"I've had my wheel for twenty years," said one woman, "and now I've none at all, and how on earth I can get along without it I don't know, with six growing lads to find breeches for!"
"Five silver crowns my wheel cost my good man last Candlemass," said another, "and there it goes up in flames and smoke."
"What is a wheel if the burning of it saves our little Princess?" quoth a third. "Come, cheer up, Mother, the King has reason for what he does and he will not see us want."
And this man was right. The King had no wish to oppress his subjects, for no sooner was the pile reduced to ashes than he caused another proclamation to be issued, saying that the owner of every spinning-wheel should be paid for its loss. And not only so, but the King told his merchants to buy spun yarn from neighbouring countries so that the people might be able to weave, even though they could not spin.