“We shall make one more flight,” said Peterkin, “and that shall be to the window of the palace, just beneath the gilded dome. Come, away with us—to the Royal Princess’s window.”
“But—but, oh, no!” screamed the old fellow, quaking with fear. “That palace is in the city—don’t you understand, in the city of my bitter enemies! And they’ll kill me if ever they catch me there.”
Peterkin laughed. “And they’ve sworn to kill me, too,” he chuckled bravely. “But never you mind—we’re going back anyhow.”
And in spite of the old villain’s terror, Peterkin jumped upon his shoulders and whipped him up, over the marshes and the sea, toward the faint gray glimpse of towers and steeples in the far distance.
XXXI
THE PATIENT PRINCESS
OH, little Princess Clem! Think what a sad thing it was for her to be left alone in the deserted dining hall, while her royal father and all his guards rushed out to kill her brave returning hero!
She had tried so hard not to cry—but the tears would come. They flooded the table-cloth and plates and set the omelets and the jam pots floating. It was only when her prying nurse came in to fetch her that Her Little Royal Highness could dry her eyes.
But, all day long, she walked up and down, up and down, in the wide Throne Room. With nervous step she marched from one gilded corner to the other, her heart in a flutter of fear.