ything that one dangled
to-day to throw away to-morrow. His eyes looked honestly into hers. He
was strong and capable, loving the fresh air and sunshine and the green
trees. He was gentle, kind to the people here, kind to her. With her
eyes fixed on the dim window square that saved the room from utter
darkness, she dreamed of his near presence, feeling his breath upon her
cheek, until, her whole body swept with emotion, she clenched her hands
and pressed them to her lips to keep back the welling tears. For then
came the dread reality: her color, her station, these two facts loomed
above her, fell and crushed her with their weight. No young white man
should choose as his companion a Negro servant. She must forget the
morning playtime, and never commit the fault again. Striving to drive
him from her thoughts, she made plans for the morrow--the finishing of
Miss Patty's dress, the letter she would write to Tom. And, tossing on
her bed, between her new-found happiness and her misgivings, she cried
herself to sleep.

Is there any greater difference than that between night and morning? All
the hobgoblins, the fears, the morbid misgivings disappear with the
bright sunlight and the feel of cold water. As the fresh drops fell from
Hertha's face she was sure she had misjudged the pleasant facts of
yesterday. She coiled her hair that fell in little curls as the brush
left its silky fineness, and hummed a song to her smiling face in the
glass. Fastening the last hook of her blue cotton dress, the soft,
gray-blue that she and Miss Patty liked, she went in to help the others
with the breakfast, master of her fate. There was no hesitation in her
step when, a little earlier than her wont, she turned toward the orange
grove.

"Honey," her mother called after her. "Jes' ask Pomona ef she'll gib me
her big stew-pot to-day. I's layin' ter make some jelly. An' don' work
too hard. Dat ole black woman's allus tryin' ter git you ter do her
work."

CHAPTER IV

"Good morning, Princess."

"Good morning." And then, shyly, "It isn't nice to drop from a goddess
even to a princess."

"Wait until I tell you the princess that you are! You're Snowdrop who
was given to the dwarfs to keep. You remember her, don't you?"

"I think she had a cruel mother who wanted to get her out of the way."

"Yes, but it was all because Snowdrop was the most beautiful woman in
the world; no one else was half so fair. How was it? When the mother
looked in