to me. If you don't, I do not know when you may find me again, and you
will soon want me very much.'

'Oh! please, don't let me forget.'

'You shall not forget. The only question is whether you will believe I
am anywhere--whether you will believe I am anything but a dream. You
may be sure I will do all I can to help you to come. But it will rest
with yourself, after all. On the night of next Friday, you must come
to me. Mind now.'

'I will try,' said the princess.

'Then good night,' said the old lady, and kissed the forehead which lay
in her bosom.

In a moment more the little princess was dreaming in the midst of the
loveliest dreams--of summer seas and moonlight and mossy springs and
great murmuring trees, and beds of wild flowers with such odours as she
had never smelled before. But, after all, no dream could be more
lovely than what she had left behind when she fell asleep.

In the morning she found herself in her own bed. There was no
handkerchief or anything else on her hand, only a sweet odour lingered
about it. The swelling had all gone down; the prick of the brooch had
vanished--in fact, her hand was perfectly well.

CHAPTER 12

A Short Chapter About Curdie

Curdie spent many nights in the mine. His father and he had taken Mrs.
Peterson into the secret, for they knew mother could hold her tongue,
which was more than could be said of all the miners' wives.

But Curdie did not tell her that every night he spent in the mine, part
of it went in earning a new red petticoat for her.

Mrs. Peterson was such a nice good mother! All mothers are nice and
good more or less, but Mrs. Peterson was nice and good all more and no
less. She made and kept a little heaven in that poor cottage on the
high hillside for her husband and son to go home to out of the low and
rather dreary earth in which they worked. I doubt if the princess was
very much happier even in the arms of her huge great-grandmother than
Peter and Curdie were in the arms of Mrs. Peterson. True, her hands
were hard and chapped and large, but it was with work for them; and
therefore, in the sight of the angels, her hands were so much the more
beautiful. And if Curdie worked hard to get her a petticoat, she
worked hard every day to get him comforts which he would have missed
much more than she would a new petticoat even in winter. Not that she
and Curdie ever thought of how much they worked for each other: that
would have spoiled