ROSELLA

"I really do look every inch a king!""I really do look every inch a king!"The boy flung himself against the door, and banged and kicked at it with all his might. It was of no use."Oh, the key, the key!" he cried. "If they would only spare it from their silly triumphing for a moment, and let me out!"He put his eye to the keyhole, and with longing gaze he saw his kite on the spot he had left it, with its lazy tail gently stirred by the breeze.Once more he looked back, despairing of help; the same animated fairy scene met his gaze—all so indifferent to his helplessness. Grasping the handle of the door in his hand he shook it in desperation.Then he remembered. He quietly turned the handle, and walked out!The sea breeze blew freshly as Cedric freed his kite from the bush, and when he looked back there was Land's End just as he had seen it before. "And Fairyland's end, too," he muttered; for all trace of the iron door had disappeared after he passed through. He stared in astonishment, and couldn't make it out; and the adventure remained a mystery all the days of his life.ROSELLA"Rosella!""Yes, Mother?" And a dark-eyed little girl looked down over the banisters into the hall."I want you to get ready quickly and go to the Moat House, and persuade Grandfather to come back with you this afternoon instead of waiting until the evening.""But if he invites me to tea with him?""Don't stay, dearie. I want you back before dusk, and it gets dark so soon now; and you must help me to tie the crackers on the Christmas-tree. It's still sunny, so make haste."In a few minutes the child was tripping downstairs, smart and cosy in her red coat, hat, and muff, with all the importance of her nine years."Go the shortest way—you know; keep to the path across the moor," continued her mother, "or you might fall over bits of rock under the snow.""Do you know, Mother, I always wonder, when there's snow, where all the grass is and what's underneath? All killed by the freeze?""Oh no. The snow keeps everything nice and warm," replied her mother with a kiss.Davis, the portly butler, advanced and opened the front door."Beingabovethe snow doesn't keepmenice and warm, Mother," called back Rosella as she ran laughing down the steps into the icy north wind, which blew her dark hair out to its full length and heightened the warm colour in her cheeks."Make haste, and you'll be there in half-an-hour." Mrs. Silverton returned to her boudoir, and standing at the bow-window followed with loving eyes the graceful little red figure, until at a bend in the road it turned, gaily waved a farewell, and was lost to sight.When Rosella reached the moor the high wind was against her, blowing her frock between her knees and making her eyes water. "This way will be very difficult and unpleasant," she thought to herself. "I'd far rather go round by the hill, and then, too, I could see if Grandfather has got the Snow Castle on the top finished and ready for to-morrow—I forgot about that when Mother said to go across the moor. I should so like to see it—I wonder if I might!"She stood irresolute for a moment, then left the straight path and started running, in order to save time, in the other direction: thus making for the hill which she intended to climb.The sun became obscured, and what was worse, down from the leaden yellow sky tiny snowflakes began to flutter as though in play, rapidly increasing in size and volume until, as if by magic, Rosella found herself enveloped in a blinding snowstorm that obscured the landscape, and decided her to return home. But returning home was not so easy as turning herself round, and she soon had the growing conviction that no matter which way she turned she was lost, utterly lost: for all that she could see was that she no longer seemed to be dressed in red, but was thickly coated in white.Twice she tripped over the uneven ground, but she stumbled along hopefully and bravely, and even tried to sing, only the snowflakes got into her mouth and made her shut it up tight.Rosella had no idea where she was, and she felt very tired. How she wished now she had gone straight forward! There would have been no difficulty about that. By good luck she came close up to a large piece of overhanging rock; she did not remember ever seeing it before, so she was more than ever confused as to the whereabouts of the hill or of anything; but it was good for shelter. She placed her muff in a niche above her head, and sat down to rest awhile and consider what she had best do.The wind howled around her only partiallysheltered retreat, and myriads of snowflakes, drifting in, fell softly about her, creeping closer and closer, covering her boots, lying thickly on her frock, on her shoulders, drifting, too, into her eyes and making them blink, and powdering her hair with white. And she felt too cold to think—too cold to move.After a while Rosella exclaimed: "This won't do. I must get up from here. It's such a dreadfully cold place!" And she determined to try and go on, if only to keep herself warm. So she shook herself, took down her muff, and went forth.It was snowing as much as ever, but Rosella found that the ground was no longer flat. She was on the hillside, and as she climbed she wondered anxiously how she should know which side to come down, once she was on the top, in order to find the Moat House. Then she smiled as it occurred to her how much she must now look like the tiny, red-hooded, toy figure in the glass paper weight at home which showed itself enveloped in a miniature snowstorm when it was shaken. She plodded on higher and higher.The weather was clearing when Rosella stood on the summit of the hill, and she was lost in admiration as she gazed at the largest, grandest Snow Castle she could never have imagined.Before it, too, stood a Snow Man splendidly proportioned and set up. To her intense astonishment, as she timidly approached he bowed politely.Rosella curtsied instinctively, then laughed as she went round to see where he had broken. But he wasn't broken at all, for he turned too, faced her, and said—"I need hardly introduce myself, Rosella. I presume you recognise King Frost when you meet him in any guise. You wished to see my Castle—and gave yourself a polite invitation. You are welcome!"She was so taken aback with the suddenness of all this that she could find no words for reply. So she made another, much lower, curtsey, which she knew to be correct in the presence of Royalty, then she took his proffered arm. And the tall white figure and the little white figure mounted the white steps, went through the massive gateway, and proceeded down a long, narrow passage lighted with a ruddy glow from the high windows, which were glazed with something red, transparent, and glistening. It was much warmer here, and Rosella noticed that the snow had melted from her clothes, and that her companion also appeared to be dressed in red. His white face with its white beard and white hair wore quite a jovialair, and on top of it was set a crown of carved ice that reminded her of their chandelier in the drawing-room.He did the honours by offering her some snow broth, which she declined. Then she thought she ought to say something, so she remarked, with a touch of family pride—"I had no idea that Grandfather had built such a fine place as this.""Ithink the credit is entirely mine," protested her companion with an amused chuckle. "Iprovide the material, you see, or there would have been no 'fine place' at all. See my point?""Yes, your Majesty," she assented, for she knew it wasn't polite to argue—especially with a royal personage."This way!" he exclaimed, and led her down another passage on the right, and halted to push open a swing door of ice a little way, and genially patted her on the cheek—which was kindly meant no doubt, but his touch nipped her with cold so that she shivered."I shall be on guard outside. If you want me, call me!" Almost as soon as she heard the words the heavy door swung to behind her, and she found herself alone in a great, white, glistening hall with high arches open to the air. Evidently it wasscarcely snowing now, for only little isolated flakes came fluttering in. But in their falling they changed into little shadowy girls and boys in white, who danced playfully around her, and their cold white draperies swept lightly about her face, reminding her of the blinding snowstorm she had passed through. But she only wanted to get away to her grandfather now.Rosella sheltered her face with her muff and ran the gauntlet of the persistent little snowflakes. In a corner she espied a spiral staircase which seemed to lead up into one of the battlemented towers she had noticed outside, and she imagined it a way of escape, so up she ran. The steps were very slippery, but she got up to the top, where, through a narrow loophole, she saw King Frost down below, standing there just as she first saw him when she thought him only a Snow Man. More anxious than ever to know how to get to her grandfather, she called out—"Your Majesty!" and repeated loudly the two words over and over again, for he either would not or could not hear her. And what was very curious, there was an echo which called back "Rosella! Rosella!" in the same anxious tone.Talking was clearly of no use; she must do something. So she tried to squeeze her muff through the aperture in order to drop it on his head andattract his attention—but it would not go through. It stuck there and closed out her view. Try as she would she could not release it; and with a gulp in her throat she realised she would have to leave it. Her hands grew terribly cold without it, and it was too draughty to remain there.From the landing on which she stood steps led up higher, so she proceeded to explore, and found herself in an octagonal turret chamber. "I suppose it serves me right, and Iamlost,andthere's no one to help me!" sighed Rosella."Oh yes there is!""Whose voice is that?" she asked. She could see no one—but at the same moment a sunbeam pierced through an aperture, pointed straight at what appeared to be a lift behind a slender column, and then faded away. Itwasa lift, made of ice and snow, as was everything else in the Castle. Rosella entered it and took a seat. The lift at once began gently and slowly to go down, down, first into the foundations of the Castle, and then into the interior of the hill right down under the snow, till it stopped in a Grotto lined with cobwebs and suffused with a mysterious green light. There was a soft, singing sound, as though made by the wind. In front was a frozen lake, and the ice of it was green from the same strange light."I must try and find my way to Grandfather,"said Rosella vaguely as she wandered about the Grotto, looking about her for a way out.Mrs. Silverton kept glancing anxiously at the clock and at the snowstorm. Davis entered. "Madam," said he, with an usually solemn face, "Mr. Silverton has telephoned again from the Moat House that Miss Rosella hasn't arrived.""Then she must have lost her way!" exclaimed her mother, now thoroughly alarmed. "Though I don't see how she could, keeping straight across the moor to the Moat House gate at the end of the path. We must set out, Davis, and find her.""Difficult this weather, Madam, if our young lady is lost on the moor.""Is it still so bad?""The storm's not so thick as it was. I'll go immediately. There's no time to be lost, to my thinking, Madam.""Yes, we'll go at once, Davis."Mrs. Silverton, pale with anxiety, sent other messengers in various directions, and then started off herself. On the moor she met another search party headed by old Mr. Silverton and his faithful collie dog. And the moor rang with anxious cries of "Rosella! Rosella!" uttered by whitened shadowy figures that looked like phantoms in the falling snow."Imusttry and find my way to Grandfather," repeated Rosella falteringly, realising that she didn't know in the least how to proceed. She never had a notion that a Snow Castle was so intricate inside, with a hall, a lift, a grotto, and things; indeed, she had always imagined for no particular reason that it had no inside at all; "but of course," she now argued, "if it has an outside itmusthave an inside, or it wouldn't be an outside." But it was much more startling when she looked up and found that she was by no means alone: the cobwebs were all inhabited. Inhabited—not by ugly spiders, but by the wee-est little baby-fairies with the wee-est gossamer wings, swaying in their cobweb hammocks in all attitudes, fast asleep, soothed by the lullaby hummed by the wind."This must be where they are bred!" cried Rosella, in an ecstasy of admiration and delight."This is Fairy Spring's nursery," explained a beautiful Sprite, appearing suddenly at her elbow like a little bright sunbeam. "King Frost is the ground landlord, you know, and allows all her young things to sleep here and keep warm.""And who are you, please?" inquired the Sprite's young visitor."I am Love of Goodwill, and my father's name is Christmas.""I know you by name quite well, and am soglad to see you. Perhaps you would kindly help me to find my way?""If you keep on going to the right, when you see the snowdrops' mother, there you will find your landmark.""Oh, do please tell me more clearly. What did you say? Tell me where I"—but Rosella was again alone in the green grotto with the sleeping baby-fairies in their swaying hammocks, and the soft music of the wind. "Surely there can't be any grown-up snowdrops at Christmas—it's too early!—and I shall be losing my way for weeks!" continued Rosella. Nevertheless, she kept on turning to the right through upward passages first of rock, then of sand, in which were embedded deep growing roots, then of soil with its minerals, broken up leaves, and corpses of insects which she didn't like at all; then through a passage lined with true red soil, where little grubs were lying fast asleep in their nests."You ugly grubby little things!" remarked Rosella as she passed them."They are only lying low at present. They will be lovely Painted Ladies and visit the court of Fairy Spring," replied Love of Goodwill, hovering again at her side. "And look! There are the baby snowdrops asleep in their earthy cots. They, too, will awake soon and get up. I helped their mother toget up as she was in such a hurry to see the world. I'm afraid she will have got nipped by King Frost for her impatience. Farewell—I must go and see what is happening."Rosella followed the sunbeam—into which the Sprite had vanished—and at once felt the keen air blowing on her face, and knew she was above ground once more. Everything was all white again. She sat down upon a piece of rock to rest, and noticed the sunbeam pointing straight at a little woe-begone snowdrop sticking up out of the snow before her. And to her joy the Snow Man was close by calling "Rosella! Rosella!" in the echo's anxious tone she had heard before—so he must have wanted her then, badly."Yes, your Majesty!" she murmured.He bent over her kindly. "There, little lady," he continued, "drink some of this now!" and something cold yet stinging was poured gently down her throat."Thank you, your Majesty. I did feel tired and queer, but your snow broth has made me all right." She said it quite gratefully. Then her eyes opened wide and she cried in amazement—"Grandfather! Why it'syou! You were the Snow Man all the time! And look! there's my muff up there that I left in the wall!""But for that sticking up we might never havefound our little treasure," replied old Mr. Silverton. He picked her up and, holding her aloft, showed her to her anxious mother, who came hurrying on the scene."Don't shiver so, dearie," exclaimed Mrs. Silverton, passionately embracing the child, as hot tears dropped on her daughter's face. "You must be perished with cold, but this nice sunshine which has come out now will do you good.""I didn't feel cold. It was quite nice and warm under the snow as you said, Mother—and so wonderful!"Davis carried her home in triumph at the head of the procession; and after precautionary remedies had been taken, Rosella sat cosily tucked up in the big arm-chair in front of the huge log fire, thinking over all she had seen. Of course she confessed to her temptation to go astray, and was readily forgiven. Then, as Mr. Silverton insisted he had never in his life been any one else but himself, Rosella gaily recounted her meeting with the Snow Man at his Snow Castle. "And King Frost said, Grandfather," concluded Rosella, "that the credit of the Castle was his for providing the snow and not yours.""Bless my soul!" cried old Mr. Silverton. "And he was right there, because I've had nothing to do with any Snow Castle or any Snow Man—there was some talk, but nothing came of it.""But I was King Frost's visitor there, don't you see," insisted Rosella, smiling. "So I know that's only one of your jokes, Grandfather."He smiled too and wiped his spectacles.The next morning Rosella volunteered to fetch her grandfather and introduce him to King Frost. So the two climbed the hill. But no vestige of Snow Castle or Snow Man was there."There, you see!" said her grandfather, laughing, as he genially patted her on the cheek. How cold his hand felt! It nipped her with cold, so that she shivered. Yet the weather had changed, and it was more like a sunny day in spring than in midwinter.She left old Mr. Silverton at his gate, and he assured her with a kiss that he wasn't a bit disappointed at the wonderful disappearance, but that it was all certainly a very remarkable affair indeed.Rosella thought so too. Then she turned and walked thoughtfully home.THE CUCKOO THAT