better. She became more and more peevish and fretful every
day--dissatisfied not only with what she had, but with all that was
around her, and constantly wishing things in general to be
different. She found fault with every thing and everybody, and all
that happened, and grew more and more disagreeable to every one who
had to do with her. At last, when she had nearly killed her nurse,
and had all but succeeded in hanging herself, and was miserable from
morning to night, her parents thought it time to do something.

A long way from the palace, in the heart of a deep wood of
pine-trees, lived a wise woman. In some countries she would have
been called a witch; but that would have been a mistake, for she
never did any thing wicked, and had more power than any witch could
have. As her fame was spread through all the country, the king heard
of her; and, thinking she might perhaps be able to suggest
something, sent for her. In the dead of the night, lest the princess
should know it, the king's messenger brought into the palace a tall
woman, muffled from head to foot in a cloak of black cloth. In the
presence of both their Majesties, the king, to do her honor,
requested her to sit; but she declined, and stood waiting to hear
what they had to say. Nor had she to wait long, for almost instantly
they began to tell her the dreadful trouble they were in with their
only child; first the king talking, then the queen interposing with
some yet more dreadful fact, and at times both letting out a torrent
of words together, so anxious were they to show the wise woman that
their perplexity was real, and their daughter a very terrible one.
For a long while there appeared no sign of approaching pause. But
the wise woman stood patiently folded in her black cloak, and
listened without word or motion. At length silence fell; for they
had talked themselves tired, and could not think of any thing more