Bess and Judy were established in a handsome house of their own, and every day had cause to bless the good King Brondé and his Lily Queen.
Thus, as was before observed, the years flew happily on. But when years fly on, though never so happily, they carry us along with them. And the happy years that were flying on at the palace were taking King Brondé and his queen towards old age, were taking Myrtle out of his childhood, and changing our Rosebud to a full-blown rose.
And when Myrtle was no longer a child, he began to think. And when he began to think, he thought how wonderful it was that he should have thus been brought from a hut to a palace, changed from a fisher-boy to the son of a king.
And he thought, also, that he should like to be still more a son to him, and to marry Rosebud for his wife, if King Brondé were willing, but was afraid to ask. For were there not plenty of young lords, and also real princes, who came to visit the court? King Brondé might prefer one of these. Rosebud herself might. He was not sure, after all, that he would not rather they two were still living at the hut, for when they were children of the shore she liked him better than any. But these, he felt, were selfish thoughts, and must never come again.
Still, if selfish thoughts might be kept away, serious, anxious thoughts could not; and these came often to cloud his face, and to make Rosebud wonder why Myrtle appeared so thoughtful, so troubled.
Now it happened, one lovely afternoon, when the king and his court were at the summer palace, near Long Forest, that Myrtle was walking in the gardens with Rosebud. These same anxious thoughts were present in his mind. They clouded his face, and gave to his voice a sorrowful tone.
“Where are your thoughts?” asked Rosebud, “and why are you so troubled?”
“I will tell you,” said Myrtle, after a few moments of silence,—“I will tell you, first, where are my thoughts, and next, why I am so troubled. My thoughts are far away at the sea-shore, by a little spring, where a little girl once declared that the rose and the myrtle went well together. I fear she may not think so always. That is why I am so troubled.”
Rosebud looked down, and walked silently on by his side, until they came to a rosebush, bearing a rose, not quite fully blown, which she plucked. A little farther on they passed the queen’s fine myrtle-arbor. From this she cut a sprig and intwined it with the rose. The two, thus joined, she placed in his hand. He knew then that the little girl still believed that the rose and the myrtle went well together.
At a little distance they saw, walking towards them, the king and his queen. As they met, Myrtle held out to the king the pretty token he had just received from Rosebud,—held it out doubtfully, as if fearing his displeasure.