then, just as some preachers
nowadays exchange pulpits--to prove, I suppose, how very good their own
is, after all. This king about whom I am telling you was fat, of course,
and looked very like our good friend Santa Claus.

Yet, strange as it may seem, with all these blessings--a rich kingdom,
faithful subjects, and a loving wife--this good king was not happy.
There was one cloud, a very pretty silver-edged cloud, but yet a cloud,
which hung just in front of the sun of his happiness and cast a great
big shadow.

The king had a daughter, the Princess Madge, his only child; and though
she was obedient in everything else, she just wouldn't, _wouldn't_,
marry. Now the king was very anxious for her to marry and settle down on
the throne, because he was growing old. Every morning for three weeks,
just before breakfast, he had had three separate twinges of pain. The
queen said it was because of his rheumatism, but he knew better; he was
sure that it was old age, and it made him very eager to have the kingdom
in the hands of the new son-in-law king before he died.

Of course there were plenty of princes and dukes and barons and lords
who would gladly have wedded the pretty princess for her own sweet sake
alone, to say nothing of the prospect of being king some day, but she
wouldn't have one of them. There was not a man in the kingdom nor in any
of the surrounding kingdoms who suited her capricious fancy. Princes of
haughty mien, princes of gentle manner, handsome princes, ugly princes,
tall princes, short princes, fat princes, lean princes, had been
introduced at the court, had been encouraged by the king and queen, and
had sought to gain her favor. She had been showered with gifts of rare
flowers and precious stones, and had received thousands of little
letters smelling of perfume; but from prince, from jewels, and from
written vows of love she turned away with the same cheerful
determination.

A princess is a lonely little body, you know, and custom was so rigid in
the time of the Princess Madge that she had no one to talk to excepting
Pussy Willow, the royal kitten. She had no brother, no sister, no
cousin, and no dearest friend. She didn't even have a chance to speak
freely to her own father and mother. It is true, she took breakfast with
them every morning at eleven in the great breakfast-room, but the
butlers and waiters and pages and flunkies were always standing about,
with their ears pricked up and their eyes bulg