and said: 'You must not be afraid, dear; I know it will be all right.'

And the little play was as charming as it was guileless. The old legend
had been arranged--as might have been expected from a schoolgirl--simply
and unaffectedly. The scene opened in a room in the palace of the King,
and when a chorus, supposed to be sung by the townspeople, was over, a
Minister entered hurriedly. The little children uttered a cry of
delight; they did not recognize their companion in her strange disguise.
A large wig, with brown curls hanging over the shoulders, almost hid the
face, that had been made to look quite aged by a few clever touches of
the pencil about the eyes and mouth. She was dressed in a long garment,
something between an ulster and a dressing-gown. It fell just below her
knees, for it had been decided by the Reverend Mother that it were
better that there should be a slight display of ankles than the least
suspicion of trousers. The subject was a delicate one, and for some
weeks past a look of alarm had not left the face of the nun in charge of
the wardrobe. But these considerations only amused the girls, and now,
delighted at the novelty of her garments, the Minister strutted about
the stage complaining of the temper of the Dowager Queen. 'Who could
help it if the King wouldn't marry? Who could make him leave his poetry
and music for a pretty face if he didn't care to do so? He had already
refused blue eyes, black eyes, brown eyes. However, the new Princess was
a very beautiful person, and ought, all things considered, to be
accepted by the King. She must be passing through the city at the
moment.'

On this the Queen entered. The first words she spoke were inaudible,
but, gathering courage, she trailed her white satin, with its large
brocaded pattern, in true queenly fashion, and questioned the Minister
as to his opinion of the looks of the new Princess. But she gave no