"O Lord! O Lord!" he said. "What shall I do? what shall I do?—all my cakes gone, and never to be paid!"
"You won't want to be paid if your head's cut off," the beggar said.
But the Queen answered, "Nonsense. No one's going to cut your head off; and I dare say, if you ask them at the palace, they'll pay you, whatever it means. Just pull him out of the tub," she continued to the beggar, for the unfortunate honey-baker, not being able to move, remained gasping in the tub.
So the beggar pulled him out, and, for all his fright, his business spirit did not desert him.
"Will your Majesty deign to sign an order for payment?" he said.
And the Queen answered, "Good gracious, no, I won't; the ink always gets into my finger-nails."
The honey-cake maker bowed lower still. "At least, your Majesty, deign to give me your signet-ring as a token."
"Oh, I'll give you that," the Queen said; and she drew it from her finger.
The honey-cake maker suddenly smote his forehead with his hand, as though an idea had struck him.
"You might carry that ladder out for me," he said to the beggar, indicating a ladder that lay along the passage wall.