LIVED IN THE CLOCK-HOUSEIt was rather a ramshackle, badly-built wooden house, in which the Cuckoo lived. Outside it looked smart enough, but inside, repairs were badly needed. It had been handed down from father to son, and over the front door, which was at the top of the house, stood a beautifully carved statue of their ancestor, Sir Cuckoo de Cuckoo.The Clock-House was situated not far from the Dolls' House, backed by a flowery wall in a small department of Nursery Land ruled over by Robert and Lucy. Lucy was ground landlady of the Clock-House, and it was her daily privilege to wind up its affairs.No one ever knocked at the Cuckoo's front door, because it had no number; there was a round dozen of numbers in the immediate neighbourhood. The pendulum, whose tongue never ceased to wag once it was wound up, remarked, that two firm hands were required to keep things in order. As to the chains, they regularly got weighed downunder the strain of responsibility, and a heavy weight it was.So, as one could not summon the Cuckoo at will, the only thing to do was to wait and see it when it chose to appear, and then—as likely as not, if nobody was about—Robert would seize the opportunity to take pot-shots at it with his pea-shooter. So far he had invariably missed. Sometimes it kept an appointment with him punctually at the hour, sometimes it didn't. Occasionally, it came out at odd times, and then remained indoors altogether. When that happened for a more than usually long period, it was sure to be because the poor Cuckoo felt indisposed in its bellows; and when it became apparent that something had gone wrong with the inmate of the Clock-House, an entrance had to be effected by the back door and a dose of oil administered. Whereupon the front door would fly open and the Cuckoo appear again on the threshold—it never ventured further—bow to the multitude, or to empty space, and pipe "Cuc—koo!" just as many times as it felt inclined at the moment.One fine afternoon in spring, when the Cuckoo came out punctually, and went through its performance of three bows with a Cuckoo call after each salutation, there happened to be a fresh inmate all alone in the nursery. This wasTabiatha, the new kitten, cosily reposing in her new basket under the table. "Aha! Poultry!" mewed Tabiatha, lying low, opening a lazy but watchful eye, and gazing upwards. "Bless my tail! You're a tender morsel, I'll be bound—small, but a tit-bit!" So thought the kitten, with an increasing feeling of longing in the chest. It had sounded to Tabiatha like an echo of the call she had heard so recently in the lane near the old farm at home."I don't want to pop out any more!" said the Cuckoo after re-entering the Clock-House. "I'm bored to tears!" And it settled down in a corner and looked very melancholy. "What with that horrid boy, Robert, lurking about—and now a kitten of all things! Why, life's not worth the living! If ever I do pop out again, I should like to pop out for good and all—stretch my wings and fly away, right away, and see something of the world!""Work! That's the cure for all woes!" solemnly ticked the pendulum. "Look at me, I'm always at it, with a good swinging stride." The hands didn't explain their views—they were keeping far apart, and were not on speaking terms. "Every one is expected to do his duty," urged the pendulum."That was only meant for one day—not morning,noon, and night," argued the Cuckoo. "It's all very well for a wagtail like you—but for a Cuckoo with a soul above it—especially with a fine, well-trained voice!""Every one must do his duty at all times. Yes, look at me—but I fear you can't see me. Do you follow me?" asked the pendulum jokingly. Getting no reply, it ticked-tacked on, until the Cuckoo felt quite distracted."Listen to me, children," said their mother, entering the nursery, when playtime had begun; "Nurse has gone to lie down. She isn't very well this afternoon. So at four o'clock put everything away neatly; then make yourselves tidy, and come downstairs, where you may have tea with me."Robert and Lucy said they were sorry for Nurse, but they smiled, and hopped about with delight at the treat of tea downstairs. They promised to do as they were told, and with muffled footsteps hurried on the landing to open the gate and let their mother out of their domain, and quietly closed it to keep themselves in. Then they settled down in the nursery to "Loto;" but as Lucy always won, Robert tired of it. Card houses didn't answer either, because it amused Robert not to build them, but to shake the table when Lucy's structures were in course of erection.Their mother, busily writing in the drawing-room, began to wonder why the children didn't come downstairs; and tea was just being brought in, when suddenly screams and cries were heard issuing from the nursery, and she rushed upstairs in alarm.There she found the nursery littered with things, chairs in unusual places, some overturned, and Lucy lying on the floor crying, with a cut on her lip, which was bleeding. Robert had both stockings torn, and was ruefully rubbing his knees. The little girl was more frightened than hurt."Whatever has happened, Robert?" exclaimed their mother as she helped Lucy to her feet, and comforted her."I was hunting," he began to explain, "and she was the gazelle, and I was chasing her from rock to rock——""Jumping from the table on to the chairs and back again," added Lucy in further explanation, "and we both tumbled down!""Serve you both right for being so disobedient as to jump on the furniture," replied their mother, with placid satisfaction that matters were no worse. "You ought to have been all tidied up, and downstairs by now.""It isn't time yet, surely, Mother!" The three turned instinctively towards the Cuckoo clock. It had stopped at three minutes to four."There now, Lucy, you silly!" cried her brother; "if you hadn't forgotten to wind it up, we shouldn't have had that beastly tumble, and shouldn't have been late for tea.""Come, dears, quickly, and I'll help make you ready," said their mother; and they left the nursery together.During the excitement Tabiatha had remained unnoticed in her basket under the table, glad in all the turmoil to be peaceful and forgotten. She came out, stretched herself lazily, and soon began to gambol about the room. The clock chain, lying loosely on the ground, attracted her attention. She crouched, then leapt at one bound upon it, backed a little, touched it with her paw, lay on her side, and played with the bright links with all four paws and much enjoyment. With a sudden movement she righted herself—made a spring upwards, missed the chain and fell without hurt. Liking this novel game, she leapt higher next time, and alighted on a cushioned chair, scratched her way up, jumped on to a bookcase, and then on to an empty shelf. There was the chain within easy reach. Putting out her paw, it caught instead in a ring she hadn't noticed. To disentangle it she reached over, lost her foothold, and, still caught in the ring, found that the rattling chain was movingdownwards with her weight until it deposited her gently on the ground, greatly to her surprise. Again she scrambled up the furniture in the same way. Her paw was now on both chains. Suddenly something swung backwards and forwards—Tic—tac!Tabiatha was for the moment dismayed, and, arching her back, she stood rooted to the spot.Tic—tac!It came unpleasantly close to her, nearly touching her nose each time, but she never budged an inch. Whr-r-r-r-r!Cuc—koo! Cuc—koo! Cuc—koo! Cuc——Tabiatha, rising to the occasion, and quick to seize an opportunity or anything else, took her last and only chance. She seized the poultry with both paws—Crack! Snap! She lost her balance and fell down, down, on to the cushioned chair. The Cuckoo flew into the air, alighted on Tabiatha's back, and bounded on to the ground. Tabiatha forgot at once her escape from breaking her neck, sprang after the Cuckoo lying there, turned it over, paused, sniffed, found to her surprise that it was not good to eat, that it hadn't even feathers, and was only made of wood, turned it over again, and began tapping it and pouncing on it until, suddenly forgetting all about it, she cantered away sideways with her tail curling in the air. She jumped intoher basket, rolled herself up, soon purred herself fast asleep, and looked the very picture of helpless innocence.The Cuckoo, out in the world at last, having recovered from its first alarm at the useless stiffness of its wings, waited for something to happen. As nothing did happen, it thought the world a very dull and stupid place, and concluded that, after all, work was better than lying there helpless, idle, motionless, and ridiculous. What was the use of its trained voice now? It couldn't articulate a sound even to summon help. It had no idea of the time, but the sun was shining brightly when at last it found itself carefully lifted and placed on a higher level.When Lucy entered the nursery that morning, soon after Robert, he exclaimed—"I say, Lucy! There's something fresh for breakfast. Look on your plate!""Oh, my poor Cuckoo!" she cried in distress. "You've shot it at last. You bad boy—I shan't love you ever any more!"But she did love him at once again, for it was a fact that no one knew how ever the Cuckoo came to be lying on the floor in the remote corner where Nurse had picked it up. The cushioned chair was in its place again—a long way off the clock. Every one was mystified, and could not imagine how it hadhappened. But Tabiatha knew all about it, though you would never have guessed it from her round, innocent eyes as she sat licking first one velvety paw, and then the other velvety paw, as though she were washing them of any share in the mischief.When the Clock-House was spring-cleaned, and the Cuckoo duly set there on its legs again, it formed the firm determination to remain at its post in the future, and, with its Clock-House in order, it worked ever after with regularity and good humour just like one o'clock."Cuc—koo!" Bow, click.CHRISTMAS AT THE COURT OF KING JORUMThe great evening had come, and every one in Cosmopolis Castle was agog with excitement. Eight months before, the Monarch had by Royal Herald Extraordinary announced his intention of making known his decision on Christmas Eve. And Christmas Eve had come. No wonder every one was agog with excitement, because King Jorum was at last going to announce which of the lovely ladies of the Court should be raised to the position of the late Queen, his defunct consort. She, poor soul, had possessed neither charm nor beauty, and without her he had been quite happy for the past two years, surrounded by smiling faces and kept constantly amused by the ladies and gentlemen of his Court.He had a jovial nature, and was an indulgent father to his two young daughters, especially fond of the younger, Princess Veronica, for more delightful sweetness, prettiness, and lovableness it would be difficult to find in any other young damsel of sixteen years old. So believed that fineyoung soldier, Prince Olivin; and so believed every one else in the whole kingdom. Every one else, with one exception—Princess Christobel, her sister, older by one year. She had her own ideas on the subject evidently, for she kept a surly silence when her sister's praises were sung. People said it was her jealousy, because she was plain-looking, and sulky in expression and character; and some did say she was secretly in love with Prince Olivin herself.Outside the castle this night the silent landscape had been decorated, by order of King Frost, in snow and crystal. Inside the castle the great halls had been decorated, by order of King Jorum, in holly and mistletoe. In the antechamber to the ball-room stood the giant Christmas-tree, hung with so many gifts of exquisite needlework from the ladies of the Court for the King, and so many, too, for Princess Veronica, that there was hardly room for any other presents for any one else, so they had to be stacked up in separate heaps on the floor.There was one present on the tree, which was handsomer and costlier than all the rest—it was a pair of woollen boots so cunningly and dexterously wrought with precious jewels that they were the most beautiful ever seen or heard of. They were the handiwork of Countess Spinx, and of all the handsome ladies who were assembled in the ball-roomwhere the candles in the chandeliers cast a softening light on their charms, she seemed this Christmas Eve the most unnerved, the most excited. Courtiers came strolling in by twos and threes, and the scene became animated and gay.For as history shows, it was the custom at the Court of King Jorum, by special decree of the Monarch, that every man, woman, and child should dress themselves in costumes of any distinctive style they liked—whatever suited their fancy best. (That was the origin, ages after, of the term—fancy-dress.) There was thus no slavish following of fashion, and consequently every one looked, or fancied they looked, their very, very best, and were thoroughly at ease in their quaint and, mostly, fascinating attire."Here's Little Love!" exclaimed a bevy of fair dames, pressing forward as a handsome child stepped into their midst, dressed as Cupid, and looking the realest of little Loves from the tips of his tiny bare toes to the tips of his tiny bare wings. He was the King's godson and pet."He's sure to know! Perhaps he can give us a hint of the news!" exclaimed Countess Spinx with eyes blazing eagerly as she placed herself in his path, with her crook firmly planted on the ground: she was dressed as a shepherdess, which showed to advantage the curls on her fair neck, and her smallfeet in their high-heeled shoes. "Whisper to me!" she coaxed; "or," with a pretty shake of the crook, "I'll not let you pass!"Little Love might have been deaf, looking neither to the right nor to the left, so unconcernedly did he continue his way stolidly on to meet the procession of the King.Countess Spinx bit her lip in vexation; the other ladies merely shrugged their shoulders and laughed; and the gentlemen stroked their mouths to hide their smiles. Then all conversation was smothered by the entry of the heralds with their raised silver trumpets and their—Par—parraparpar—pip—ha!Par—parraparpar—paar—r!This was immediately followed by the entry of King Jorum holding Little Love by the hand. The whole company bowed and curtsied very low—and then stood at attention, breathless with expectation.King Jorum was a very big man, with a very big smile, and very big woollen boots. He always wore woollen boots because, being his own Commander-in-chief, he liked to stand at ease. So he said, naturally in a very big voice—"According to my promise it is now my pleasure to announce to my Court here assembled my decision with regard to your future Queen. Afterprolonged thought and study of face and character I have come to the conclusion that there is not one lady of my Court but who is quite lovely enough and charming enough to become my royal consort. Therefore to choose is difficult—so difficult that it is impossible, and, being impossible, I shall never wed again. I have spoken."Looking neither to the right nor to the leftLooking neither to the right nor to the leftFor a moment there was intense silence. Then deafening cheers arose, and all faces were radiant with delight, especially the faces of the ladies, who thus remained equals, no jealousy being possible. "Such tact!" said one. "How true!" cried another. But one lady had slipped away unobserved. It was Countess Spinx.The gallant Monarch, unaccompanied, pleased at the reception given to his declaration, smilingly passed on to the antechamber, as was his wont, for a private view of the Christmas-tree before the revels commenced. King Jorum had detached one of the woollen boots embroidered with pearls and precious stones, anxiously tried it on, and was admiring the effect, when Little Love appeared and inquired if he would grant an interview to Prince Olivin, who was waiting without."I am engaged," was his Majesty's impatient reply."That, Sire, is what Prince Olivin wants to be!""Eh, what's that? Put on this other boot for me"—he unfastened it from the tree. "Ha! that's very smart. Very attentive of the dear Countess. Now show him in!"The two young Princesses had not made their appearance for the proclamation. They, as well as Little Love, had been in the King's confidence, and they did not intend to be present. However, as the hour of the revels was fast approaching, Veronica feared that her sister would be late as usual, so she took her last glance at herself in the mirror, tightened the blue ribbon that was threaded through her fair hair, tucked a pale rose in the blue sash of her high-waisted, white muslin frock, and flitted off happily to Christobel's room."Come in!" said a not very amiable voice in response to the light tap. "Oh, it's you, is it?""Can I help you, as you have no maid?"Princess Christobel's room was by no means tidy. "I don't want any help," she replied ungraciously, moving some of the garments that littered the bed, "but you can sit down there, if you like, next to the 'Shah of Persia.'"Veronica took the place indicated next to the sweetest little blue Persian kitten that was curled up fast asleep on the coverlet."I like your new frock, Veronica," continuedChristobel, surveying her sister as she pinned up her black hair without troubling even to do it before a glass; "but you look pretty in anything. If you didn't, no one would trouble to pet you. No one ever fusses over me.""Papa does, for one.""Only because he thinks it's his