disagreeable to the old king, their father, that he had forgotten
her in making his will; and so it was no wonder that her brother
forgot her in writing his invitations. But poor relations don't do
anything to keep you in mind of them. Why don't they? The king
could not see into the garret she lived in, could he?

She was a sour, spiteful creature. The wrinkles of contempt crossed
the wrinkles of peevishness, and made her face as full of wrinkles
as a pat of butter. If ever a king could be justified in forgetting
anybody, this king was justified in forgetting his sister, even at
a christening. She looked very odd, too. Her forehead was as large
as all the rest of her face, and projected over it like a
precipice. When she was angry, her little eyes flashed blue. When
she hated anybody, they shone yellow and green. What they looked
like when she loved anybody, I do not know; for I never heard of
her loving anybody but herself, and I do not think she could have
managed that if she had not somehow got used to herself. But what
made it highly imprudent in the king to forget her was that she was
awfully clever. In fact, she was a witch; and when she bewitched
anybody, he very soon had enough of it; for she beat all the wicked
fairies in wickedness, and all the clever ones in cleverness. She
despised all the modes we read of in history, in which offended
fairies and witches have taken their revenges; and therefore, after
waiting and waiting in vain for an invitation, she made up her mind
at last to go without one, and make the whole family miserable,
like a princess as she was.

So she put on her best gown, went to the palace, was kindly
received by the happy monarch, who forgot that he had forgotten
her, and took her place in the procession to the royal chapel. When