“Well,” the princess said thoughtfully, “suns must be like cwort (she never could say “court”) processions. I think they always have them ready somewheres. What else do you want to know about?”
“About the Spring,” said Hazen. “Where does that come from? Where do they get it?”
“They never teached me that,” said the princess, “but I think Summer is the mother, and Winter the father, and Autumn is the noisy little boy, and Spring is the little girl, with violets on.”
“Of course,” cried Hazen, joyfully. “I never thought of that. Why can’t they talk?” he asked.
“They ’most can,” said the princess. “Some day maybe I can teach you what they say. What else do you want to know?”
“About people,” said Hazen. “Why are some folks good and some folks bad? Why is the king kind and the cook cross?”
“Oh, they never teached me that!” the princess cried, impatiently. “What a lot of things you ask!”
“One more question, your Highness,” said Hazen, instantly. “Why are you so beautiful?”
The princess smiled. “Now I’ll teach you my picture-book through,” she said.
She opened the picture-book and showed him pictures of castles and beasts and lawns and towers and ladies and mountains and bright birds and pillars and cataracts and wild white horses and, last, a picture of a prince setting forth on a quest. “Prince Living sets out to make his fortune,” it said under the picture, and Hazen stared at it.