“Yes, he hurt me,” answered the princess, “but not more than I deserved, for I took liberties with him, and he did not like it.”
“Oh, you dear!” said the little girl. “I love you for talking so of my Peggy. He is a good pony, though a little playful sometimes. Would you like a ride upon him?”
“You darling beauty!” cried Rosamond, sobbing. “I do love you so, you are so good. How did you become so sweet?”
“Would you like to ride my pony?” repeated the child, with a heavenly smile in her eyes.
“No, no; he is fit only for you. My clumsy body would hurt him,” said Rosamond.
“You don’t mind me having such a pony?” said the child.
“What! mind it?” cried Rosamond, almost indignantly. Then remembering certain thoughts that had but a few moments before passed through her mind, she looked on the ground and was silent.
“You don’t mind it, then?” repeated the child.
“I am very glad there is such a you and such a pony, and that such a you has got such a pony,” said Rosamond, still looking on the ground. “But I do wish the flowers would not die when I touch them. I was cross to see you make them grow, but now I should be content if only I did not make them wither.”
As she spoke, she stroked the little girl’s bare feet, which were by her, half buried in the soft moss, and as she ended she laid her cheek on them and kissed them.