duty.""I would if you'd let me.""Oh yes. You'd be very pleased if I'd let you hang about me—an ugly girl can't show to much advantage next to a pretty one. I know your little game.""Oh, Christobel! How can you say such unkind, unjust things?" protested poor Veronica with a sob."If you want to cry," said Christobel crossly, "you shouldn't do so until you go to sleep. You cry so easily; and then your bright eyes look heavy, and your aquiline nose gets red, and the whole Castle gets upset about them. Who cares ifmyeyes are red?""Every one, of course. Besides, one's looks aren't everything.""I know differently. Looksareeverything. But I don't care if people trouble about me or not, or anything they do, or think, or say!""Whatareyou putting on, Christobel? Notthat, surely!""Yes. Same old Red Riding Hood cape and green skirt—does for indoors or out. Same old crew about, I suppose?""I suppose so. But it's Christmas Eve. Those loose things don't even suit you. Let me lend you a new frock which I have, just the same as this; we can arrange ribbons of your colour, red. We're the same height, and it will suit you quite as well as it suits me.""A nice comparison people would draw, eh?" sneered Christobel; and being ready she took the sleepy Shah in her arms and stalked downstairs with him faintly mewing his protests, leaving her sister to follow if she liked.In the ball-room Christobel superciliously took no notice of the respectful greetings of the Court. She was naturally shy, reserved too, and sensitive as to her appearance and lack of charm. But Veronica had a kind word for every one, stopping to greet with a smile or a merry jest all present; for they all adored her for her sweetness, graciousness, and extraordinary beauty. There wasn't a man but who would have died for her, nor a woman but who felt better for her radiant presence. Little Love suddenly appeared and whispered something to Princess Veronica, who blushed, was confused, and said in a low voice to her sister—"Prince Olivin is here! Papa has sent for me.""You might have told me he was coming," replied Christobel, turning pale."But I never knew, indeed." Her sister had turned away, and Little Love was leading Veronica towards the antechamber.It seemed to Princess Christobel as though every face in the ball-room was a mask, and behind that mask were eyes that gleamed with mockery—that she had only to turn her back, and fingers of scorn and derision would mark her passage—and she turned and fled, never pausing in her course through the long passages and up the marble stairway until she was back in her room, where she flung the poor Shah and herself on the bed and burst into a torrent of tears and lamentations in her loneliness, disappointment, and jealousy. The kitten, too, looked unusually blue, and mewed disconsolately—felt bored, then purred, stretched its little self on the coverlet, and fell asleep again. Before long the sound of the heralds' silver trumpets pierced right up into Christobel's ears—Par—parraparpar—pip—ha!Par—parraparpar—paar—r!And she knew that the engagement was then being announced of Princess Veronica to PrinceOlivin; and the strains of the Waltz of the Affianced which followed, played by the Court musicians, confirmed the fact.How long she remained thus in the dark she did not know. Sounds of an angry voice roused her from her stupor, and she went out into the brilliantly lighted corridor, shading her eyes from the glare, the scent of flowers and the soft strains of music becoming more noticeable as she approached the stairway whence the voices proceeded—one of which she could now distinguish as being that of her sister. She peeped over the banisters, and saw, standing close beside Veronica, Countess Spinx, white with suppressed passion."You knew," hissed the Countess, "that there was to be no Queen.""I and my sister knew. Yes. Let me pass; I don't know what's become of her. I want to fetch her.""You might have told it to your old friend. You are looking radiantly beautiful to-night.""I am very happy.""Happy with your betrothed?""Yes.""Listen! Did you know that every one saidIhad the best chance of being Queen?""You!" exclaimed the young Princess in astonishment. "Fancy young you my stepmother!"and she burst out into a merry laugh. The next moment she was falling headlong down the marble stairway, and then lay quite still, bruised and bleeding. In the stillness that ensued—for the music had stopped—Countess Spinx flew upstairs, where she was confronted by Princess Christobel, who pushed roughly past her and hurried down to her sister's side. Her screams for help brought people running from every side. The injured girl, still unconscious, was quickly borne to her apartments, and the Court physicians surrounded her.All sorts of rumours were set afloat in the Castle, but all that was gathered for certain by the company, as they dispersed, was that Princess Veronica slipped on the marble stair owing to her new high-heeled shoes—that the sweet face was strapped and bandaged, for it was all cut and bruised, that the nose was broken, and her beauty spoilt for ever. Prince Olivin was half wild with grief, and poor King Jorum was shedding tears all alone in his study when Christobel sought admittance. Her face was set and stern, and the sight of his weakness didn't unnerve her as she said bluntly—"Father, Veronica did not slip on the stair—she was purposely and viciously thrown down.""Eh,what?" exclaimed the King, staring at her. "Are you taking leave of your senses? There'snot a soul who would hurt my pretty darling. You have enemies. She has none.""Shewas happy. Others were not. Countess Spinx was in a fury of disappointment at not being chosen Queen. She flung poor Veronica down in spite and malice. I saw her do it."The King bounded up. "Summon the Countess!" he cried.Before her Christobel repeated her accusation, and Countess Spinx tried to assert she only put out her arms to save the unfortunate Princess from slipping. Further questioned, she got confused, contradicted herself, and finally sunk on her knees and prayed for mercy."To the cells!" shouted the King, and his eyes falling on his jewelled boots, he hastily tore them off and threw them after her as she was carried away.When, next day, poor little Princess Veronica recovered consciousness and was free from pain she asked for her sister, who came quickly to her side."Have you heard," asked Veronica faintly, "that I—I—I am maimed for life? With a broken nose and scarred face I shall not only be ugly but repulsive.""Poor Veronica! You will then be on the same level with me in the future. How you will miss all the petting, all the love!""I suppose my life is spoilt. And when I had beauty, I thought of it and prized it so little. But won't you love me, Christobel?""Yes, I will now.""Why only now?""Because I shall always feel sorry for you—I have never felt sorry for any one but myself before—and I shall love you heaps and heaps.""Don't you think others may feel sorry for me, too?—Poor Prince Olivin! Poor me!" she added with a little moan.Christobel shook her head sadly. "Beauty is everything! You will understand that now."No limbs were broken, and in a couple of days Princess Veronica, with her head and face veiled in white lace, was able to receive some visits of sympathy in her misfortune.King Jorum was inconsolable, and whenever he came out of the invalid's room he would vow terrible threats of vengeance on Countess Spinx, who was trembling for her spiteful life in the cells.On the third night after the Christmas festivities had been brought to their sudden and tragic close, Princess Christobel dreamed such a vivid dream that it awakened her. She dreamed that Little Love, who avoided her whenever he could, came smilingly up to her, kissed her hand, and raising a letter he held, showed, with a look of triumph whichpuzzled her, that it was addressed to her sister. She awoke, and instantly remembered that Little Love had really kissed her hand that evening, to her great surprise. She sat up in bed listening, for she fancied she heard her sister call. Becoming anxious for her comfort, she rose, and went gently in to her. It was quiet in the dimly lighted chamber. The invalid lay softly sleeping, her face all bandaged, and her glorious hair a mass of gold about the pillow. Under her hand was an open letter. Tempted by the influence of her dream, Christobel drew nearer. It was Prince Olivin's firm writing—there were only a few lines, and the moonlight shone full upon them. She could not help reading:—"Beloved! Think not to release me. It is your sweet nature I love. You. Your beautiful mind. Nothing could ever change them!Olivin."Was it joy for her sister? was it some gleam of an unknown sense of peace, tenderness, and hope in her soul, that brought scalding tears to Christobel's eyes as, half blinded by them, she groped her way back to her room, where she fell on her knees and cried softly, and prayed that, now through her tears her eyes had been opened, she might learn to become different? "Beauty isnoteverything, then!" she repeated wonderingly toherself over and over again, finding each time fresh comfort in the thought. "How wrong I have been! Out of her disfigurement Veronica says my love for her has grown, and is worth much to her in comfort. It has brought us close together, and made us both happy. How grateful she is for every one's attention! And now the Prince still pleads for her! So! it was not her beauty that attracted him—it was not her beauty—not her beauty!" Thus she thought earnestly and long, and it brought her a strange sense of faith in herself and others. "I shall tell them all that I, too, know how truly she deserves her happiness!"And tell them she did, and they opened their eyes and bowed respectfully, and thought more of Princess Christobel than they had ever thought before.New Year's Eve came round with its accustomed regularity, and the inmates of Cosmopolis Castle were looking unusually grave for the occasion. Princess Veronica was to appear once more in their midst, and with the bandages removed from her poor face. It was a silent, uneasy company that had gathered together in the great ball-room, and King Jorum, engaged in a game of "Snap" with Little Love in a corner, looked ill and worn from anxiety for his favourite child.Suddenly the card-players rose, and a thrill ofexcitement went through the assembly—Princess Veronica stood on the threshold in white muslin and blue. Her face showed no trace of scars; but her nose! Her nose was unrecognisable. It was no more aquiline, but tip-tilted—the sweetest little turned-up feature imaginable, and her appearance had actuallygained: Princess Veronica had become the loveliest lady in the land!After being locked in her father's arms Veronica found herself suddenly in those of her lover. King Jorum was frantic with delight. He called for Doctor Quick and made him Lord High Druggist of his Majesty's dominions, with all the appanages, endowments, privileges, and perquisites appertaining to the office. He showered honours on every physician on or near the premises. He talked of bonfires, and of honours, and tiaras all round, until he was hoarse. Then Princess Christobel appeared in white muslin and red ribbons, and there were cheers for her animated appearance and her kind expression as she gracefully returned their greeting. "Father," she said, drawing him on one side, "Veronica is asking for Countess Spinx. May I—may I tell the prisoner that now all is well she is forgiven?" King Jorum shook his head vigorously, although he was too happy to do anything but smile all the time. "She has been in the cells for ever so long," pleaded Christobel, andher father was so taken aback at the revelation of her fine eyes and sweet voice, which had never at any time struck him before, that he nodded his head violently.That evening a stranger was bidden to the feast—no less a person than the great traveller, brother to Prince Olivin, just returned from a voyage of discovery—the bronzed and manly young Duke of Rosenleaf. "Who is that charming young girl?" he asked, as soon as he set eyes on her."Princess Christobel, your Highness," replied Little Love with a sly smile.King Jorum couldn't get to sleep that night. He usually slept too much, and was in the habit of unscrewing the top of his foot-warmer and pouring therefrom the hot coffee which he imbibed at intervals in order not to oversleep himself in the morning and thus set a bad example in the land. But he had no need for it to-night. He could not get to sleep at all.He thought, and thought, and thought what had wrought such a marvellous and rapid change in the character and appearance of his elder daughter. He smiled over it, too, and smiled until his cheeks ached with so much smiling, as much as his poor head ached with so much thought. Still he went on thinking right through the night, and just as heput up his arms above his head to break into a mighty yawn, he suddenly cried—"I have it! That's it! She has realised the old theme of Peace and Goodwill, as is proper at this time of year, and has turned over a new leaf! Bravo!" And he turned himself over, snored, and overslept himself.So the first day of the New Year opened in complete harmony at the Court of King Jorum. And when the Duke of Rosenleaf asked Princess Christobel if she would make the Happy New Year a happy one for him, she smiled and blushingly allowed him to place the prettiest of diamond rings on her finger.And the New Year was still in its youth when the two young Princesses were married. And by the time that the Shah of Persia's great-great-grand-kittens were gambolling about the palace, it had become a frequent and pleasant subject for argument and debate throughout the kingdom—"Who is the most charming and lovable woman in the land, Christobel or Veronica?"ONE APRIL DAYPART IA QUEER GODMOTHERIt was the First of April. The weather could not make up its mind whether to be tearful or gay. So, after changing three times, and deciding at last that it was not grown-up to cry, the sun dried up the tear-drops and beamed down on everything and everybody."Isn't it a shame, Wilfrid, to have to prepare lessons when it's such a fine afternoon?" exclaimed Norah. She rose from the study table and looked longingly out of the French window to where the crocuses on the lawn seemed to be having the best of it."Don't be lazy," replied her brother. "Just come and help me with this sum when I tell you.""I'm not going to do as you tell me. If you were grown up—say fifteen—it would be different; but you're only a year older than me—not even nine yet—and yet you——""Halloa!" interrupted Wilfrid with a low whistle,as he strolled towards the window. "Look at that's legs.""Which's?" inquired Norah, gazing in the direction he pointed."Them's.""What's?" she asked eagerly, looking around."None! Well, youarean April fool!" exclaimed Wilfrid with scornful glee as he resumed his seat; "that's the second time to-day!""And you're a very rude boy, and you're not allowed to call me horrid names like that," said Norah with dignity; "and I won't be teased always."With a very offended look, she set to work on her copy-book."Lend me your paint-box when we've finished our lessons, will you, Norah dear?" said Wilfrid, after a short pause."I can't," she replied, without looking up."Why?""I don't know why, but I can't.""Cat in the manger! You've got nothing you want to paint, as I have."There was a longer pause, during which they both scribbled away, and scratched, and spluttered, whilst their tongues moved silently from side to side outside their parted lips, left to right, following the direction of each new line.Then Norah heaved a sigh and remarked—"Wilfrid, isn't Cinderella lovely?""Yes, as girls go.""Oh, how I wish we lived in those times, when there were fairy godmothers and things!" exclaimed Norah rapturously; then she added with a sigh—"Aunt Leonora is my godmother, but she never gives me anything, and the godmothers in the fairy stories always give heaps of things.""You can't expect great fat podges like that to be like fairy godmothers, you silly!""But she ought to like giving things. How nice it is to give presents and be thanked!""Yes; it's nice to give presents—when they are cheap. Perhaps," continued her brother in a wise voice,—"perhaps Aunt Leonora can't afford it if she isn't rich!""Cinderella's godmother never seemed to consider the price of anything. I wish—oh, how I wish——""Oh, how I wish you'd be quiet and help me with this sum. You remember your tables better than I do, but you needn't be jolly cocky about it all the same."Norah wasn't listening to him. Her mind was far away from lessons. She was thinking, if she had her choice, what she would like to be, what she would like to do, and eat, and, above all, what shewould like to wear. "If only I had a fairy godmother, I——""Rubbish!" exclaimed Wilfrid, growing cross, and frowning as he watched her moving restlessly about the room."I—of course, I wouldn't refuse her anything. Fairy godmothers generally appear at first disguised as old women, and ask for something, such as a drink of water, or beg you to carry a load of wood or whatever they happen to have in hand. So I should be ready to do anything and give anything, and earn my big reward.""Oh, shurrup!" growled her brother. "Much better lend me your paint-box."But she didn't hear him; taken up with her fancies she continued excitedly—"I know what I'll do. I'll try and tempt her to come. Perhaps I may even have a fairy godmother without knowing it!"And she began to dance about, singing—

