was when I had bronchitis; and ingratitude is a dreadful vice. But it
is quite true.

'It is not a bear,' said Oswald; and we all went on, still on tiptoe,
round a twisty path and on to a lawn, and there was Noel. His collar had
come undone, as I said, and he had an inky mark on his face that he made
just before we left the house, and he wouldn't let Dora wash it off, and
one of his bootlaces was coming down. He was standing looking at a
little girl; she was the funniest little girl you ever saw.

She was like a china doll--the sixpenny kind; she had a white face, and
long yellow hair, done up very tight in two pigtails; her forehead was
very big and lumpy, and her cheeks came high up, like little shelves
under her eyes. Her eyes were small and blue. She had on a funny black
frock, with curly braid on it, and button boots that went almost up to
her knees. Her legs were very thin. She was sitting in a hammock chair
nursing a blue kitten--not a sky-blue one, of course, but the colour of
a new slate pencil. As we came up we heard her say to Noel--'Who are
you?'

Noel had forgotten about the bear, and he was taking his favourite part,
so he said--'I'm Prince Camaralzaman.'

The funny little girl looked pleased--

'I thought at first you were a common boy,' she said. Then she saw the
rest of us and said--

'Are you all Princesses and Princes too?'