glee to think how
he had deluded a princess, a handsome young prince appeared on
the scene, and what so natural as that the princess should
immediately contrast him with the troll. And it came about, also
quite naturally, that before the prince and the princess knew
that anything was happening, they fell so violently in love with
each other that the birds, and the bees, and the flowers in the
garden, and the squirrels in the trees sang and hummed and
gossiped and chattered about it."

Here I paused. Phyllis did not look up, but I felt a shiver run
through her body as I stroked her hair and put my arm around her
shoulder to caress away her fear.

"But it happened that although the princess was so much in love
that at times she must have forgotten even the existence of the
old troll, she was still possessed of that most inconvenient and
annoying internal arrangement which we call the New England
conscience, and one night, when the prince had declared his love
with more ardor than usual, she remembered the past, how she had
promised to marry the troll, and how she must keep her word, as
all good princesses do. And the prince, who was a very upright
young man, most foolishly listened to her, and agreed to give her
up. Whereupon these poor children, having resolved that it was
for the best--"

Phyllis looked up quickly. Her face was white, and a look, half
of fear, half of reproach, came to her eyes. She sank down and
hid her face in her hands. Both my arms were around her and I
even laughed.

"Dear little princess," I whispered, "don't give way yet. The
best is still to come. For you must remember that this is a
fairy-tale and all fairy-tales have a good ending. And, to make a
long story short, this wicked old troll was not a troll at all,
but a fairy-godmother, who had taken the form for good purposes.
I would have said fairy-godfather, but I have never come across a
fairy-godfather in all my reading, and I must be truthful. Well,
the fairy-godmother came along right in the nick of time--and, of
course, you know who married and lived happily ever after?"

The convulsive movement of the poor child's body told me she
was weeping. And I, being a philosopher, and more or less
hard-hearted, as all philosophers are, let her weep on. Presently
she said in a voice hardly audible:

"I gave you my promise and I meant to keep it. I am trying so
hard to keep it."

"Of course you are, little girl, but why try? A bad promise