"I really do look every inch a king!""I really do look every inch a king!"The boy flung himself against the door, and banged and kicked at it with all his might. It was of no use."Oh, the key, the key!" he cried. "If they would only spare it from their silly triumphing for a moment, and let me out!"He put his eye to the keyhole, and with longing gaze he saw his kite on the spot he had left it, with its lazy tail gently stirred by the breeze.Once more he looked back, despairing of help; the same animated fairy scene met his gaze—all so indifferent to his helplessness. Grasping the handle of the door in his hand he shook it in desperation.Then he remembered. He quietly turned the handle, and walked out!The sea breeze blew freshly as Cedric freed his kite from the bush, and when he looked back there was Land's End just as he had seen it before. "And Fairyland's end, too," he muttered; for all trace of the iron door had disappeared after he passed through. He stared in astonishment, and couldn't make it out; and the adventure remained a mystery all the days of his life.ROSELLA"Rosella!""Yes, Mother?" And a dark-eyed little girl looked down over the banisters into the hall."I want you to get ready quickly and go to the Moat House, and persuade Grandfather to come back with you this afternoon instead of waiting until the evening.""But if he invites me to tea with him?""Don't stay, dearie. I want you back before dusk, and it gets dark so soon now; and you must help me to tie the crackers on the Christmas-tree. It's still sunny, so make haste."In a few minutes the child was tripping downstairs, smart and cosy in her red coat, hat, and muff, with all the importance of her nine years."Go the shortest way—you know; keep to the path across the moor," continued her mother, "or you might fall over bits of rock under the snow.""Do you know, Mother, I always wonder, when there's snow, where all the grass is and what's underneath? All killed by the freeze?""Oh no. The snow keeps everything nice and warm," replied her mother with a kiss.Davis, the portly butler, advanced and opened the front door."Beingabovethe snow doesn't keepmenice and warm, Mother," called back Rosella as she ran laughing down the steps into the icy north wind, which blew her dark hair out to its full length and heightened the warm colour in her cheeks."Make haste, and you'll be there in half-an-hour." Mrs. Silverton returned to her boudoir, and standing at the bow-window followed with loving eyes the graceful little red figure, until at a bend in the road it turned, gaily waved a farewell, and was lost to sight.When Rosella reached the moor the high wind was against her, blowing her frock between her knees and making her eyes water. "This way will be very difficult and unpleasant," she thought to herself. "I'd far rather go round by the hill, and then, too, I could see if Grandfather has got the Snow Castle on the top finished and ready for to-morrow—I forgot about that when Mother said to go across the moor. I should so like to see it—I wonder if I might!"She stood irresolute for a moment, then left the straight path and started running, in order to save time, in the other direction: thus making for the hill which she intended to climb.The sun became obscured, and what was worse, down from the leaden yellow sky tiny snowflakes began to flutter as though in play, rapidly increasing in size and volume until, as if by magic, Rosella found herself enveloped in a blinding snowstorm that obscured the landscape, and decided her to return home. But returning home was not so easy as turning herself round, and she soon had the growing conviction that no matter which way she turned she was lost, utterly lost: for all that she could see was that she no longer seemed to be dressed in red, but was thickly coated in white.Twice she tripped over the uneven ground, but she stumbled along hopefully and bravely, and even tried to sing, only the snowflakes got into her mouth and made her shut it up tight.Rosella had no idea where she was, and she felt very tired. How she wished now she had gone straight forward! There would have been no difficulty about that. By good luck she came close up to a large piece of overhanging rock; she did not remember ever seeing it before, so she was more than ever confused as to the whereabouts of the hill or of anything; but it was good for shelter. She placed her muff in a niche above her head, and sat down to rest awhile and consider what she had best do.The wind howled around her only partiallysheltered retreat, and myriads of snowflakes, drifting in, fell softly about her, creeping closer and closer, covering her boots, lying thickly on her frock, on her shoulders, drifting, too, into her eyes and making them blink, and powdering her hair with white. And she felt too cold to think—too cold to move.After a while Rosella exclaimed: "This won't do. I must get up from here. It's such a dreadfully cold place!" And she determined to try and go on, if only to keep herself warm. So she shook herself, took down her muff, and went forth.It was snowing as much as ever, but Rosella found that the ground was no longer flat. She was on the hillside, and as she climbed she wondered anxiously how she should know which side to come down, once she was on the top, in order to find the Moat House. Then she smiled as it occurred to her how much she must now look like the tiny, red-hooded, toy figure in the glass paper weight at home which showed itself enveloped in a miniature snowstorm when it was shaken. She plodded on higher and higher.The weather was clearing when Rosella stood on the summit of the hill, and she was lost in admiration as she gazed at the largest, grandest Snow Castle she could never have imagined.Before it, too, stood a Snow Man splendidly proportioned and set up. To her intense astonishment, as she timidly approached he bowed politely.Rosella curtsied instinctively, then laughed as she went round to see where he had broken. But he wasn't broken at all, for he turned too, faced her, and said—"I need hardly introduce myself, Rosella. I presume you recognise King Frost when you meet him in any guise. You wished to see my Castle—and gave yourself a polite invitation. You are welcome!"She was so taken aback with the suddenness of all this that she could find no words for reply. So she made another, much lower, curtsey, which she knew to be correct in the presence of Royalty, then she took his proffered arm. And the tall white figure and the little white figure mounted the white steps, went through the massive gateway, and proceeded down a long, narrow passage lighted with a ruddy glow from the high windows, which were glazed with something red, transparent, and glistening. It was much warmer here, and Rosella noticed that the snow had melted from her clothes, and that her companion also appeared to be dressed in red. His white face with its white beard and white hair wore quite a jovialair, and on top of it was set a crown of carved ice that reminded her of their chandelier in the drawing-room.He did the honours by offering her some snow broth, which she declined. Then she thought she ought to say something, so she remarked, with a touch of family pride—"I had no idea that Grandfather had built such a fine place as this.""Ithink the credit is entirely mine," protested her companion with an amused chuckle. "Iprovide the material, you see, or there would have been no 'fine place' at all. See my point?""Yes, your Majesty," she assented, for she knew it wasn't polite to argue—especially with a royal personage."This way!" he exclaimed, and led her down another passage on the right, and halted to push open a swing door of ice a little way, and genially patted her on the cheek—which was kindly meant no doubt, but his touch nipped her with cold so that she shivered."I shall be on guard outside. If you want me, call me!" Almost as soon as she heard the words the heavy door swung to behind her, and she found herself alone in a great, white, glistening hall with high arches open to the air. Evidently it wasscarcely snowing now, for only little isolated flakes came fluttering in. But in their falling they changed into little shadowy girls and boys in white, who danced playfully around her, and their cold white draperies swept lightly about her face, reminding her of the blinding snowstorm she had passed through. But she only wanted to get away to her grandfather now.Rosella sheltered her face with her muff and ran the gauntlet of the persistent little snowflakes. In a corner she espied a spiral staircase which seemed to lead up into one of the battlemented towers she had noticed outside, and she imagined it a way of escape, so up she ran. The steps were very slippery, but she got up to the top, where, through a narrow loophole, she saw King Frost down below, standing there just as she first saw him when she thought him only a Snow Man. More anxious than ever to know how to get to her grandfather, she called out—"Your Majesty!" and repeated loudly the two words over and over again, for he either would not or could not hear her. And what was very curious, there was an echo which called back "Rosella! Rosella!" in the same anxious tone.Talking was clearly of no use; she must do something. So she tried to squeeze her muff through the aperture in order to drop it on his head andattract his attention—but it would not go through. It stuck there and closed out her view. Try as she would she could not release it; and with a gulp in her throat she realised she would have to leave it. Her hands grew terribly cold without it, and it was too draughty to remain there.From the landing on which she stood steps led up higher, so she proceeded to explore, and found herself in an octagonal turret chamber. "I suppose it serves me right, and Iamlost,andthere's no one to help me!" sighed Rosella."Oh yes there is!""Whose voice is that?" she asked. She could see no one—but at the same moment a sunbeam pierced through an aperture, pointed straight at what appeared to be a lift behind a slender column, and then faded away. Itwasa lift, made of ice and snow, as was everything else in the Castle. Rosella entered it and took a seat. The lift at once began gently and slowly to go down, down, first into the foundations of the Castle, and then into the interior of the hill right down under the snow, till it stopped in a Grotto lined with cobwebs and suffused with a mysterious green light. There was a soft, singing sound, as though made by the wind. In front was a frozen lake, and the ice of it was green from the same strange light."I must try and find my way to Grandfather,"said Rosella vaguely as she wandered about the Grotto, looking about her for a way out.Mrs. Silverton kept glancing anxiously at the clock and at the snowstorm. Davis entered. "Madam," said he, with an usually solemn face, "Mr. Silverton has telephoned again from the Moat House that Miss Rosella hasn't arrived.""Then she must have lost her way!" exclaimed her mother, now thoroughly alarmed. "Though I don't see how she could, keeping straight across the moor to the Moat House gate at the end of the path. We must set out, Davis, and find her.""Difficult this weather, Madam, if our young lady is lost on the moor.""Is it still so bad?""The storm's not so thick as it was. I'll go immediately. There's no time to be lost, to my thinking, Madam.""Yes, we'll go at once, Davis."Mrs. Silverton, pale with anxiety, sent other messengers in various directions, and then started off herself. On the moor she met another search party headed by old Mr. Silverton and his faithful collie dog. And the moor rang with anxious cries of "Rosella! Rosella!" uttered by whitened shadowy figures that looked like phantoms in the falling snow."Imusttry and find my way to Grandfather," repeated Rosella falteringly, realising that she didn't know in the least how to proceed. She never had a notion that a Snow Castle was so intricate inside, with a hall, a lift, a grotto, and things; indeed, she had always imagined for no particular reason that it had no inside at all; "but of course," she now argued, "if it has an outside itmusthave an inside, or it wouldn't be an outside." But it was much more startling when she looked up and found that she was by no means alone: the cobwebs were all inhabited. Inhabited—not by ugly spiders, but by the wee-est little baby-fairies with the wee-est gossamer wings, swaying in their cobweb hammocks in all attitudes, fast asleep, soothed by the lullaby hummed by the wind."This must be where they are bred!" cried Rosella, in an ecstasy of admiration and delight."This is Fairy Spring's nursery," explained a beautiful Sprite, appearing suddenly at her elbow like a little bright sunbeam. "King Frost is the ground landlord, you know, and allows all her young things to sleep here and keep warm.""And who are you, please?" inquired the Sprite's young visitor."I am Love of Goodwill, and my father's name is Christmas.""I know you by name quite well, and am soglad to see you. Perhaps you would kindly help me to find my way?""If you keep on going to the right, when you see the snowdrops' mother, there you will find your landmark.""Oh, do please tell me more clearly. What did you say? Tell me where I"—but Rosella was again alone in the green grotto with the sleeping baby-fairies in their swaying hammocks, and the soft music of the wind. "Surely there can't be any grown-up snowdrops at Christmas—it's too early!—and I shall be losing my way for weeks!" continued Rosella. Nevertheless, she kept on turning to the right through upward passages first of rock, then of sand, in which were embedded deep growing roots, then of soil with its minerals, broken up leaves, and corpses of insects which she didn't like at all; then through a passage lined with true red soil, where little grubs were lying fast asleep in their nests."You ugly grubby little things!" remarked Rosella as she passed them."They are only lying low at present. They will be lovely Painted Ladies and visit the court of Fairy Spring," replied Love of Goodwill, hovering again at her side. "And look! There are the baby snowdrops asleep in their earthy cots. They, too, will awake soon and get up. I helped their mother toget up as she was in such a hurry to see the world. I'm afraid she will have got nipped by King Frost for her impatience. Farewell—I must go and see what is happening."Rosella followed the sunbeam—into which the Sprite had vanished—and at once felt the keen air blowing on her face, and knew she was above ground once more. Everything was all white again. She sat down upon a piece of rock to rest, and noticed the sunbeam pointing straight at a little woe-begone snowdrop sticking up out of the snow before her. And to her joy the Snow Man was close by calling "Rosella! Rosella!" in the echo's anxious tone she had heard before—so he must have wanted her then, badly."Yes, your Majesty!" she murmured.He bent over her kindly. "There, little lady," he continued, "drink some of this now!" and something cold yet stinging was poured gently down her throat."Thank you, your Majesty. I did feel tired and queer, but your snow broth has made me all right." She said it quite gratefully. Then her eyes opened wide and she cried in amazement—"Grandfather! Why it'syou! You were the Snow Man all the time! And look! there's my muff up there that I left in the wall!""But for that sticking up we might never havefound our little treasure," replied old Mr. Silverton. He picked her up and, holding her aloft, showed her to her anxious mother, who came hurrying on the scene."Don't shiver so, dearie," exclaimed Mrs. Silverton, passionately embracing the child, as hot tears dropped on her daughter's face. "You must be perished with cold, but this nice sunshine which has come out now will do you good.""I didn't feel cold. It was quite nice and warm under the snow as you said, Mother—and so wonderful!"Davis carried her home in triumph at the head of the procession; and after precautionary remedies had been taken, Rosella sat cosily tucked up in the big arm-chair in front of the huge log fire, thinking over all she had seen. Of course she confessed to her temptation to go astray, and was readily forgiven. Then, as Mr. Silverton insisted he had never in his life been any one else but himself, Rosella gaily recounted her meeting with the Snow Man at his Snow Castle. "And King Frost said, Grandfather," concluded Rosella, "that the credit of the Castle was his for providing the snow and not yours.""Bless my soul!" cried old Mr. Silverton. "And he was right there, because I've had nothing to do with any Snow Castle or any Snow Man—there was some talk, but nothing came of it.""But I was King Frost's visitor there, don't you see," insisted Rosella, smiling. "So I know that's only one of your jokes, Grandfather."He smiled too and wiped his spectacles.The next morning Rosella volunteered to fetch her grandfather and introduce him to King Frost. So the two climbed the hill. But no vestige of Snow Castle or Snow Man was there."There, you see!" said her grandfather, laughing, as he genially patted her on the cheek. How cold his hand felt! It nipped her with cold, so that she shivered. Yet the weather had changed, and it was more like a sunny day in spring than in midwinter.She left old Mr. Silverton at his gate, and he assured her with a kiss that he wasn't a bit disappointed at the wonderful disappearance, but that it was all certainly a very remarkable affair indeed.Rosella thought so too. Then she turned and walked thoughtfully home.THE CUCKOO THAT LIVED IN THE CLOCK-HOUSEIt was rather a ramshackle, badly-built wooden house, in which the Cuckoo lived. Outside it looked smart enough, but inside, repairs were badly needed. It had been handed down from father to son, and over the front door, which was at the top of the house, stood a beautifully carved statue of their ancestor, Sir Cuckoo de Cuckoo.The Clock-House was situated not far from the Dolls' House, backed by a flowery wall in a small department of Nursery Land ruled over by Robert and Lucy. Lucy was ground landlady of the Clock-House, and it was her daily privilege to wind up its affairs.No one ever knocked at the Cuckoo's front door, because it had no number; there was a round dozen of numbers in the immediate neighbourhood. The pendulum, whose tongue never ceased to wag once it was wound up, remarked, that two firm hands were required to keep things in order. As to the chains, they regularly got weighed downunder the strain of responsibility, and a heavy weight it was.So, as one could not summon the Cuckoo at will, the only thing to do was to wait and see it when it chose to appear, and then—as likely as not, if nobody was about—Robert would seize the opportunity to take pot-shots at it with his pea-shooter. So far he had invariably missed. Sometimes it kept an appointment with him punctually at the hour, sometimes it didn't. Occasionally, it came out at odd times, and then remained indoors altogether. When that happened for a more than usually long period, it was sure to be because the poor Cuckoo felt indisposed in its bellows; and when it became apparent that something had gone wrong with the inmate of the Clock-House, an entrance had to be effected by the back door and a dose of oil administered. Whereupon the front door would fly open and the Cuckoo appear again on the threshold—it never ventured further—bow to the multitude, or to empty space, and pipe "Cuc—koo!" just as many times as it felt inclined at the moment.One fine afternoon in spring, when the Cuckoo came out punctually, and went through its performance of three bows with a Cuckoo call after each salutation, there happened to be a fresh inmate all alone in the nursery. This wasTabiatha, the new kitten, cosily reposing in her new basket under the table. "Aha! Poultry!" mewed Tabiatha, lying low, opening a lazy but watchful eye, and gazing upwards. "Bless my tail! You're a tender morsel, I'll be bound—small, but a tit-bit!" So thought the kitten, with an increasing feeling of longing in the chest. It had sounded to Tabiatha like an echo of the call she had heard so recently in the lane near the old farm at home."I don't want to pop out any more!" said the Cuckoo after re-entering the Clock-House. "I'm bored to tears!" And it settled down in a corner and looked very melancholy. "What with that horrid boy, Robert, lurking about—and now a kitten of all things! Why, life's not worth the living! If ever I do pop out again, I should like to pop out for good and all—stretch my wings and fly away, right away, and see something of the world!""Work! That's the cure for all woes!" solemnly ticked the pendulum. "Look at me, I'm always at it, with a good swinging stride." The hands didn't explain their views—they were keeping far apart, and were not on speaking terms. "Every one is expected to do his duty," urged the pendulum."That was only meant for one day—not morning,noon, and night," argued the Cuckoo. "It's all very well for a wagtail like you—but for a Cuckoo with a soul above it—especially with a fine, well-trained voice!""Every one must do his duty at all times. Yes, look at me—but I fear you can't see me. Do you follow me?" asked the pendulum jokingly. Getting no reply, it ticked-tacked on, until the Cuckoo felt quite distracted."Listen to me, children," said their mother, entering the nursery, when playtime had begun; "Nurse has gone to lie down. She isn't very well this afternoon. So at four o'clock put everything away neatly; then make yourselves tidy, and come downstairs, where you may have tea with me."Robert and Lucy said they were sorry for Nurse, but they smiled, and hopped about with delight at the treat of tea downstairs. They promised to do as they were told, and with muffled footsteps hurried on the landing to open the gate and let their mother out of their domain, and quietly closed it to keep themselves in. Then they settled down in the nursery to "Loto;" but as Lucy always won, Robert tired of it. Card houses didn't answer either, because it amused Robert not to build them, but to shake the table when Lucy's structures were in course of erection.Their mother, busily writing in the drawing-room, began to wonder why the children didn't come downstairs; and tea was just being brought in, when suddenly screams and cries were heard issuing from the nursery, and she rushed upstairs in alarm.There she found the nursery littered with things, chairs in unusual places, some overturned, and Lucy lying on the floor crying, with a cut on her lip, which was bleeding. Robert had both stockings torn, and was ruefully rubbing his knees. The little girl was more frightened than hurt."Whatever has happened, Robert?" exclaimed their mother as she helped Lucy to her feet, and comforted her."I was hunting," he began to explain, "and she was the gazelle, and I was chasing her from rock to rock——""Jumping from the table on to the chairs and back again," added Lucy in further explanation, "and we both tumbled down!""Serve you both right for being so disobedient as to jump on the furniture," replied their mother, with placid satisfaction that matters were no worse. "You ought to have been all tidied up, and downstairs by now.""It isn't time yet, surely, Mother!" The three turned instinctively towards the Cuckoo clock. It had stopped at three minutes to four."There now, Lucy, you silly!" cried her brother; "if you hadn't forgotten to wind it up, we shouldn't have had that beastly tumble, and shouldn't have been late for tea.""Come, dears, quickly, and I'll help make you ready," said their mother; and they left the nursery together.During the excitement Tabiatha had remained unnoticed in her basket under the table, glad in all the turmoil to be peaceful and forgotten. She came out, stretched herself lazily, and soon began to gambol about the room. The clock chain, lying loosely on the ground, attracted her attention. She crouched, then leapt at one bound upon it, backed a little, touched it with her paw, lay on her side, and played with the bright links with all four paws and much enjoyment. With a sudden movement she righted herself—made a spring upwards, missed the chain and fell without hurt. Liking this novel game, she leapt higher next time, and alighted on a cushioned chair, scratched her way up, jumped on to a bookcase, and then on to an empty shelf. There was the chain within easy reach. Putting out her paw, it caught instead in a ring she hadn't noticed. To disentangle it she reached over, lost her foothold, and, still caught in the ring, found that the rattling chain was movingdownwards with her weight until it deposited her gently on the ground, greatly to her surprise. Again she scrambled up the furniture in the same way. Her paw was now on both chains. Suddenly something swung backwards and forwards—Tic—tac!Tabiatha was for the moment dismayed, and, arching her back, she stood rooted to the spot.Tic—tac!It came unpleasantly close to her, nearly touching her nose each time, but she never budged an inch. Whr-r-r-r-r!Cuc—koo! Cuc—koo! Cuc—koo! Cuc——Tabiatha, rising to the occasion, and quick to seize an opportunity or anything else, took her last and only chance. She seized the poultry with both paws—Crack! Snap! She lost her balance and fell down, down, on to the cushioned chair. The Cuckoo flew into the air, alighted on Tabiatha's back, and bounded on to the ground. Tabiatha forgot at once her escape from breaking her neck, sprang after the Cuckoo lying there, turned it over, paused, sniffed, found to her surprise that it was not good to eat, that it hadn't even feathers, and was only made of wood, turned it over again, and began tapping it and pouncing on it until, suddenly forgetting all about it, she cantered away sideways with her tail curling in the air. She jumped intoher basket, rolled herself up, soon purred herself fast asleep, and looked the very picture of helpless innocence.The Cuckoo, out in the world at last, having recovered from its first alarm at the useless stiffness of its wings, waited for something to happen. As nothing did happen, it thought the world a very dull and stupid place, and concluded that, after all, work was better than lying there helpless, idle, motionless, and ridiculous. What was the use of its trained voice now? It couldn't articulate a sound even to summon help. It had no idea