So Florimel partook heartily of the plain fare of the farmer and his wife, and throughout the meal the talk of his hosts was of the missing prince.
“Poor lad!” said the woman with a sigh.
“I hope that all is well with him. Yet much I fear this search for him is vain. His uncle, the duke, could tell, I warrant, what has happened to him. But he will never be heard of more, and the wicked duke will now be king.” “You who have come from the city,” said the farmer to Florimel, “no doubt some time have seen the poor prince. What kind of a young lad was he? A likely one, so I have heard.” “He had his faults,” admitted Florimel. “He was very small of build—no taller than I. When last I saw him he looked not unlike me. I doubt if he weighed a penny weight more.”
“Was he handsome?” asked the woman.
“Am I handsome?” asked Florimel in return.
“Candor compels me to tell you you are not,” she frankly said, “though you are not ill-favored, either.”
“Still if I wore the prince’s attire,” said Florimel, “I would be as handsome as he. But let us change the subject. You spoke but a while ago of that strange country which lies adjacent to this. In what manner is it strange?”
“But little is known of it,” said the woman, “for, in truth, it is a place to be avoided. There are few humans bold enough to penetrate its mysteries, for in the forests and dense undergrowth are savage beasts that wreak harm. Often we can hear their wild cries at night, and our hearts are chilled. And, even if one escape the beasts, there are Brownies and fairies to weave their mystic charm.”
“Are the Brownies there too?” asked Florimel, with interest.