“And as for me,” cried Mrs. Darling, “His Majesty is the only one who knows what I want, and that’s quite enough, seeing it’s such a hopeless thing!”
“It’s a beautiful rid shawl I’m after wantin’,” sighed Nora; “but it’s niver a rid shawl I’ll see this Christmas—”
“And I need a pair of overshoes the worst way,” said the cook, smiling; “but whoever would think of that!”
“Oh!” cried the little boy, his eyes shining with gladness. “Oh! now we can surely go to the feast, for every one’s wished for what they want most in the world—do hurry and open the door!”
“Wait!” said old Patrick, raising his hand, “I haven’t heard His Majesty askin’ for a thing—I—”
“But kings, Patrick—kings don’t ever get things, they all the time give them!”
“This is Christmas, Your Majesty, and before that door is opened, every one, king included, wishes for the thing he wants most. Quick now—what’ll you have?”
“Oh,” said the little boy, suddenly shrinking, “please—please—”
“Go on, Your Majesty,” said Patrick, firmly, “for until you wish the feast stays on the other side of the door.”
“Oh—oh—” the little boy covered his face, “I—I—mustn’t even think about it—and—and I’m trying—”