of the time, but the sun was shining brightly when at last it found itself carefully lifted and placed on a higher level.When Lucy entered the nursery that morning, soon after Robert, he exclaimed—"I say, Lucy! There's something fresh for breakfast. Look on your plate!""Oh, my poor Cuckoo!" she cried in distress. "You've shot it at last. You bad boy—I shan't love you ever any more!"But she did love him at once again, for it was a fact that no one knew how ever the Cuckoo came to be lying on the floor in the remote corner where Nurse had picked it up. The cushioned chair was in its place again—a long way off the clock. Every one was mystified, and could not imagine how it hadhappened. But Tabiatha knew all about it, though you would never have guessed it from her round, innocent eyes as she sat licking first one velvety paw, and then the other velvety paw, as though she were washing them of any share in the mischief.When the Clock-House was spring-cleaned, and the Cuckoo duly set there on its legs again, it formed the firm determination to remain at its post in the future, and, with its Clock-House in order, it worked ever after with regularity and good humour just like one o'clock."Cuc—koo!" Bow, click.CHRISTMAS AT THE COURT OF KING JORUMThe great evening had come, and every one in Cosmopolis Castle was agog with excitement. Eight months before, the Monarch had by Royal Herald Extraordinary announced his intention of making known his decision on Christmas Eve. And Christmas Eve had come. No wonder every one was agog with excitement, because King Jorum was at last going to announce which of the lovely ladies of the Court should be raised to the position of the late Queen, his defunct consort. She, poor soul, had possessed neither charm nor beauty, and without her he had been quite happy for the past two years, surrounded by smiling faces and kept constantly amused by the ladies and gentlemen of his Court.He had a jovial nature, and was an indulgent father to his two young daughters, especially fond of the younger, Princess Veronica, for more delightful sweetness, prettiness, and lovableness it would be difficult to find in any other young damsel of sixteen years old. So believed that fineyoung soldier, Prince Olivin; and so believed every one else in the whole kingdom. Every one else, with one exception—Princess Christobel, her sister, older by one year. She had her own ideas on the subject evidently, for she kept a surly silence when her sister's praises were sung. People said it was her jealousy, because she was plain-looking, and sulky in expression and character; and some did say she was secretly in love with Prince Olivin herself.Outside the castle this night the silent landscape had been decorated, by order of King Frost, in snow and crystal. Inside the castle the great halls had been decorated, by order of King Jorum, in holly and mistletoe. In the antechamber to the ball-room stood the giant Christmas-tree, hung with so many gifts of exquisite needlework from the ladies of the Court for the King, and so many, too, for Princess Veronica, that there was hardly room for any other presents for any one else, so they had to be stacked up in separate heaps on the floor.There was one present on the tree, which was handsomer and costlier than all the rest—it was a pair of woollen boots so cunningly and dexterously wrought with precious jewels that they were the most beautiful ever seen or heard of. They were the handiwork of Countess Spinx, and of all the handsome ladies who were assembled in the ball-roomwhere the candles in the chandeliers cast a softening light on their charms, she seemed this Christmas Eve the most unnerved, the most excited. Courtiers came strolling in by twos and threes, and the scene became animated and gay.For as history shows, it was the custom at the Court of King Jorum, by special decree of the Monarch, that every man, woman, and child should dress themselves in costumes of any distinctive style they liked—whatever suited their fancy best. (That was the origin, ages after, of the term—fancy-dress.) There was thus no slavish following of fashion, and consequently every one looked, or fancied they looked, their very, very best, and were thoroughly at ease in their quaint and, mostly, fascinating attire."Here's Little Love!" exclaimed a bevy of fair dames, pressing forward as a handsome child stepped into their midst, dressed as Cupid, and looking the realest of little Loves from the tips of his tiny bare toes to the tips of his tiny bare wings. He was the King's godson and pet."He's sure to know! Perhaps he can give us a hint of the news!" exclaimed Countess Spinx with eyes blazing eagerly as she placed herself in his path, with her crook firmly planted on the ground: she was dressed as a shepherdess, which showed to advantage the curls on her fair neck, and her smallfeet in their high-heeled shoes. "Whisper to me!" she coaxed; "or," with a pretty shake of the crook, "I'll not let you pass!"Little Love might have been deaf, looking neither to the right nor to the left, so unconcernedly did he continue his way stolidly on to meet the procession of the King.Countess Spinx bit her lip in vexation; the other ladies merely shrugged their shoulders and laughed; and the gentlemen stroked their mouths to hide their smiles. Then all conversation was smothered by the entry of the heralds with their raised silver trumpets and their—Par—parraparpar—pip—ha!Par—parraparpar—paar—r!This was immediately followed by the entry of King Jorum holding Little Love by the hand. The whole company bowed and curtsied very low—and then stood at attention, breathless with expectation.King Jorum was a very big man, with a very big smile, and very big woollen boots. He always wore woollen boots because, being his own Commander-in-chief, he liked to stand at ease. So he said, naturally in a very big voice—"According to my promise it is now my pleasure to announce to my Court here assembled my decision with regard to your future Queen. Afterprolonged thought and study of face and character I have come to the conclusion that there is not one lady of my Court but who is quite lovely enough and charming enough to become my royal consort. Therefore to choose is difficult—so difficult that it is impossible, and, being impossible, I shall never wed again. I have spoken."Looking neither to the right nor to the leftLooking neither to the right nor to the leftFor a moment there was intense silence. Then deafening cheers arose, and all faces were radiant with delight, especially the faces of the ladies, who thus remained equals, no jealousy being possible. "Such tact!" said one. "How true!" cried another. But one lady had slipped away unobserved. It was Countess Spinx.The gallant Monarch, unaccompanied, pleased at the reception given to his declaration, smilingly passed on to the antechamber, as was his wont, for a private view of the Christmas-tree before the revels commenced. King Jorum had detached one of the woollen boots embroidered with pearls and precious stones, anxiously tried it on, and was admiring the effect, when Little Love appeared and inquired if he would grant an interview to Prince Olivin, who was waiting without."I am engaged," was his Majesty's impatient reply."That, Sire, is what Prince Olivin wants to be!""Eh, what's that? Put on this other boot for me"—he unfastened it from the tree. "Ha! that's very smart. Very attentive of the dear Countess. Now show him in!"The two young Princesses had not made their appearance for the proclamation. They, as well as Little Love, had been in the King's confidence, and they did not intend to be present. However, as the hour of the revels was fast approaching, Veronica feared that her sister would be late as usual, so she took her last glance at herself in the mirror, tightened the blue ribbon that was threaded through her fair hair, tucked a pale rose in the blue sash of her high-waisted, white muslin frock, and flitted off happily to Christobel's room."Come in!" said a not very amiable voice in response to the light tap. "Oh, it's you, is it?""Can I help you, as you have no maid?"Princess Christobel's room was by no means tidy. "I don't want any help," she replied ungraciously, moving some of the garments that littered the bed, "but you can sit down there, if you like, next to the 'Shah of Persia.'"Veronica took the place indicated next to the sweetest little blue Persian kitten that was curled up fast asleep on the coverlet."I like your new frock, Veronica," continuedChristobel, surveying her sister as she pinned up her black hair without troubling even to do it before a glass; "but you look pretty in anything. If you didn't, no one would trouble to pet you. No one ever fusses over me.""Papa does, for one.""Only because he thinks it's his duty.""I would if you'd let me.""Oh yes. You'd be very pleased if I'd let you hang about me—an ugly girl can't show to much advantage next to a pretty one. I know your little game.""Oh, Christobel! How can you say such unkind, unjust things?" protested poor Veronica with a sob."If you want to cry," said Christobel crossly, "you shouldn't do so until you go to sleep. You cry so easily; and then your bright eyes look heavy, and your aquiline nose gets red, and the whole Castle gets upset about them. Who cares ifmyeyes are red?""Every one, of course. Besides, one's looks aren't everything.""I know differently. Looksareeverything. But I don't care if people trouble about me or not, or anything they do, or think, or say!""Whatareyou putting on, Christobel? Notthat, surely!""Yes. Same old Red Riding Hood cape and green skirt—does for indoors or out. Same old crew about, I suppose?""I suppose so. But it's Christmas Eve. Those loose things don't even suit you. Let me lend you a new frock which I have, just the same as this; we can arrange ribbons of your colour, red. We're the same height, and it will suit you quite as well as it suits me.""A nice comparison people would draw, eh?" sneered Christobel; and being ready she took the sleepy Shah in her arms and stalked downstairs with him faintly mewing his protests, leaving her sister to follow if she liked.In the ball-room Christobel superciliously took no notice of the respectful greetings of the Court. She was naturally shy, reserved too, and sensitive as to her appearance and lack of charm. But Veronica had a kind word for every one, stopping to greet with a smile or a merry jest all present; for they all adored her for her sweetness, graciousness, and extraordinary beauty. There wasn't a man but who would have died for her, nor a woman but who felt better for her radiant presence. Little Love suddenly appeared and whispered something to Princess Veronica, who blushed, was confused, and said in a low voice to her sister—"Prince Olivin is here! Papa has sent for me.""You might have told me he was coming," replied Christobel, turning pale."But I never knew, indeed." Her sister had turned away, and Little Love was leading Veronica towards the antechamber.It seemed to Princess Christobel as though every face in the ball-room was a mask, and behind that mask were eyes that gleamed with mockery—that she had only to turn her back, and fingers of scorn and derision would mark her passage—and she turned and fled, never pausing in her course through the long passages and up the marble stairway until she was back in her room, where she flung the poor Shah and herself on the bed and burst into a torrent of tears and lamentations in her loneliness, disappointment, and jealousy. The kitten, too, looked unusually blue, and mewed disconsolately—felt bored, then purred, stretched its little self on the coverlet, and fell asleep again. Before long the sound of the heralds' silver trumpets pierced right up into Christobel's ears—Par—parraparpar—pip—ha!Par—parraparpar—paar—r!And she knew that the engagement was then being announced of Princess Veronica to PrinceOlivin; and the strains of the Waltz of the Affianced which followed, played by the Court musicians, confirmed the fact.How long she remained thus in the dark she did not know. Sounds of an angry voice roused her from her stupor, and she went out into the brilliantly lighted corridor, shading her eyes from the glare, the scent of flowers and the soft strains of music becoming more noticeable as she approached the stairway whence the voices proceeded—one of which she could now distinguish as being that of her sister. She peeped over the banisters, and saw, standing close beside Veronica, Countess Spinx, white with suppressed passion."You knew," hissed the Countess, "that there was to be no Queen.""I and my sister knew. Yes. Let me pass; I don't know what's become of her. I want to fetch her.""You might have told it to your old friend. You are looking radiantly beautiful to-night.""I am very happy.""Happy with your betrothed?""Yes.""Listen! Did you know that every one saidIhad the best chance of being Queen?""You!" exclaimed the young Princess in astonishment. "Fancy young you my stepmother!"and she burst out into a merry laugh. The next moment she was falling headlong down the marble stairway, and then lay quite still, bruised and bleeding. In the stillness that ensued—for the music had stopped—Countess Spinx flew upstairs, where she was confronted by Princess Christobel, who pushed roughly past her and hurried down to her sister's side. Her screams for help brought people running from every side. The injured girl, still unconscious, was quickly borne to her apartments, and the Court physicians surrounded her.All sorts of rumours were set afloat in the Castle, but all that was gathered for certain by the company, as they dispersed, was that Princess Veronica slipped on the marble stair owing to her new high-heeled shoes—that the sweet face was strapped and bandaged, for it was all cut and bruised, that the nose was broken, and her beauty spoilt for ever. Prince Olivin was half wild with grief, and poor King Jorum was shedding tears all alone in his study when Christobel sought admittance. Her face was set and stern, and the sight of his weakness didn't unnerve her as she said bluntly—"Father, Veronica did not slip on the stair—she was purposely and viciously thrown down.""Eh,what?" exclaimed the King, staring at her. "Are you taking leave of your senses? There'snot a soul who would hurt my pretty darling. You have enemies. She has none.""Shewas happy. Others were not. Countess Spinx was in a fury of disappointment at not being chosen Queen. She flung poor Veronica down in spite and malice. I saw her do it."The King bounded up. "Summon the Countess!" he cried.Before her Christobel repeated her accusation, and Countess Spinx tried to assert she only put out her arms to save the unfortunate Princess from slipping. Further questioned, she got confused, contradicted herself, and finally sunk on her knees and prayed for mercy."To the cells!" shouted the King, and his eyes falling on his jewelled boots, he hastily tore them off and threw them after her as she was carried away.When, next day, poor little Princess Veronica recovered consciousness and was free from pain she asked for her sister, who came quickly to her side."Have you heard," asked Veronica faintly, "that I—I—I am maimed for life? With a broken nose and scarred face I shall not only be ugly but repulsive.""Poor Veronica! You will then be on the same level with me in the future. How you will miss all the petting, all the love!""I suppose my life is spoilt. And when I had beauty, I thought of it and prized it so little. But won't you love me, Christobel?""Yes, I will now.""Why only now?""Because I shall always feel sorry for you—I have never felt sorry for any one but myself before—and I shall love you heaps and heaps.""Don't you think others may feel sorry for me, too?—Poor Prince Olivin! Poor me!" she added with a little moan.Christobel shook her head sadly. "Beauty is everything! You will understand that now."No limbs were broken, and in a couple of days Princess Veronica, with her head and face veiled in white lace, was able to receive some visits of sympathy in her misfortune.King Jorum was inconsolable, and whenever he came out of the invalid's room he would vow terrible threats of vengeance on Countess Spinx, who was trembling for her spiteful life in the cells.On the third night after the Christmas festivities had been brought to their sudden and tragic close, Princess Christobel dreamed such a vivid dream that it awakened her. She dreamed that Little Love, who avoided her whenever he could, came smilingly up to her, kissed her hand, and raising a letter he held, showed, with a look of triumph whichpuzzled her, that it was addressed to her sister. She awoke, and instantly remembered that Little Love had really kissed her hand that evening, to her great surprise. She sat up in bed listening, for she fancied she heard her sister call. Becoming anxious for her comfort, she rose, and went gently in to her. It was quiet in the dimly lighted chamber. The invalid lay softly sleeping, her face all bandaged, and her glorious hair a mass of gold about the pillow. Under her hand was an open letter. Tempted by the influence of her dream, Christobel drew nearer. It was Prince Olivin's firm writing—there were only a few lines, and the moonlight shone full upon them. She could not help reading:—"Beloved! Think not to release me. It is your sweet nature I love. You. Your beautiful mind. Nothing could ever change them!Olivin."Was it joy for her sister? was it some gleam of an unknown sense of peace, tenderness, and hope in her soul, that brought scalding tears to Christobel's eyes as, half blinded by them, she groped her way back to her room, where she fell on her knees and cried softly, and prayed that, now through her tears her eyes had been opened, she might learn to become different? "Beauty isnoteverything, then!" she repeated wonderingly toherself over and over again, finding each time fresh comfort in the thought. "How wrong I have been! Out of her disfigurement Veronica says my love for her has grown, and is worth much to her in comfort. It has brought us close together, and made us both happy. How grateful she is for every one's attention! And now the Prince still pleads for her! So! it was not her beauty that attracted him—it was not her beauty—not her beauty!" Thus she thought earnestly and long, and it brought her a strange sense of faith in herself and others. "I shall tell them all that I, too, know how truly she deserves her happiness!"And tell them she did, and they opened their eyes and bowed respectfully, and thought more of Princess Christobel than they had ever thought before.New Year's Eve came round with its accustomed regularity, and the inmates of Cosmopolis Castle were looking unusually grave for the occasion. Princess Veronica was to appear once more in their midst, and with the bandages removed from her poor face. It was a silent, uneasy company that had gathered together in the great ball-room, and King Jorum, engaged in a game of "Snap" with Little Love in a corner, looked ill and worn from anxiety for his favourite child.Suddenly the card-players rose, and a thrill ofexcitement went through the assembly—Princess Veronica stood on the threshold in white muslin and blue. Her face showed no trace of scars; but her nose! Her nose was unrecognisable. It was no more aquiline, but tip-tilted—the sweetest little turned-up feature imaginable, and her appearance had actuallygained: Princess Veronica had become the loveliest lady in the land!After being locked in her father's arms Veronica found herself suddenly in those of her lover. King Jorum was frantic with delight. He called for Doctor Quick and made him Lord High Druggist of his Majesty's dominions, with all the appanages, endowments, privileges, and perquisites appertaining to the office. He showered honours on every physician on or near the premises. He talked of bonfires, and of honours, and tiaras all round, until he was hoarse. Then Princess Christobel appeared in white muslin and red ribbons, and there were cheers for her animated appearance and her kind expression as she gracefully returned their greeting. "Father," she said, drawing him on one side, "Veronica is asking for Countess Spinx. May I—may I tell the prisoner that now all is well she is forgiven?" King Jorum shook his head vigorously, although he was too happy to do anything but smile all the time. "She has been in the cells for ever so long," pleaded Christobel, andher father was so taken aback at the revelation of her fine eyes and sweet voice, which had never at any time struck him before, that he nodded his head violently.That evening a stranger was bidden to the feast—no less a person than the great traveller, brother to Prince Olivin, just returned from a voyage of discovery—the bronzed and manly young Duke of Rosenleaf. "Who is that charming young girl?" he asked, as soon as he set eyes on her."Princess Christobel, your Highness," replied Little Love with a sly smile.King Jorum couldn't get to sleep that night. He usually slept too much, and was in the habit of unscrewing the top of his foot-warmer and pouring therefrom the hot coffee which he imbibed at intervals in order not to oversleep himself in the morning and thus set a bad example in the land. But he had no need for it to-night. He could not get to sleep at all.He thought, and thought, and thought what had wrought such a marvellous and rapid change in the character and appearance of his elder daughter. He smiled over it, too, and smiled until his cheeks ached with so much smiling, as much as his poor head ached with so much thought. Still he went on thinking right through the night, and just as heput up his arms above his head to break into a mighty yawn, he suddenly cried—"I have it! That's it! She has realised the old theme of Peace and Goodwill, as is proper at this time of year, and has turned over a new leaf! Bravo!" And he turned himself over, snored, and overslept himself.So the first day of the New Year opened in complete harmony at the Court of King Jorum. And when the Duke of Rosenleaf asked Princess Christobel if she would make the Happy New Year a happy one for him, she smiled and blushingly allowed him to place the prettiest of diamond rings on her finger.And the New Year was still in its youth when the two young Princesses were married. And by the time that the Shah of Persia's great-great-grand-kittens were gambolling about the palace, it had become a frequent and pleasant subject for argument and debate throughout the kingdom—"Who is the most charming and lovable woman in the land, Christobel or Veronica?"ONE APRIL DAYPART IA QUEER GODMOTHERIt was the First of April. The weather could not make up its mind whether to be tearful or gay. So, after changing three times, and deciding at last that it was not grown-up to cry, the sun dried up the tear-drops and beamed down on everything and everybody."Isn't it a shame, Wilfrid, to have to prepare lessons when it's such a fine afternoon?" exclaimed Norah. She rose from the study table and looked longingly out of the French window to where the crocuses on the lawn seemed to be having the best of it."Don't be lazy," replied her brother. "Just come and help me with this sum when I tell you.""I'm not going to do as you tell me. If you were grown up—say fifteen—it would be different; but you're only a year older than me—not even nine yet—and yet you——""Halloa!" interrupted Wilfrid with a low whistle,as he strolled towards the window. "Look at that's legs.""Which's?" inquired Norah, gazing in the direction he pointed."Them's.""What's?" she asked eagerly, looking around."None! Well, youarean April fool!" exclaimed Wilfrid with scornful glee as he resumed his seat; "that's the second time to-day!""And you're a very rude boy, and you're not allowed to call me horrid names like that," said Norah with dignity; "and I won't be teased always."With a very offended look, she set to work on her copy-book."Lend me your paint-box when we've finished our lessons, will you, Norah dear?" said Wilfrid, after a short pause."I can't," she replied, without looking up."Why?""I don't know why, but I can't.""Cat in the manger! You've got nothing you want to paint, as I have."There was a longer pause, during which they both scribbled away, and scratched, and spluttered, whilst their tongues moved silently from side to side outside their parted lips, left to right, following the direction of each new line.Then Norah heaved a sigh and remarked—"Wilfrid, isn't Cinderella lovely?""Yes, as girls go.""Oh, how I wish we lived in those times, when there were fairy godmothers and things!" exclaimed Norah rapturously; then she added with a sigh—"Aunt Leonora is my godmother, but she never gives me anything, and the godmothers in the fairy stories always give heaps of things.""You can't expect great fat podges like that to be like fairy godmothers, you silly!""But she ought to like giving things. How nice it is to give presents and be thanked!""Yes; it's nice to give presents—when they are cheap. Perhaps," continued her brother in a wise voice,—"perhaps Aunt Leonora can't afford it if she isn't rich!""Cinderella's godmother never seemed to consider the price of anything. I wish—oh, how I wish——""Oh, how I wish you'd be quiet and help me with this sum. You remember your tables better than I do, but you needn't be jolly cocky about it all the same."Norah wasn't listening to him. Her mind was far away from lessons. She was thinking, if she had her choice, what she would like to be, what she would like to do, and eat, and, above all, what shewould like to wear. "If only I had a fairy godmother, I——""Rubbish!" exclaimed Wilfrid, growing cross, and frowning as he watched her moving restlessly about the room."I—of course, I wouldn't refuse her anything. Fairy godmothers generally appear at first disguised as old women, and ask for something, such as a drink of water, or beg you to carry a load of wood or whatever they happen to have in hand. So I should be ready to do anything and give anything, and earn my big reward.""Oh, shurrup!" growled her brother. "Much better lend me your paint-box."But she didn't hear him; taken up with her fancies she continued excitedly—"I know what I'll do. I'll try and tempt her to come. Perhaps I may even have a fairy godmother without knowing it!"And she began to dance about, singing—

