At last they said, “No, thank you, really,” when she asked if they would have another cup, because the cups were so small. Then the Princess went over to a comfortable chair near the long window, and watched the Others wandering about the room. Outside it would still be hot in the garden; but in the Princess’s own room it was cool and shaded, with interesting things to see, that they loved because they had seen them before.
“Suppose there were an Indian Squaw (and there was),” said the Princess, “and she was weaving a beautiful basket.”
“Is it that basket?” asked Pat.
“That very identical basket you’re going to hand me.”
So Pat brought it to the Princess, and Phyllisy and the Kitten came too. “And suppose, when she came near the top, she wove in this row of brown points like the teeth of a saw”—their heads were close together, following the Princess’s finger with their eyes. “Wouldn’t any one know that she meant them for mountains?”
“Did she?” asked Phyllisy.
“She did,” said the Princess.
“Oh-h,” said the Others.
“Or,” said the Princess, “suppose there were an Ancient Egyptian—the Ancientest kind—who lived on the edge of a flat desert; and could never—alive or dead—go to a mountain without crossing miles of blazing sand. If he happened, at the same time, to be a King (and he did), with thousands of slaves to work for him, he might set them to work to build him a mountain. And what shape would it be when it was done?”
“What?” asked the Kitten.