r own feelings on the
subject, she did not even know that there was such a beehive of honey
and stings to be fallen into. But now I come to mention another curious
fact about her.

The palace was built on the shores of the loveliest lake in the world;
and the princess loved this lake more than father or mother. The root of
this preference no doubt, although the princess did not recognise it as
such, was, that the moment she got into it, she recovered the natural
right of which she had been so wickedly deprived--namely, gravity.
Whether this was owing to the fact that water had been employed as the
means of conveying the injury, I do not know. But it is certain that she
could swim and dive like the duck that her old nurse said she was. The
manner in which this alleviation of her misfortune was discovered was as
follows:

One summer evening, during the carnival of the country, she had been
taken upon the lake by the king and queen, in the royal barge. They were
accompanied by many of the courtiers in a fleet of little boats. In the
middle of the lake she wanted to get into the lord chancellor's barge,
for his daughter, who was a great favourite with her, was in it with her
father. Now though the old king rarely condescended to make light of his
misfortune, yet, happening on this occasion to be in a particularly good
humour, as the barges approached each other, he caught up the princess
to throw her into the chancellor's barge. He lost his balance, however,
and, dropping into the bottom of the barge, lost his hold of his
daughter; not, however, before imparting to her the downward tendency of
his own person, though in a somewhat different direction, for, as the
king fell into the boat, she fell into the water. With a burst of
delighted laughter she disappeared into the lake. A cry of horror
ascended from the boats. They had never seen the princess go down
before. Half the men were under water in a moment; but they had all, one
after another, come up to the surface again for breath, when--tinkle,
tinkle, babble, and gush! came the princess's laugh over the water from
far away. There she was, swimming like a swan. Nor would she come out
for king or queen, chancellor or daughter. She was perfectly obstinate.

But at the same time she seemed more sedate than usual. Perhaps that was
because a great pleasure spoils laughing. At all events, after this, the
passion of her life was to get into the water, and she was always