"I really do look every inch a king!"

"I really do look every inch a king!"

The boy flung himself against the door, and banged and kicked at it with all his might. It was of no use.

"Oh, the key, the key!" he cried. "If they would only spare it from their silly triumphing for a moment, and let me out!"

He put his eye to the keyhole, and with longing gaze he saw his kite on the spot he had left it, with its lazy tail gently stirred by the breeze.

Once more he looked back, despairing of help; the same animated fairy scene met his gaze—all so indifferent to his helplessness. Grasping the handle of the door in his hand he shook it in desperation.

Then he remembered. He quietly turned the handle, and walked out!

The sea breeze blew freshly as Cedric freed his kite from the bush, and when he looked back there was Land's End just as he had seen it before. "And Fairyland's end, too," he muttered; for all trace of the iron door had disappeared after he passed through. He stared in astonishment, and couldn't make it out; and the adventure remained a mystery all the days of his life.

"Rosella!"

"Yes, Mother?" And a dark-eyed little girl looked down over the banisters into the hall.

"I want you to get ready quickly and go to the Moat House, and persuade Grandfather to come back with you this afternoon instead of waiting until the evening."

"But if he invites me to tea with him?"

"Don't stay, dearie. I want you back before dusk, and it gets dark so soon now; and you must help me to tie the crackers on the Christmas-tree. It's still sunny, so make haste."

In a few minutes the child was tripping downstairs, smart and cosy in her red coat, hat, and muff, with all the importance of her nine years.

"Go the shortest way—you know; keep to the path across the moor," continued her mother, "or you might fall over bits of rock under the snow."

"Do you know, Mother, I always wonder, when there's snow, where all the grass is and what's underneath? All killed by the freeze?"

"Oh no. The snow keeps everything nice and warm," replied her mother with a kiss.

Davis, the portly butler, advanced and opened the front door.

"Beingabovethe snow doesn't keepmenice and warm, Mother," called back Rosella as she ran laughing down the steps into the icy north wind, which blew her dark hair out to its full length and heightened the warm colour in her cheeks.

"Make haste, and you'll be there in half-an-hour." Mrs. Silverton returned to her boudoir, and standing at the bow-window followed with loving eyes the graceful little red figure, until at a bend in the road it turned, gaily waved a farewell, and was lost to sight.

When Rosella reached the moor the high wind was against her, blowing her frock between her knees and making her eyes water. "This way will be very difficult and unpleasant," she thought to herself. "I'd far rather go round by the hill, and then, too, I could see if Grandfather has got the Snow Castle on the top finished and ready for to-morrow—I forgot about that when Mother said to go across the moor. I should so like to see it—I wonder if I might!"

She stood irresolute for a moment, then left the straight path and started running, in order to save time, in the other direction: thus making for the hill which she intended to climb.

The sun became obscured, and what was worse, down from the leaden yellow sky tiny snowflakes began to flutter as though in play, rapidly increasing in size and volume until, as if by magic, Rosella found herself enveloped in a blinding snowstorm that obscured the landscape, and decided her to return home. But returning home was not so easy as turning herself round, and she soon had the growing conviction that no matter which way she turned she was lost, utterly lost: for all that she could see was that she no longer seemed to be dressed in red, but was thickly coated in white.

Twice she tripped over the uneven ground, but she stumbled along hopefully and bravely, and even tried to sing, only the snowflakes got into her mouth and made her shut it up tight.

Rosella had no idea where she was, and she felt very tired. How she wished now she had gone straight forward! There would have been no difficulty about that. By good luck she came close up to a large piece of overhanging rock; she did not remember ever seeing it before, so she was more than ever confused as to the whereabouts of the hill or of anything; but it was good for shelter. She placed her muff in a niche above her head, and sat down to rest awhile and consider what she had best do.

The wind howled around her only partiallysheltered retreat, and myriads of snowflakes, drifting in, fell softly about her, creeping closer and closer, covering her boots, lying thickly on her frock, on her shoulders, drifting, too, into her eyes and making them blink, and powdering her hair with white. And she felt too cold to think—too cold to move.

After a while Rosella exclaimed: "This won't do. I must get up from here. It's such a dreadfully cold place!" And she determined to try and go on, if only to keep herself warm. So she shook herself, took down her muff, and went forth.

It was snowing as much as ever, but Rosella found that the ground was no longer flat. She was on the hillside, and as she climbed she wondered anxiously how she should know which side to come down, once she was on the top, in order to find the Moat House. Then she smiled as it occurred to her how much she must now look like the tiny, red-hooded, toy figure in the glass paper weight at home which showed itself enveloped in a miniature snowstorm when it was shaken. She plodded on higher and higher.

The weather was clearing when Rosella stood on the summit of the hill, and she was lost in admiration as she gazed at the largest, grandest Snow Castle she could never have imagined.Before it, too, stood a Snow Man splendidly proportioned and set up. To her intense astonishment, as she timidly approached he bowed politely.

Rosella curtsied instinctively, then laughed as she went round to see where he had broken. But he wasn't broken at all, for he turned too, faced her, and said—

"I need hardly introduce myself, Rosella. I presume you recognise King Frost when you meet him in any guise. You wished to see my Castle—and gave yourself a polite invitation. You are welcome!"

She was so taken aback with the suddenness of all this that she could find no words for reply. So she made another, much lower, curtsey, which she knew to be correct in the presence of Royalty, then she took his proffered arm. And the tall white figure and the little white figure mounted the white steps, went through the massive gateway, and proceeded down a long, narrow passage lighted with a ruddy glow from the high windows, which were glazed with something red, transparent, and glistening. It was much warmer here, and Rosella noticed that the snow had melted from her clothes, and that her companion also appeared to be dressed in red. His white face with its white beard and white hair wore quite a jovialair, and on top of it was set a crown of carved ice that reminded her of their chandelier in the drawing-room.

He did the honours by offering her some snow broth, which she declined. Then she thought she ought to say something, so she remarked, with a touch of family pride—

"I had no idea that Grandfather had built such a fine place as this."

"Ithink the credit is entirely mine," protested her companion with an amused chuckle. "Iprovide the material, you see, or there would have been no 'fine place' at all. See my point?"

"Yes, your Majesty," she assented, for she knew it wasn't polite to argue—especially with a royal personage.

"This way!" he exclaimed, and led her down another passage on the right, and halted to push open a swing door of ice a little way, and genially patted her on the cheek—which was kindly meant no doubt, but his touch nipped her with cold so that she shivered.

"I shall be on guard outside. If you want me, call me!" Almost as soon as she heard the words the heavy door swung to behind her, and she found herself alone in a great, white, glistening hall with high arches open to the air. Evidently it wasscarcely snowing now, for only little isolated flakes came fluttering in. But in their falling they changed into little shadowy girls and boys in white, who danced playfully around her, and their cold white draperies swept lightly about her face, reminding her of the blinding snowstorm she had passed through. But she only wanted to get away to her grandfather now.

Rosella sheltered her face with her muff and ran the gauntlet of the persistent little snowflakes. In a corner she espied a spiral staircase which seemed to lead up into one of the battlemented towers she had noticed outside, and she imagined it a way of escape, so up she ran. The steps were very slippery, but she got up to the top, where, through a narrow loophole, she saw King Frost down below, standing there just as she first saw him when she thought him only a Snow Man. More anxious than ever to know how to get to her grandfather, she called out—

"Your Majesty!" and repeated loudly the two words over and over again, for he either would not or could not hear her. And what was very curious, there was an echo which called back "Rosella! Rosella!" in the same anxious tone.

Talking was clearly of no use; she must do something. So she tried to squeeze her muff through the aperture in order to drop it on his head andattract his attention—but it would not go through. It stuck there and closed out her view. Try as she would she could not release it; and with a gulp in her throat she realised she would have to leave it. Her hands grew terribly cold without it, and it was too draughty to remain there.

From the landing on which she stood steps led up higher, so she proceeded to explore, and found herself in an octagonal turret chamber. "I suppose it serves me right, and Iamlost,andthere's no one to help me!" sighed Rosella.

"Oh yes there is!"

"Whose voice is that?" she asked. She could see no one—but at the same moment a sunbeam pierced through an aperture, pointed straight at what appeared to be a lift behind a slender column, and then faded away. Itwasa lift, made of ice and snow, as was everything else in the Castle. Rosella entered it and took a seat. The lift at once began gently and slowly to go down, down, first into the foundations of the Castle, and then into the interior of the hill right down under the snow, till it stopped in a Grotto lined with cobwebs and suffused with a mysterious green light. There was a soft, singing sound, as though made by the wind. In front was a frozen lake, and the ice of it was green from the same strange light.

"I must try and find my way to Grandfather,"said Rosella vaguely as she wandered about the Grotto, looking about her for a way out.

Mrs. Silverton kept glancing anxiously at the clock and at the snowstorm. Davis entered. "Madam," said he, with an usually solemn face, "Mr. Silverton has telephoned again from the Moat House that Miss Rosella hasn't arrived."

"Then she must have lost her way!" exclaimed her mother, now thoroughly alarmed. "Though I don't see how she could, keeping straight across the moor to the Moat House gate at the end of the path. We must set out, Davis, and find her."

"Difficult this weather, Madam, if our young lady is lost on the moor."

"Is it still so bad?"

"The storm's not so thick as it was. I'll go immediately. There's no time to be lost, to my thinking, Madam."

"Yes, we'll go at once, Davis."

Mrs. Silverton, pale with anxiety, sent other messengers in various directions, and then started off herself. On the moor she met another search party headed by old Mr. Silverton and his faithful collie dog. And the moor rang with anxious cries of "Rosella! Rosella!" uttered by whitened shadowy figures that looked like phantoms in the falling snow.

"Imusttry and find my way to Grandfather," repeated Rosella falteringly, realising that she didn't know in the least how to proceed. She never had a notion that a Snow Castle was so intricate inside, with a hall, a lift, a grotto, and things; indeed, she had always imagined for no particular reason that it had no inside at all; "but of course," she now argued, "if it has an outside itmusthave an inside, or it wouldn't be an outside." But it was much more startling when she looked up and found that she was by no means alone: the cobwebs were all inhabited. Inhabited—not by ugly spiders, but by the wee-est little baby-fairies with the wee-est gossamer wings, swaying in their cobweb hammocks in all attitudes, fast asleep, soothed by the lullaby hummed by the wind.

"This must be where they are bred!" cried Rosella, in an ecstasy of admiration and delight.

"This is Fairy Spring's nursery," explained a beautiful Sprite, appearing suddenly at her elbow like a little bright sunbeam. "King Frost is the ground landlord, you know, and allows all her young things to sleep here and keep warm."

"And who are you, please?" inquired the Sprite's young visitor.

"I am Love of Goodwill, and my father's name is Christmas."

"I know you by name quite well, and am soglad to see you. Perhaps you would kindly help me to find my way?"

"If you keep on going to the right, when you see the snowdrops' mother, there you will find your landmark."

"Oh, do please tell me more clearly. What did you say? Tell me where I"—but Rosella was again alone in the green grotto with the sleeping baby-fairies in their swaying hammocks, and the soft music of the wind. "Surely there can't be any grown-up snowdrops at Christmas—it's too early!—and I shall be losing my way for weeks!" continued Rosella. Nevertheless, she kept on turning to the right through upward passages first of rock, then of sand, in which were embedded deep growing roots, then of soil with its minerals, broken up leaves, and corpses of insects which she didn't like at all; then through a passage lined with true red soil, where little grubs were lying fast asleep in their nests.

"You ugly grubby little things!" remarked Rosella as she passed them.

