had ridden about an hour, they came to a large, white
building.

"O dear!" said the King, "the seminary is asleep! I was afraid of it!"

Then Drusilla saw that the building was like a great solid mass, with
not a door or window visible.

"It is asleep," explained the King. "It is not a common house; a great
professor designed it. It goes to sleep, and you can't see any doors
or windows, and such work as it is to wake it up! But we may as well
begin."

Then he gave a signal, and all the nobles shouted as loud as they
possibly could, but the seminary still remained asleep.

"It's asleep most of the time!" growled the King. "They don't want the
young ladies disturbed at their feather stitching and rick-rack, by
anything going on outside. I wish I could shake it."

Then he gave the signal again, and all the nobles shouted together,
as loud as they could possibly scream. Suddenly, doors and windows
appeared all over the seminary, like so many opening eyes.

"There," cried the King, "the seminary has woke up, and I am glad of
it!"

Then he ushered Drusilla in, and introduced her to the lady principal
and the young ladies, and she was at once set to making daisies in
Kensington stitch, for the King was very anxious for her education to
begin at once.

So now, the milkmaid, instead of sitting, singing, in a green meadow,
watching her beautiful gold-horned cow, had to sit all day in a
high-backed chair, her feet on a little foot-stool with an embroidered
pussy cat on it, and do fancy work. The young ladies worked by
electric light; for the seminary was asleep nearly all the time, and
no sunlight could get in at the windows, for boards clapped down over
them like so many eye-lids when the seminary began to doze.

Drusilla had left off her pretty blue petticoat and white short gown
now, and was dressed in gold-flowered satin, with an immense train,
which two pages bore for her when she walked. Her pretty hair was
combed high and powdered, and she wore a comb of gold and pearls in
it. She looked very lovely, but she also looked very sad. She could
not help thinking, even in the midst of all this splendor, of her dear
father, and her own home, and wishing to see them.

She was a very apt pupil. Her tatting collars were the admiration of
the whole seminary, and she made herself a whole dress of rick-rack.
She painted a charming umbrella stand for the King, and actually
worked the gold-horned cow in Kensington stitch, on