“Help! Help!” she cried. But there was no one close by but the peacock, and he wasn’t going to put himself out. He was delighted, and walked stiffly away to the yard at the back of the house; he was much consoled, and he knew very well that he would grow a new tail next year.
“La! husband, how paltry you look!” cried the peahens. They had long thought it rather hard that he should be so much better dressed than themselves.
Ella screamed and shrieked. She caught hold of some rushes, but the tail was so heavy that she could not drag herself out.
“You shall have one wish—two wishes!” sang out Mother Grindle from the tree.
“Oh! if I were only on shore!” cried Ella. And sure enough she found herself standing on the brink, dripping with water, but safe. She ran into the house as fast as ever she could go.
She was put to bed at once in hot blankets. “How you are to lie with that tail on, I can’t imagine,” said her mother. However, in she got, arranging it as best she might, and so tired was she after all she had gone through, that she fell asleep and never woke till the next morning.
She got up and dressed, but alas! alas! she had rolled about in the night, and the beautiful feathers were all broken and torn and matted together; they hung like so many limp rags, and, do what she would, she could not make them hang properly. She went into the orchard, hoping that the sun and wind might freshen them up; but though she spent some time in taking out the tangles, the effect was horrid, and she looked more draggle-tailed than words can say. The peahens peeped over the fence and tittered.
At this moment a Prince came riding by, and saw her walking in the orchard.
“Heavens! What an absurd sight!” he exclaimed, as he rode on.
Ella sat down on the grass and cried bitterly.