By-and-bye, Witikind fell in with the Prince. “So!” exclaimed the latter, as soon as he saw him, “you have been complaining of me to the King, have you? You little, mean, spiteful creature!”
“No, Prince, I haven’t. The King asked me why you would not play with me, and I told him I supposed the reason was because you did not like me.”
“Well, I don’t like you. I hated you before, and I hate you now worse than ever.”
“Why should you hate me, Prince?”
“Because I do,” answered the heir of the Katzekopfs.
“But why will you hate me? I am sure I don’t hate you, Prince; I would be very glad to love you, if you would only let me.”
“But I won’t, won’t, won’t” shouted the Prince, clenching his fist, and striking the table with it. “I won’t let you love me. I won’t have anything to say to such a mean, sneaking creature.”
“Why do you call me mean and sneaking?” asked Witikind, the colour mounting in his cheeks.
“Because you are so,” replied the other. “Are you not always trying to show off before Nurse Yellowlily, and the governesses, in order that they may praise you, and blame me?”
“No, Prince; I would much rather they should never praise me. I would much rather they would never say a word, unless they could praise us both. Oh, Prince, you would be so much happier, if you would try and not be so—so—so self-willed. Indeed, indeed, you would!”