cress, and where the tiger lilies fought
with the scarlet poppies because they had been planted one on the top
of the other, and where the guinea-pigs and the rabbits and the white
mice ran wild and did what they liked. He took a very large
watering-can and watered himself and a very small rose tree for the
third time since sunrise, and then sat down and looked at the mould on
his fingers.

"How funny everything is," said Prince Charming, laughing heartily. "I
have done nothing but water my rose tree, and yet all my fingers are
covered with mould! Now, the Prime Minister might water fifty rose
trees and he would never get a speck of mould even on his shoe buckles.
I suppose it is because the Prime Minister has learnt to be serious.
Oh dear! I do wish I had an idea in my head!"

"What are you saying?" asked the rose tree, shaking off the effects of
the Prince's overwhelming attentions. "Why do you wish to have an idea
in your head?"

"Just to see what it would feel like," answered the Prince. "I don't
even know what an idea is. Do you?"

"An idea," replied the rose tree in a superior tone, "is what somebody
remembers to have heard somebody else say."

"I shall never have an idea, then," said Prince Charming; "for I never
remember what anybody says. Is there no other way of getting an idea?"

"To be sure there is," answered the rose tree; "but very few people
know of it. You can go to the Red Rock Goblin, if you like, and get a
whole new idea for yourself. He has quantities of ideas, piled up in
heaps; but very few people succeed in getting one."

"I shall never succeed, then," said the Prince; "for I am the stupidest
boy in the world."

"That doesn't matter," said the rose tree. "The Red Rock Goblin does
not care much about clever people, I fancy. Go and try."

"I think I will," said the Prince. "It is sure to be amusing, at all
events. What must I do to get there?"

"It is of no use to do anything," answered the rose tree. "If you are
the right sort of boy you will find yourself there, that's all."

Evidently, Prince Charming was the right sort of boy; for as he looked
at the rose tree, it grew larger and larger, and redder and redder,
until it was no longer a rose tree at all, but just a large, square,
red rock. The little Prince was so amused at the transformation that
he burst out laughing; and when he looked round and found that the
garden and the palace had disappeared too, and that he