All went well. Chryssa reached the sea-king’s palace feeling stronger and better than when she set out, and the rose, too, seemed to have gained fresh beauty and fragrance by its contact with the waves. No sooner did the almost dying Queen breathe its perfume than her strength began to return, and in a few hours she was cured.
No reward would have been too great for the King and Queen to bestow upon the little mermaid; but she asked for none save to be her mistress’s constant attendant.
They say—so, at least, the waves, who told me the story, whispered—that down in the ocean depths, somewhere in a wonderful palace, there blooms still a flower of earth—a red rose—endowed with a magic gift of health and healing.
Mrs Caretaker’s voice stopped. For a moment or two the children did not move. Then she laid her hand gently on their heads, and they lifted them.
“It is a lovely story,” said Alix, with a sigh of content. “Do you think, dear Mrs Caretaker, that perhaps we may see Chryssa some day when we are bathing?”
Mrs Caretaker shook her head.
“At least we may look for her; perhaps she comes up to the shore sometimes—we might catch a peep of her face among the surf. You might send her a message by one of the fishes you know, Mrs Caretaker.” The old woman smiled.
But suddenly Rafe started.
“I was forgetting,” he said. “Haven’t we been here a great while? What will nurse say?”
“Never mind,” said their friend. “Remember, I promised to see you home,” and again she stroked their heads.