"And the window is open!" she cried, sharply. She darted across to the little figure and gathered it up into her arms. She had never been frightened about Russy before. Perhaps it was the fright that brought her to her own.

"He is cold,--his little night-dress is damp!" she said. Then her kisses rained down on the little, sleeping face. In his sleep, Russy felt them, but he thought it was Jeffy's mother kissing Jeffy.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" he murmured. "I don't wonder Jeffy likes it! If my mother kissed _me_-- I told Jeffy she did! It was a Lie, but I had to. You have to, when they say things like that about your _mother_. You have to say she kisses you--oh, always! She comes 'way up-stairs every night a-purpose to. An' she tucks you in, an'

she calls you--_Dear_. It's a Lie an' it 'most kills you, but you have to say it. But it's perfectly awful afterwards." He nestled against the soft down of her cloak and moaned as if in pain. "It's awful afterwards when you have to sleep with the Lie. It's perfectly--aw--ful--"

"Oh, Carter!" the mother broke out, for it was all plain to her. In a flash of agonized understanding the wistful little sleep-story was filled out in every detail. She understood all the tragedy of it.

"Russy! Russy!" She shook him in her eagerness. "Russy, it's my kisses! _I'm_ kissing you! It isn't Jeffy's mother,--it's your mother, Russy! Feel them!--don't you feel them on your forehead and your hair and your little red lips? It's your mother kissing _you!_"

Russy opened his eyes.

"Why! Why, so it is!" he said.

"And calling you 'Dear,' Russy! Don't you hear her? Dear boy,--_dear_ little boy! You hear her, don't you, Russy--dear?"

"Why, yes!--_why!_"

"And tucking you into bed--like this,--_so!_ She's tucking in the blanket now,--and now the little quilt, Russy! That is what mothers are for--I never thought before--oh, I never thought!" She dropped her face beside his on the pillow and fell to kissing him again. He held his face quite still for the sweet, strange baptism. Then suddenly he laughed out happily, wildly.

"Then it isn't a Lie!" he cried, in a delirium of relief and joy.

"It's true!"

Chapter VII

The Princess of Make-Believe

The Princess was washing dishes. On her feet she would barely have reached the rim of the great dish-pan, but on the soap-box she did very well. A grimy calico ap.r.o.n trailed to the floor.

"Now this golden platter I must wash _extry_ clean," the Princess said. "The Queen is ve-ry particular about her golden platters. Last time, when I left one o' the corners--it's such a nextremely heavy platter to hold--she gave me a scold--oh, I mean--I mean she tapped me a little love pat on my cheek with her golden spoon."

It was a great, brown-veined, stoneware platter, and the arms of the Princess ached with holding it. Then, in an unwary instant, it slipped out of her soapsudsy little fingers and crashed to the floor.

Oh! oh! the Queen! the Queen! She was coming! The Princess heard her shrill, angry voice, and felt the jar of her heavy steps. There was the s.p.a.ce of an instant--an instant is so short!--before the storm broke.

"You little limb o' Satan! That's my best platter, is it? Broke all to bits, eh? I'll break--" But there was a flurry of dingy ap.r.o.n and dingier petticoats, and the little Princess had fled. She did not stop till she was in her Secret Place among the willows. Her small lean face was pale but undaunted.

"Th-the Queen isn't feeling very well to-day," she panted. "It's wash-day up at the Castle. She never enjoys herself on wash-days. And then that golden platter--I'm sorry I smashed it all to flinders!

When the Prince comes I shall ask him to buy another."

The Prince had never come, but the Princess waited for him patiently.

She sat with her face to the west and looked for him to come through the willows with the red sunset light filtering across his hair. That was the way the Prince was coming, though the time was not set. It might be a good while before he came, and then again--you never could tell!

"But when he does, and we've had a little while to get acquainted, then I shall say to him, 'Hear, O Prince, and give ear to my--my pet.i.tion! For verily, verily, I have broken many golden platters and jasper cups and saucers, and the Queen, long live her! is sore--sore--'"

The Princess pondered for the forgotten word. She put up a little lean brown hand and rubbed a tingling spot on her temple--ah, not the Queen! It was the Princess--long live her!--who was "sore."