"They are only lying low at present. They will be lovely Painted Ladies and visit the court of Fairy Spring," replied Love of Goodwill, hovering again at her side. "And look! There are the baby snowdrops asleep in their earthy cots. They, too, will awake soon and get up. I helped their mother toget up as she was in such a hurry to see the world. I'm afraid she will have got nipped by King Frost for her impatience. Farewell—I must go and see what is happening."

Rosella followed the sunbeam—into which the Sprite had vanished—and at once felt the keen air blowing on her face, and knew she was above ground once more. Everything was all white again. She sat down upon a piece of rock to rest, and noticed the sunbeam pointing straight at a little woe-begone snowdrop sticking up out of the snow before her. And to her joy the Snow Man was close by calling "Rosella! Rosella!" in the echo's anxious tone she had heard before—so he must have wanted her then, badly.

"Yes, your Majesty!" she murmured.

He bent over her kindly. "There, little lady," he continued, "drink some of this now!" and something cold yet stinging was poured gently down her throat.

"Thank you, your Majesty. I did feel tired and queer, but your snow broth has made me all right." She said it quite gratefully. Then her eyes opened wide and she cried in amazement—

"Grandfather! Why it'syou! You were the Snow Man all the time! And look! there's my muff up there that I left in the wall!"

"But for that sticking up we might never havefound our little treasure," replied old Mr. Silverton. He picked her up and, holding her aloft, showed her to her anxious mother, who came hurrying on the scene.

"Don't shiver so, dearie," exclaimed Mrs. Silverton, passionately embracing the child, as hot tears dropped on her daughter's face. "You must be perished with cold, but this nice sunshine which has come out now will do you good."

"I didn't feel cold. It was quite nice and warm under the snow as you said, Mother—and so wonderful!"

Davis carried her home in triumph at the head of the procession; and after precautionary remedies had been taken, Rosella sat cosily tucked up in the big arm-chair in front of the huge log fire, thinking over all she had seen. Of course she confessed to her temptation to go astray, and was readily forgiven. Then, as Mr. Silverton insisted he had never in his life been any one else but himself, Rosella gaily recounted her meeting with the Snow Man at his Snow Castle. "And King Frost said, Grandfather," concluded Rosella, "that the credit of the Castle was his for providing the snow and not yours."

"Bless my soul!" cried old Mr. Silverton. "And he was right there, because I've had nothing to do with any Snow Castle or any Snow Man—there was some talk, but nothing came of it."

"But I was King Frost's visitor there, don't you see," insisted Rosella, smiling. "So I know that's only one of your jokes, Grandfather."

He smiled too and wiped his spectacles.

The next morning Rosella volunteered to fetch her grandfather and introduce him to King Frost. So the two climbed the hill. But no vestige of Snow Castle or Snow Man was there.

"There, you see!" said her grandfather, laughing, as he genially patted her on the cheek. How cold his hand felt! It nipped her with cold, so that she shivered. Yet the weather had changed, and it was more like a sunny day in spring than in midwinter.

She left old Mr. Silverton at his gate, and he assured her with a kiss that he wasn't a bit disappointed at the wonderful disappearance, but that it was all certainly a very remarkable affair indeed.

Rosella thought so too. Then she turned and walked thoughtfully home.

It was rather a ramshackle, badly-built wooden house, in which the Cuckoo lived. Outside it looked smart enough, but inside, repairs were badly needed. It had been handed down from father to son, and over the front door, which was at the top of the house, stood a beautifully carved statue of their ancestor, Sir Cuckoo de Cuckoo.

The Clock-House was situated not far from the Dolls' House, backed by a flowery wall in a small department of Nursery Land ruled over by Robert and Lucy. Lucy was ground landlady of the Clock-House, and it was her daily privilege to wind up its affairs.

No one ever knocked at the Cuckoo's front door, because it had no number; there was a round dozen of numbers in the immediate neighbourhood. The pendulum, whose tongue never ceased to wag once it was wound up, remarked, that two firm hands were required to keep things in order. As to the chains, they regularly got weighed downunder the strain of responsibility, and a heavy weight it was.

So, as one could not summon the Cuckoo at will, the only thing to do was to wait and see it when it chose to appear, and then—as likely as not, if nobody was about—Robert would seize the opportunity to take pot-shots at it with his pea-shooter. So far he had invariably missed. Sometimes it kept an appointment with him punctually at the hour, sometimes it didn't. Occasionally, it came out at odd times, and then remained indoors altogether. When that happened for a more than usually long period, it was sure to be because the poor Cuckoo felt indisposed in its bellows; and when it became apparent that something had gone wrong with the inmate of the Clock-House, an entrance had to be effected by the back door and a dose of oil administered. Whereupon the front door would fly open and the Cuckoo appear again on the threshold—it never ventured further—bow to the multitude, or to empty space, and pipe "Cuc—koo!" just as many times as it felt inclined at the moment.

One fine afternoon in spring, when the Cuckoo came out punctually, and went through its performance of three bows with a Cuckoo call after each salutation, there happened to be a fresh inmate all alone in the nursery. This wasTabiatha, the new kitten, cosily reposing in her new basket under the table. "Aha! Poultry!" mewed Tabiatha, lying low, opening a lazy but watchful eye, and gazing upwards. "Bless my tail! You're a tender morsel, I'll be bound—small, but a tit-bit!" So thought the kitten, with an increasing feeling of longing in the chest. It had sounded to Tabiatha like an echo of the call she had heard so recently in the lane near the old farm at home.

"I don't want to pop out any more!" said the Cuckoo after re-entering the Clock-House. "I'm bored to tears!" And it settled down in a corner and looked very melancholy. "What with that horrid boy, Robert, lurking about—and now a kitten of all things! Why, life's not worth the living! If ever I do pop out again, I should like to pop out for good and all—stretch my wings and fly away, right away, and see something of the world!"

"Work! That's the cure for all woes!" solemnly ticked the pendulum. "Look at me, I'm always at it, with a good swinging stride." The hands didn't explain their views—they were keeping far apart, and were not on speaking terms. "Every one is expected to do his duty," urged the pendulum.

"That was only meant for one day—not morning,noon, and night," argued the Cuckoo. "It's all very well for a wagtail like you—but for a Cuckoo with a soul above it—especially with a fine, well-trained voice!"

"Every one must do his duty at all times. Yes, look at me—but I fear you can't see me. Do you follow me?" asked the pendulum jokingly. Getting no reply, it ticked-tacked on, until the Cuckoo felt quite distracted.

"Listen to me, children," said their mother, entering the nursery, when playtime had begun; "Nurse has gone to lie down. She isn't very well this afternoon. So at four o'clock put everything away neatly; then make yourselves tidy, and come downstairs, where you may have tea with me."

Robert and Lucy said they were sorry for Nurse, but they smiled, and hopped about with delight at the treat of tea downstairs. They promised to do as they were told, and with muffled footsteps hurried on the landing to open the gate and let their mother out of their domain, and quietly closed it to keep themselves in. Then they settled down in the nursery to "Loto;" but as Lucy always won, Robert tired of it. Card houses didn't answer either, because it amused Robert not to build them, but to shake the table when Lucy's structures were in course of erection.

Their mother, busily writing in the drawing-room, began to wonder why the children didn't come downstairs; and tea was just being brought in, when suddenly screams and cries were heard issuing from the nursery, and she rushed upstairs in alarm.

There she found the nursery littered with things, chairs in unusual places, some overturned, and Lucy lying on the floor crying, with a cut on her lip, which was bleeding. Robert had both stockings torn, and was ruefully rubbing his knees. The little girl was more frightened than hurt.

"Whatever has happened, Robert?" exclaimed their mother as she helped Lucy to her feet, and comforted her.

"I was hunting," he began to explain, "and she was the gazelle, and I was chasing her from rock to rock——"

"Jumping from the table on to the chairs and back again," added Lucy in further explanation, "and we both tumbled down!"

"Serve you both right for being so disobedient as to jump on the furniture," replied their mother, with placid satisfaction that matters were no worse. "You ought to have been all tidied up, and downstairs by now."

"It isn't time yet, surely, Mother!" The three turned instinctively towards the Cuckoo clock. It had stopped at three minutes to four.

"There now, Lucy, you silly!" cried her brother; "if you hadn't forgotten to wind it up, we shouldn't have had that beastly tumble, and shouldn't have been late for tea."

"Come, dears, quickly, and I'll help make you ready," said their mother; and they left the nursery together.

During the excitement Tabiatha had remained unnoticed in her basket under the table, glad in all the turmoil to be peaceful and forgotten. She came out, stretched herself lazily, and soon began to gambol about the room. The clock chain, lying loosely on the ground, attracted her attention. She crouched, then leapt at one bound upon it, backed a little, touched it with her paw, lay on her side, and played with the bright links with all four paws and much enjoyment. With a sudden movement she righted herself—made a spring upwards, missed the chain and fell without hurt. Liking this novel game, she leapt higher next time, and alighted on a cushioned chair, scratched her way up, jumped on to a bookcase, and then on to an empty shelf. There was the chain within easy reach. Putting out her paw, it caught instead in a ring she hadn't noticed. To disentangle it she reached over, lost her foothold, and, still caught in the ring, found that the rattling chain was movingdownwards with her weight until it deposited her gently on the ground, greatly to her surprise. Again she scrambled up the furniture in the same way. Her paw was now on both chains. Suddenly something swung backwards and forwards—

Tic—tac!

Tabiatha was for the moment dismayed, and, arching her back, she stood rooted to the spot.

Tic—tac!

It came unpleasantly close to her, nearly touching her nose each time, but she never budged an inch. Whr-r-r-r-r!

Cuc—koo! Cuc—koo! Cuc—koo! Cuc——

Tabiatha, rising to the occasion, and quick to seize an opportunity or anything else, took her last and only chance. She seized the poultry with both paws—Crack! Snap! She lost her balance and fell down, down, on to the cushioned chair. The Cuckoo flew into the air, alighted on Tabiatha's back, and bounded on to the ground. Tabiatha forgot at once her escape from breaking her neck, sprang after the Cuckoo lying there, turned it over, paused, sniffed, found to her surprise that it was not good to eat, that it hadn't even feathers, and was only made of wood, turned it over again, and began tapping it and pouncing on it until, suddenly forgetting all about it, she cantered away sideways with her tail curling in the air. She jumped intoher basket, rolled herself up, soon purred herself fast asleep, and looked the very picture of helpless innocence.

The Cuckoo, out in the world at last, having recovered from its first alarm at the useless stiffness of its wings, waited for something to happen. As nothing did happen, it thought the world a very dull and stupid place, and concluded that, after all, work was better than lying there helpless, idle, motionless, and ridiculous. What was the use of its trained voice now? It couldn't articulate a sound even to summon help. It had no idea of the time, but the sun was shining brightly when at last it found itself carefully lifted and placed on a higher level.

When Lucy entered the nursery that morning, soon after Robert, he exclaimed—

"I say, Lucy! There's something fresh for breakfast. Look on your plate!"

"Oh, my poor Cuckoo!" she cried in distress. "You've shot it at last. You bad boy—I shan't love you ever any more!"

But she did love him at once again, for it was a fact that no one knew how ever the Cuckoo came to be lying on the floor in the remote corner where Nurse had picked it up. The cushioned chair was in its place again—a long way off the clock. Every one was mystified, and could not imagine how it hadhappened. But Tabiatha knew all about it, though you would never have guessed it from her round, innocent eyes as she sat licking first one velvety paw, and then the other velvety paw, as though she were washing them of any share in the mischief.

When the Clock-House was spring-cleaned, and the Cuckoo duly set there on its legs again, it formed the firm determination to remain at its post in the future, and, with its Clock-House in order, it worked ever after with regularity and good humour just like one o'clock.

"Cuc—koo!" Bow, click.

The great evening had come, and every one in Cosmopolis Castle was agog with excitement. Eight months before, the Monarch had by Royal Herald Extraordinary announced his intention of making known his decision on Christmas Eve. And Christmas Eve had come. No wonder every one was agog with excitement, because King Jorum was at last going to announce which of the lovely ladies of the Court should be raised to the position of the late Queen, his defunct consort. She, poor soul, had possessed neither charm nor beauty, and without her he had been quite happy for the past two years, surrounded by smiling faces and kept constantly amused by the ladies and gentlemen of his Court.

He had a jovial nature, and was an indulgent father to his two young daughters, especially fond of the younger, Princess Veronica, for more delightful sweetness, prettiness, and lovableness it would be difficult to find in any other young damsel of sixteen years old. So believed that fineyoung soldier, Prince Olivin; and so believed every one else in the whole kingdom. Every one else, with one exception—Princess Christobel, her sister, older by one year. She had her own ideas on the subject evidently, for she kept a surly silence when her sister's praises were sung. People said it was her jealousy, because she was plain-looking, and sulky in expression and character; and some did say she was secretly in love with Prince Olivin herself.

Outside the castle this night the silent landscape had been decorated, by order of King Frost, in snow and crystal. Inside the castle the great halls had been decorated, by order of King Jorum, in holly and mistletoe. In the antechamber to the ball-room stood the giant Christmas-tree, hung with so many gifts of exquisite needlework from the ladies of the Court for the King, and so many, too, for Princess Veronica, that there was hardly room for any other presents for any one else, so they had to be stacked up in separate heaps on the floor.

There was one present on the tree, which was handsomer and costlier than all the rest—it was a pair of woollen boots so cunningly and dexterously wrought with precious jewels that they were the most beautiful ever seen or heard of. They were the handiwork of Countess Spinx, and of all the handsome ladies who were assembled in the ball-roomwhere the candles in the chandeliers cast a softening light on their charms, she seemed this Christmas Eve the most unnerved, the most excited. Courtiers came strolling in by twos and threes, and the scene became animated and gay.

For as history shows, it was the custom at the Court of King Jorum, by special decree of the Monarch, that every man, woman, and child should dress themselves in costumes of any distinctive style they liked—whatever suited their fancy best. (That was the origin, ages after, of the term—fancy-dress.) There was thus no slavish following of fashion, and consequently every one looked, or fancied they looked, their very, very best, and were thoroughly at ease in their quaint and, mostly, fascinating attire.

"Here's Little Love!" exclaimed a bevy of fair dames, pressing forward as a handsome child stepped into their midst, dressed as Cupid, and looking the realest of little Loves from the tips of his tiny bare toes to the tips of his tiny bare wings. He was the King's godson and pet.

"He's sure to know! Perhaps he can give us a hint of the news!" exclaimed Countess Spinx with eyes blazing eagerly as she placed herself in his path, with her crook firmly planted on the ground: she was dressed as a shepherdess, which showed to advantage the curls on her fair neck, and her smallfeet in their high-heeled shoes. "Whisper to me!" she coaxed; "or," with a pretty shake of the crook, "I'll not let you pass!"

Little Love might have been deaf, looking neither to the right nor to the left, so unconcernedly did he continue his way stolidly on to meet the procession of the King.

Countess Spinx bit her lip in vexation; the other ladies merely shrugged their shoulders and laughed; and the gentlemen stroked their mouths to hide their smiles. Then all conversation was smothered by the entry of the heralds with their raised silver trumpets and their—

Par—parraparpar—pip—ha!Par—parraparpar—paar—r!

Par—parraparpar—pip—ha!Par—parraparpar—paar—r!

This was immediately followed by the entry of King Jorum holding Little Love by the hand. The whole company bowed and curtsied very low—and then stood at attention, breathless with expectation.

King Jorum was a very big man, with a very big smile, and very big woollen boots. He always wore woollen boots because, being his own Commander-in-chief, he liked to stand at ease. So he said, naturally in a very big voice—

"According to my promise it is now my pleasure to announce to my Court here assembled my decision with regard to your future Queen. Afterprolonged thought and study of face and character I have come to the conclusion that there is not one lady of my Court but who is quite lovely enough and charming enough to become my royal consort. Therefore to choose is difficult—so difficult that it is impossible, and, being impossible, I shall never wed again. I have spoken."

Looking neither to the right nor to the left

Looking neither to the right nor to the left

For a moment there was intense silence. Then deafening cheers arose, and all faces were radiant with delight, especially the faces of the ladies, who thus remained equals, no jealousy being possible. "Such tact!" said one. "How true!" cried another. But one lady had slipped away unobserved. It was Countess Spinx.

The gallant Monarch, unaccompanied, pleased at the reception given to his declaration, smilingly passed on to the antechamber, as was his wont, for a private view of the Christmas-tree before the revels commenced. King Jorum had detached one of the woollen boots embroidered with pearls and precious stones, anxiously tried it on, and was admiring the effect, when Little Love appeared and inquired if he would grant an interview to Prince Olivin, who was waiting without.

"I am engaged," was his Majesty's impatient reply.

