Then Rosebud told how good Myrtle was, and how they had played together, and sailed together, and of their plans, and of all his kindness to her ever since she came to the shore.
“And why not take Myrtle?” asked the Lily Queen; “surely our coach is big enough to hold him, and surely our palace is big enough to receive him, and surely our hearts are big enough to love one who has been so good to our Rosebud!”
“Very true!” cried King Brondé.
Rosebud flew once more to the clump of bushes. “Myrtle! Myrtle!” she cried, “you are to go with us! to go! to go! to go! In my father’s coach! And live in my father’s palace! Myrtle! do you hear?”
No wonder she asked, “Do you hear?” For the poor boy was so overwhelmed, first by his grief, and then by his joy, that he seemed to have lost all power of speech and motion.
But Rosebud urged him to rise, and then led him to the same spot where she had once advised him to wash his face in the spring. And here she bade him bathe his swollen eyes, and smooth his hair, that the king and queen might see what a handsome Myrtle he was.
But alas! so red was his face and so inflamed by weeping, that she was obliged to tell them this herself. And they were quite ready to believe it.
King Brondé now gave Rosebud money to distribute among her late companions, and there was not one who did not get a bright gold piece, or who did not preserve it carefully as a remembrance of one they had loved so well. Bess and Judy, at Rosebud’s request, were given in charge to some of the attendants, that they might also be taken home, and provided for in a comfortable manner.
All now being ready, the joyful party entered the coach. Drums beat, bugles played, the twenty white horses arched their proud necks and stepped gayly off to the sound of the music. And side by side with the great state coach came another royal chariot, wherein sat Bertha, smiling-faced Bertha, with her father the king. Behind followed all their lords, nobles, attendants, and bands of soldiers,—a numerous train.