“You see what careful parents can do! The first fairy godmother was quite wrong about the Prince of the Black Heart!”
But at that very moment, the Prince had bared his arm to pluck a water-flower, as they rested beside the way.
“What is that black mark on your arm?” asked the Princess.
“Oh,” said the Prince, laughing, “that is just a scar I have borne from birth. It is in the shape of a heart, and so, for a jest, my people call me the Prince of the Black Heart.”
“Black Heart, indeed!” cried the Little Princess, angrily.
And that is the end of the story, for if you have no fear in your heart, black magic is no such great thing after all.
But if any old fogy should wag his gray beard and say there is not a word of truth in it, you may be very sure that he came to fairyland at the narrow place, and never saw it at all. So you may just smile at him, for there is one thing, at least, that you know more about than he does!
