“Now, kitty, listen; I will read it to you:
“To his Majesty the King, from her Royal Highness, the Princess Madge.
“Dear Old Papa: I have at last decided to be married if you can find a man to suit me. Now read, my dear papa, and remember that this decision is final. I will marry the first contented man you can find, no matter who he is. Read this little poem; it is my guiding star at this very serious time:
“‘There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy,
No chemic art can counterfeit.
It makes men rich in greatest poverty,
Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold.
Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent,
That much in little, all in naught—content.’
“What I have written, I have written.
“Your own Madge.
“That sounds very well, doesn’t it, Pussy? I am going to fold it so, and so, then cut off a strand of my hair—see, Pussy, it is nearly a yard long, and it will go around and around this letter and tie in a great golden knot. When the king sees that he will know it is very important. Now I will go to the door and tell the page to run with this to papa, and then—oh, I wonder what he will say!”
She ran to the door, spoke a few words to the page who stood just outside, then returned to the great cushioned chair by the window. Pussy climbed into her lap. They both winked a few times and blinked a few times and then fell fast asleep.
II
Half an hour later the king, with his crown comfortably pushed back on his head, and a smile very much all over his ruddy face, burst into the queen’s sitting-room. He held a tangle of golden hair in one hand and a sheet of blue note-paper in the other.
“My dear, my dear, what do you think has happened? Here, written by her own hand, the hand of the Princess Madge, are the happy words which drive away all our fears. She will marry, my dear, she will marry; and listen: she cares not what may be his rank or age or condition—he must be a contented man, that is all. Oh, what a child, what a child!”