"That, Sire, is what Prince Olivin wants to be!"

"Eh, what's that? Put on this other boot for me"—he unfastened it from the tree. "Ha! that's very smart. Very attentive of the dear Countess. Now show him in!"

The two young Princesses had not made their appearance for the proclamation. They, as well as Little Love, had been in the King's confidence, and they did not intend to be present. However, as the hour of the revels was fast approaching, Veronica feared that her sister would be late as usual, so she took her last glance at herself in the mirror, tightened the blue ribbon that was threaded through her fair hair, tucked a pale rose in the blue sash of her high-waisted, white muslin frock, and flitted off happily to Christobel's room.

"Come in!" said a not very amiable voice in response to the light tap. "Oh, it's you, is it?"

"Can I help you, as you have no maid?"

Princess Christobel's room was by no means tidy. "I don't want any help," she replied ungraciously, moving some of the garments that littered the bed, "but you can sit down there, if you like, next to the 'Shah of Persia.'"

Veronica took the place indicated next to the sweetest little blue Persian kitten that was curled up fast asleep on the coverlet.

"I like your new frock, Veronica," continuedChristobel, surveying her sister as she pinned up her black hair without troubling even to do it before a glass; "but you look pretty in anything. If you didn't, no one would trouble to pet you. No one ever fusses over me."

"Papa does, for one."

"Only because he thinks it's his duty."

"I would if you'd let me."

"Oh yes. You'd be very pleased if I'd let you hang about me—an ugly girl can't show to much advantage next to a pretty one. I know your little game."

"Oh, Christobel! How can you say such unkind, unjust things?" protested poor Veronica with a sob.

"If you want to cry," said Christobel crossly, "you shouldn't do so until you go to sleep. You cry so easily; and then your bright eyes look heavy, and your aquiline nose gets red, and the whole Castle gets upset about them. Who cares ifmyeyes are red?"

"Every one, of course. Besides, one's looks aren't everything."

"I know differently. Looksareeverything. But I don't care if people trouble about me or not, or anything they do, or think, or say!"

"Whatareyou putting on, Christobel? Notthat, surely!"

"Yes. Same old Red Riding Hood cape and green skirt—does for indoors or out. Same old crew about, I suppose?"

"I suppose so. But it's Christmas Eve. Those loose things don't even suit you. Let me lend you a new frock which I have, just the same as this; we can arrange ribbons of your colour, red. We're the same height, and it will suit you quite as well as it suits me."

"A nice comparison people would draw, eh?" sneered Christobel; and being ready she took the sleepy Shah in her arms and stalked downstairs with him faintly mewing his protests, leaving her sister to follow if she liked.

In the ball-room Christobel superciliously took no notice of the respectful greetings of the Court. She was naturally shy, reserved too, and sensitive as to her appearance and lack of charm. But Veronica had a kind word for every one, stopping to greet with a smile or a merry jest all present; for they all adored her for her sweetness, graciousness, and extraordinary beauty. There wasn't a man but who would have died for her, nor a woman but who felt better for her radiant presence. Little Love suddenly appeared and whispered something to Princess Veronica, who blushed, was confused, and said in a low voice to her sister—

"Prince Olivin is here! Papa has sent for me."

"You might have told me he was coming," replied Christobel, turning pale.

"But I never knew, indeed." Her sister had turned away, and Little Love was leading Veronica towards the antechamber.

It seemed to Princess Christobel as though every face in the ball-room was a mask, and behind that mask were eyes that gleamed with mockery—that she had only to turn her back, and fingers of scorn and derision would mark her passage—and she turned and fled, never pausing in her course through the long passages and up the marble stairway until she was back in her room, where she flung the poor Shah and herself on the bed and burst into a torrent of tears and lamentations in her loneliness, disappointment, and jealousy. The kitten, too, looked unusually blue, and mewed disconsolately—felt bored, then purred, stretched its little self on the coverlet, and fell asleep again. Before long the sound of the heralds' silver trumpets pierced right up into Christobel's ears—

Par—parraparpar—pip—ha!Par—parraparpar—paar—r!

Par—parraparpar—pip—ha!Par—parraparpar—paar—r!

And she knew that the engagement was then being announced of Princess Veronica to PrinceOlivin; and the strains of the Waltz of the Affianced which followed, played by the Court musicians, confirmed the fact.

How long she remained thus in the dark she did not know. Sounds of an angry voice roused her from her stupor, and she went out into the brilliantly lighted corridor, shading her eyes from the glare, the scent of flowers and the soft strains of music becoming more noticeable as she approached the stairway whence the voices proceeded—one of which she could now distinguish as being that of her sister. She peeped over the banisters, and saw, standing close beside Veronica, Countess Spinx, white with suppressed passion.

"You knew," hissed the Countess, "that there was to be no Queen."

"I and my sister knew. Yes. Let me pass; I don't know what's become of her. I want to fetch her."

"You might have told it to your old friend. You are looking radiantly beautiful to-night."

"I am very happy."

"Happy with your betrothed?"

"Yes."

"Listen! Did you know that every one saidIhad the best chance of being Queen?"

"You!" exclaimed the young Princess in astonishment. "Fancy young you my stepmother!"and she burst out into a merry laugh. The next moment she was falling headlong down the marble stairway, and then lay quite still, bruised and bleeding. In the stillness that ensued—for the music had stopped—Countess Spinx flew upstairs, where she was confronted by Princess Christobel, who pushed roughly past her and hurried down to her sister's side. Her screams for help brought people running from every side. The injured girl, still unconscious, was quickly borne to her apartments, and the Court physicians surrounded her.

All sorts of rumours were set afloat in the Castle, but all that was gathered for certain by the company, as they dispersed, was that Princess Veronica slipped on the marble stair owing to her new high-heeled shoes—that the sweet face was strapped and bandaged, for it was all cut and bruised, that the nose was broken, and her beauty spoilt for ever. Prince Olivin was half wild with grief, and poor King Jorum was shedding tears all alone in his study when Christobel sought admittance. Her face was set and stern, and the sight of his weakness didn't unnerve her as she said bluntly—

"Father, Veronica did not slip on the stair—she was purposely and viciously thrown down."

"Eh,what?" exclaimed the King, staring at her. "Are you taking leave of your senses? There'snot a soul who would hurt my pretty darling. You have enemies. She has none."

"Shewas happy. Others were not. Countess Spinx was in a fury of disappointment at not being chosen Queen. She flung poor Veronica down in spite and malice. I saw her do it."

The King bounded up. "Summon the Countess!" he cried.

Before her Christobel repeated her accusation, and Countess Spinx tried to assert she only put out her arms to save the unfortunate Princess from slipping. Further questioned, she got confused, contradicted herself, and finally sunk on her knees and prayed for mercy.

"To the cells!" shouted the King, and his eyes falling on his jewelled boots, he hastily tore them off and threw them after her as she was carried away.

When, next day, poor little Princess Veronica recovered consciousness and was free from pain she asked for her sister, who came quickly to her side.

"Have you heard," asked Veronica faintly, "that I—I—I am maimed for life? With a broken nose and scarred face I shall not only be ugly but repulsive."

"Poor Veronica! You will then be on the same level with me in the future. How you will miss all the petting, all the love!"

"I suppose my life is spoilt. And when I had beauty, I thought of it and prized it so little. But won't you love me, Christobel?"

"Yes, I will now."

"Why only now?"

"Because I shall always feel sorry for you—I have never felt sorry for any one but myself before—and I shall love you heaps and heaps."

"Don't you think others may feel sorry for me, too?—Poor Prince Olivin! Poor me!" she added with a little moan.

Christobel shook her head sadly. "Beauty is everything! You will understand that now."

No limbs were broken, and in a couple of days Princess Veronica, with her head and face veiled in white lace, was able to receive some visits of sympathy in her misfortune.

King Jorum was inconsolable, and whenever he came out of the invalid's room he would vow terrible threats of vengeance on Countess Spinx, who was trembling for her spiteful life in the cells.

On the third night after the Christmas festivities had been brought to their sudden and tragic close, Princess Christobel dreamed such a vivid dream that it awakened her. She dreamed that Little Love, who avoided her whenever he could, came smilingly up to her, kissed her hand, and raising a letter he held, showed, with a look of triumph whichpuzzled her, that it was addressed to her sister. She awoke, and instantly remembered that Little Love had really kissed her hand that evening, to her great surprise. She sat up in bed listening, for she fancied she heard her sister call. Becoming anxious for her comfort, she rose, and went gently in to her. It was quiet in the dimly lighted chamber. The invalid lay softly sleeping, her face all bandaged, and her glorious hair a mass of gold about the pillow. Under her hand was an open letter. Tempted by the influence of her dream, Christobel drew nearer. It was Prince Olivin's firm writing—there were only a few lines, and the moonlight shone full upon them. She could not help reading:—

"Beloved! Think not to release me. It is your sweet nature I love. You. Your beautiful mind. Nothing could ever change them!Olivin."

"Beloved! Think not to release me. It is your sweet nature I love. You. Your beautiful mind. Nothing could ever change them!

Olivin."

Was it joy for her sister? was it some gleam of an unknown sense of peace, tenderness, and hope in her soul, that brought scalding tears to Christobel's eyes as, half blinded by them, she groped her way back to her room, where she fell on her knees and cried softly, and prayed that, now through her tears her eyes had been opened, she might learn to become different? "Beauty isnoteverything, then!" she repeated wonderingly toherself over and over again, finding each time fresh comfort in the thought. "How wrong I have been! Out of her disfigurement Veronica says my love for her has grown, and is worth much to her in comfort. It has brought us close together, and made us both happy. How grateful she is for every one's attention! And now the Prince still pleads for her! So! it was not her beauty that attracted him—it was not her beauty—not her beauty!" Thus she thought earnestly and long, and it brought her a strange sense of faith in herself and others. "I shall tell them all that I, too, know how truly she deserves her happiness!"

And tell them she did, and they opened their eyes and bowed respectfully, and thought more of Princess Christobel than they had ever thought before.

New Year's Eve came round with its accustomed regularity, and the inmates of Cosmopolis Castle were looking unusually grave for the occasion. Princess Veronica was to appear once more in their midst, and with the bandages removed from her poor face. It was a silent, uneasy company that had gathered together in the great ball-room, and King Jorum, engaged in a game of "Snap" with Little Love in a corner, looked ill and worn from anxiety for his favourite child.

Suddenly the card-players rose, and a thrill ofexcitement went through the assembly—Princess Veronica stood on the threshold in white muslin and blue. Her face showed no trace of scars; but her nose! Her nose was unrecognisable. It was no more aquiline, but tip-tilted—the sweetest little turned-up feature imaginable, and her appearance had actuallygained: Princess Veronica had become the loveliest lady in the land!

After being locked in her father's arms Veronica found herself suddenly in those of her lover. King Jorum was frantic with delight. He called for Doctor Quick and made him Lord High Druggist of his Majesty's dominions, with all the appanages, endowments, privileges, and perquisites appertaining to the office. He showered honours on every physician on or near the premises. He talked of bonfires, and of honours, and tiaras all round, until he was hoarse. Then Princess Christobel appeared in white muslin and red ribbons, and there were cheers for her animated appearance and her kind expression as she gracefully returned their greeting. "Father," she said, drawing him on one side, "Veronica is asking for Countess Spinx. May I—may I tell the prisoner that now all is well she is forgiven?" King Jorum shook his head vigorously, although he was too happy to do anything but smile all the time. "She has been in the cells for ever so long," pleaded Christobel, andher father was so taken aback at the revelation of her fine eyes and sweet voice, which had never at any time struck him before, that he nodded his head violently.

That evening a stranger was bidden to the feast—no less a person than the great traveller, brother to Prince Olivin, just returned from a voyage of discovery—the bronzed and manly young Duke of Rosenleaf. "Who is that charming young girl?" he asked, as soon as he set eyes on her.

"Princess Christobel, your Highness," replied Little Love with a sly smile.

King Jorum couldn't get to sleep that night. He usually slept too much, and was in the habit of unscrewing the top of his foot-warmer and pouring therefrom the hot coffee which he imbibed at intervals in order not to oversleep himself in the morning and thus set a bad example in the land. But he had no need for it to-night. He could not get to sleep at all.

He thought, and thought, and thought what had wrought such a marvellous and rapid change in the character and appearance of his elder daughter. He smiled over it, too, and smiled until his cheeks ached with so much smiling, as much as his poor head ached with so much thought. Still he went on thinking right through the night, and just as heput up his arms above his head to break into a mighty yawn, he suddenly cried—

"I have it! That's it! She has realised the old theme of Peace and Goodwill, as is proper at this time of year, and has turned over a new leaf! Bravo!" And he turned himself over, snored, and overslept himself.

So the first day of the New Year opened in complete harmony at the Court of King Jorum. And when the Duke of Rosenleaf asked Princess Christobel if she would make the Happy New Year a happy one for him, she smiled and blushingly allowed him to place the prettiest of diamond rings on her finger.

And the New Year was still in its youth when the two young Princesses were married. And by the time that the Shah of Persia's great-great-grand-kittens were gambolling about the palace, it had become a frequent and pleasant subject for argument and debate throughout the kingdom—"Who is the most charming and lovable woman in the land, Christobel or Veronica?"

PART I

A QUEER GODMOTHER

It was the First of April. The weather could not make up its mind whether to be tearful or gay. So, after changing three times, and deciding at last that it was not grown-up to cry, the sun dried up the tear-drops and beamed down on everything and everybody.

"Isn't it a shame, Wilfrid, to have to prepare lessons when it's such a fine afternoon?" exclaimed Norah. She rose from the study table and looked longingly out of the French window to where the crocuses on the lawn seemed to be having the best of it.

"Don't be lazy," replied her brother. "Just come and help me with this sum when I tell you."

"I'm not going to do as you tell me. If you were grown up—say fifteen—it would be different; but you're only a year older than me—not even nine yet—and yet you——"

"Halloa!" interrupted Wilfrid with a low whistle,as he strolled towards the window. "Look at that's legs."

"Which's?" inquired Norah, gazing in the direction he pointed.

"Them's."

"What's?" she asked eagerly, looking around.

"None! Well, youarean April fool!" exclaimed Wilfrid with scornful glee as he resumed his seat; "that's the second time to-day!"

"And you're a very rude boy, and you're not allowed to call me horrid names like that," said Norah with dignity; "and I won't be teased always."

With a very offended look, she set to work on her copy-book.

"Lend me your paint-box when we've finished our lessons, will you, Norah dear?" said Wilfrid, after a short pause.

"I can't," she replied, without looking up.

"Why?"

"I don't know why, but I can't."

"Cat in the manger! You've got nothing you want to paint, as I have."

There was a longer pause, during which they both scribbled away, and scratched, and spluttered, whilst their tongues moved silently from side to side outside their parted lips, left to right, following the direction of each new line.

Then Norah heaved a sigh and remarked—

"Wilfrid, isn't Cinderella lovely?"

"Yes, as girls go."

"Oh, how I wish we lived in those times, when there were fairy godmothers and things!" exclaimed Norah rapturously; then she added with a sigh—

"Aunt Leonora is my godmother, but she never gives me anything, and the godmothers in the fairy stories always give heaps of things."

"You can't expect great fat podges like that to be like fairy godmothers, you silly!"

"But she ought to like giving things. How nice it is to give presents and be thanked!"

"Yes; it's nice to give presents—when they are cheap. Perhaps," continued her brother in a wise voice,—"perhaps Aunt Leonora can't afford it if she isn't rich!"

"Cinderella's godmother never seemed to consider the price of anything. I wish—oh, how I wish——"

"Oh, how I wish you'd be quiet and help me with this sum. You remember your tables better than I do, but you needn't be jolly cocky about it all the same."

Norah wasn't listening to him. Her mind was far away from lessons. She was thinking, if she had her choice, what she would like to be, what she would like to do, and eat, and, above all, what shewould like to wear. "If only I had a fairy godmother, I——"

"Rubbish!" exclaimed Wilfrid, growing cross, and frowning as he watched her moving restlessly about the room.

"I—of course, I wouldn't refuse her anything. Fairy godmothers generally appear at first disguised as old women, and ask for something, such as a drink of water, or beg you to carry a load of wood or whatever they happen to have in hand. So I should be ready to do anything and give anything, and earn my big reward."

"Oh, shurrup!" growled her brother. "Much better lend me your paint-box."

But she didn't hear him; taken up with her fancies she continued excitedly—

"I know what I'll do. I'll try and tempt her to come. Perhaps I may even have a fairy godmother without knowing it!"

And she began to dance about, singing—

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