"'I beseech thee, O Prince,' I shall say, 'buy new golden platters and jasper cups and saucers for the Queen, and then shall I verily, verily be--be--'"

Oh, the long words--how they slipped out of reach! The little Princess sighed rather wearily. She would have to rehea.r.s.e that speech so many times before the Prince came. Suppose he came to-night! Suppose she looked up now, this minute, towards the golden west and he was there, swinging along through the willow canes towards her!

But there was no one swinging along through the willows. The yellow light flickered through--that was all. Somewhere, a long way off, sounded the monotonous hum of men's voices. Through the lace-work of willow twigs there showed the faintest possible blur of color. Down beyond, in the clearing, the Castle Guards in blue jean blouses were pulling stumps. The Princess could not see their dull, pa.s.sionless faces, and she was glad of it. The Castle Guards depressed her. But they were not as bad as the Castle Guardesses. _They_ were mostly old women with bleared, dim eyes, and they wore such faded--silks.

"_My_ silk dress is rather faded," murmured the little Princess wistfully. She smoothed down the scant calico skirt with her brown little fingers. The patch in it she would not see.

"I shall have to have the Royal Dress-maker make me another one soon.

Let me see,--what color shall I choose? I'd _like_ my gold-colored velvet made up. I'm tired of wearing royal purple dresses all the time, though of course I know they're appropriater. I wonder what color the Prince would like best? I should rather choose that color."

The Princess's little brown hands were clasped about one knee, and she was rocking herself slowly back and forth, her eyes, wistful and wide, on the path the Prince would come. She was tired to-day and it was harder to wait.

"But when he comes I shall say, 'Hear, O Prince. Verily, verily, I did not know which color you would like to find me dressed--I mean arrayed--in, and so I beseech thee excuse--_pardon_, I mean--mine infirmity.'"

The Princess was not sure of "infirmity," but it sounded well. She could not think of a better word.

"And then--I _think_ then--he will take me in his arms, and his face will be all sweet and splendid like the Mother o' G.o.d's in the picture, and he will whisper,--I don't think he will say it out loud,--oh, I'd rather not!--'Verily, Princess,' he will whisper, 'Oh, verily, _verily_, thou hast found favor in my sight!' And that will mean that he doesn't care what color I am, for he--loves--me."

Lower and lower sank the solemn voice of the Princess. Slower and slower rocked the little, lean body. The birds themselves stopped singing at the end. In the Secret Place it was very still.

"Oh no, no, no,--not _verily!_" breathed the Princess, in soft awe.

For the wonder of it took her breath away. She had never in her life been loved, and now, at this moment, it seemed so near! She thought she heard the footsteps of the Prince.

They came nearer. The crisp twigs snapped under his feet. He was whistling.

"Oh, I can't look!--I can't!" gasped the little Princess, but she turned her face to the west,--she had always known it would be from the west, and lifted closed eyes to his coming. When he got to the Twisted Willow she might dare to look,--to the Little Willow Twins, anyway.

"And I shall know when he does," she thought. "I shall know the minute!"

Her face was rapt and tender. The miracle she had made for herself,--the gold she had coined out of her piteous alloy,--was it not come true at last?--Verily, verily?

Hush! Was the Prince not coming through the willows? And the sunshine was trickling down on his hair! The Princess knew, though she did not look.

"He is at the Twisted Willow," she thought. "_Now_ he is at the Little Willow Twins." But she did not open her eyes. She did not dare. This was a little different, she had never counted on being afraid.

The twigs snapped louder and nearer--now very near. The merry whistle grew clearer, and then it stopped.

"Hullo!"

Did princes say "hullo!" The Princess had little time to wonder, for he was there before her. She could feel his presence in every fibre of her trembling little being, though she would not open her eyes for very fear that it might be somebody else. No, no, it was the Prince!

It was his voice, clear and ringing, as she had known it would be.

She put up her hands suddenly and covered her eyes with them to make surer. It was not fear now, but a device to put off a little longer the delight of seeing him.

"I say, hullo! Haven't you got any tongue?"

"Oh, verily, verily,--I mean hear, O Prince, I beseech," she panted.

The boy's merry eyes regarded the shabby small person in puzzled astonishment. He felt an impulse to laugh and run away, but his royal blood forbade either. So he waited.