. You are not fit to be
spoken to till you
can
behave better.'
The
princess turned away once more, and again the nurse was ashamed
of herself.
'I'm sure I beg your
pardon,
princess,' she said, though still in
an offended tone. But the
princess let the tone pass, and heeded
only the words.
'You won't say it again, I am sure,' she answered, once more
turning towards her nurse. 'I was only going to say that if you
had been twice as nice-looking as you are, some king or other would
have married you, and then what would have become of me?'
'You are an angel!'
repeated the nurse, again embracing her.
'Now,' insisted Irene, 'you will come and see my
grandmother -
won't you?'
'I will go with you
anywhere you like, my cherub,' she answered;
and in two minutes the weary little
princess was fast asleep.
CHAPTER 5
The Princess Lets Well Alone
When she woke the next morning, the first thing she heard was the
rain still falling. Indeed, this day was so like the last that it
would have been difficult to tell where was the use of It. The
first thing she thought of, however, was not the rain, but the lady
in the tower; and the first question that occupied her thoughts was
whether she should not ask the nurse to
fulfil her promise this
very morning, and go with her to find her
grandmother as soon as
she had had her breakfast. But she came to the
conclusion that
perhaps the lady would not be pleased if she took anyone to see her
without first asking leave; especially as it was pretty evident,
seeing she lived on pigeons' eggs, and cooked them herself, that
she did not want the household to know she was there. So the
princessresolved to take the first opportunity of
running up alone
and asking whether she might bring her nurse. She believed the
fact that she could not
otherwiseconvince her she was telling the
truth would have much weight with her
grandmother.
The
princess and her nurse were the best of friends all
dressing-time, and the
princess in
consequence ate an enormous
little breakfast.
'I wonder, Lootie' - that was her pet name for her nurse - 'what
pigeons' eggs taste like?' she said, as she was eating her egg -
not quite a common one, for they always picked out the pinky ones
for her.
'We'll get you a pigeon's egg, and you shall judge for yourself,'
said the nurse.
'Oh, no, no!' returned Irene, suddenly reflecting they might
disturb the old lady in getting it, and that even if they did not,
she would have one less in
consequence.
'What a strange creature you are,' said the nurse - 'first to want
a thing and then to refuse it!'
But she did not say it crossly, and the
princess never
minded any
remarks that were not unfriendly.
'Well, you see, Lootie, there are reasons,' she returned, and said
no more, for she did not want to bring up the subject of their
former
strife, lest her nurse should offer to go before she had had
her
grandmother's
permission to bring her. Of course she could
refuse to take her, but then she would believe her less than ever.
Now the nurse, as she said herself afterwards, could not be every
moment in the room; and as never before
yesterday had the
princessgiven her the smallest reason for
anxiety, it had not yet come into
her head to watch her more closely. So she soon gave her a chance,
and, the very first that offered, Irene was off and up the stairs
again.
This day's adventure, however, did not turn out like
yesterday's,
although it began like it; and indeed to- day is very seldom like
yesterday, if people would note the differences - even when it
rains. The
princess ran through passage after passage, and could
not find the stair of the tower. My own
suspicion is that she had
not gone up high enough, and was searching on the second instead of
the third floor. When she turned to go back, she failed
equally in
her search after the stair. She was lost once more.
Something made it even worse to bear this time, and it was no
wonder that she cried again. Suddenly it occurred to her that it
was after having cried before that she had found her
grandmother's
stair. She got up at once, wiped her eyes, and started upon a
fresh quest.
This time, although she did not find what she hoped, she found what
was next best: she did not come on a stair that went up, but she
came upon one that went down. It was
evidently not the stair she
had come up, yet it was a good deal better than none; so down she
went, and was singing
merrily before she reached the bottom.
There, to her surprise, she found herself in the kitchen. Although
she was not allowed to go there alone, her nurse had often taken
her, and she was a great favourite with the servants. So there was
a general rush at her the moment she appeared, for every one wanted
to have her; and the report of where she was soon reached the
nurse's ears. She came at once to fetch her; but she never
suspected how she had got there, and the
princess kept her own
counsel.
Her
failure to find the old lady not only disappointed her, but
made her very
thoughtful. Sometimes she came almost to the nurse's
opinion that she had dreamed all about her; but that fancy never
lasted very long. She wondered much whether she should ever see
her again, and thought it very sad not to have been able to find
her when she particularly wanted her. She
resolved to say nothing
more to her nurse on the subject,
seeing it was so little in her
power to prove her words.
CHAPTER 6
The Little Miner
The next day the great cloud still hung over the mountain, and the
rain poured like water from a full
sponge. The
princess was very
fond of being out of doors, and she nearly cried when she saw that
the weather was no better. But the mist was not of such a dark
dingy grey; there was light in it; and as the hours went on it grew
brighter and brighter, until it was almost too
brilliant to look
at; and late in the afternoon the sun broke out so
gloriously that
Irene clapped her hands, crying:
'See, see, Lootie! The sun has had his face washed. Look how
bright he is! Do get my hat, and let us go out for a walk. Oh,
dear! oh, dear! how happy I am!'
Lootie was very glad to please the
princess. She got her hat and
cloak, and they set out together for a walk up the mountain; for
the road was so hard and steep that the water could not rest upon
it, and it was always dry enough for walking a few minutes after
the rain ceased. The clouds were rolling away in broken pieces,
like great, overwoolly sheep, whose wool the sun had bleached till
it was almost too white for the eyes to bear. Between them the sky
shone with a deeper and purer blue, because of the rain. The trees
on the
roadside were hung all over with drops, which sparkled in
the sun like jewels. The only things that were no brighter for the
rain were the brooks that ran down the mountain; they had changed
from the
clearness of
crystal to a muddy brown; but what they lost
in colour they gained in sound - or at least in noise, for a brook
when it is
swollen is not so
musical as before. But Irene was in
raptures with the great brown streams tumbling down everywhere; and
Lootie shared in her delight, for she too had been confined to the
house for three days.
At length she observed that the sun was getting low, and said it