ace was rapt and tender. The miracle she had made for
herself,--the gold she had coined out of her piteous alloy,--was it
not come true at last?--Verily, verily?

Hush! Was the Prince not coming through the willows? And the sunshine
was trickling down on his hair! The Princess knew, though she did not
look.

"He is at the Twisted Willow," she thought. "_Now_ he is at the
Little Willow Twins." But she did not open her eyes. She did not
dare. This was a little different, she had never counted on being
afraid.

The twigs snapped louder and nearer--now very near. The merry whistle
grew clearer, and then it stopped.

"Hullo!"

Did princes say "hullo!" The Princess had little time to wonder, for
he was there before her. She could feel his presence in every fibre
of her trembling little being, though she would not open her eyes for
very fear that it might be somebody else. No, no, it was the Prince!
It was his voice, clear and ringing, as she had known it would be.
She put up her hands suddenly and covered her eyes with them to make
surer. It was not fear now, but a device to put off a little longer
the delight of seeing him.

"I say, hullo! Haven't you got any tongue?"

"Oh, verily, verily,--I mean hear, O Prince, I beseech," she panted.
The boy's merry eyes regarded the shabby small person in puzzled
astonishment. He felt an impulse to laugh and run away, but his royal
blood forbade either. So he waited.

"You are the Prince," the little Princess cried. "I've been waiting
the longest time,--but I knew you'd come," she added, simply. "Have
you got your velvet an' gold buckles on? I'm goin' to look in a
minute, but I'm waiting to make it spend."

The Prince whistled softly. "No," he said then, "I didn't wear _them_
clo'es to-day. You see, my mother--"

"The Queen," she interrupted, "you mean the Queen?"

"You bet I do! She's a reg'lar-builter! Well, she don't like to have
me wearin' out my best clo'es every day," he said, gravely.

"No," eagerly, "nor mine don't. Queen, I mean,--but she isn't a
mother, mercy, no! I only wear silk dresses every day, not my velvet
ones. This silk one is getting a little faded." She released one
hand to smooth the dress wistfully. Then she remembered her painfully
practised little speech and launched into it hurriedly.

"Hear, O Prince. Verily, verily, I did not know which color you'd
like to find me dressed in--I mean _arrayed_. I beseech thee to
excuse--oh, _pardon_, I mean--"