“Oh, you think so, do you?” said the others, still laughing. “And how will you go to work?”
“You can come with me and see for yourselves,” he said. “I’ll stroll across to-morrow and propose.”
5
And he did, the next morning.
He came crawling up on his eight legs, very sedately and circumspectly. A little behind him came all that was left in the way of man-spiders in the hedge. The long twigs on the stubs stretched out their necks to see him. The parsley and the goat’s-foot spread out both flowers and leaves, to make his road as easy as possible. The mouse stood on her hind-legs with curiosity and stared and listened.
The princess herself sat in her web and pretended not to see him.
“Noble princess,” he said, “I have come to ask you if you will have me for your husband.”
“This is the thirteenth,” she said.
But within herself she thought that she liked him better than the others. They had all wanted to take her for their wife: this one begged her to take him for her husband. That sounded modest and well-mannered.
“She’s giving way,” said the mouse and danced with rapture.