"The ninety-nine other princesses have never picked the vegetables for the King's dinner," sighed the little scullery-maid.
"They would never do anything half so sweet nor so kind," said the King.
"The ninety-nine other princesses," continued the little scullery-maid, looking down at her crumpled print gown, "have never worn such an old frock as mine!"
"Nor have they ever looked half so beautiful or so charming," said the King.
The angry voice of the chief cook sounded loudly from the back door, and the little scullery-maid turned to run down the path as usual. But, this time, the King caught her by the hand and held her back.
"Will you come to the ball and dance with me?" he asked coaxingly.
She looked very sad. "I am not a real princess, you see," she sighed.
The angry voice of the chief cook sounded louder than before, and she pulled away her hand and escaped down the path.
"Will you come to the ball?" the King shouted after her.
"Perhaps!" laughed the little scullery-maid over her shoulder, and the next moment she was out of sight. It was truly a strange way of accepting an invitation to the King's ball; but then, she was the hundredth Princess, and perhaps that made all the difference.