nk they're very powerful.
They can't make you say things you don't want to say."

The Fairy waved her wand in disgust.

"Oh, be a King again," she said impatiently, and vanished.

And so that is the story of how the King of Euralia met the Fairy in
the forest. Roger Scurvilegs tells it well--indeed, almost as well as
I do--but he burdens it with a moral. You must think it out for
yourself; I shall not give it to you.

Wiggs didn't bother about the moral. Her elbows on her knees, her
chin resting on her hands, she gazed at the forest and imagined the
scene to herself.

"How wonderful to be a King like that!" she thought.

"That was a long time ago," explained Hyacinth. "Father must have
been rather lovely in those days," she added.

"It was a very bad Fairy," said Wiggs.

"It was a very stupid one. I wouldn't have given in to Father like
that."

"But there are good Fairies, aren't there? I met one once."

"You, child? Where?"

I don't know if it would have made any difference to Euralian history
if Wiggs had been allowed to tell about her Fairy then; as it was, she
didn't tell the story till later on, when Belvane happened to be near.
I regret to say that Belvane listened. It was the sort of story that
_always_ got overheard, she explained afterwards, as if that were any
excuse. On this occasion she was just too early to overhear, but in
time to prevent the story being told without her.

"The Countess Belvane," said an attendant, and her ladyship made a
superb entry.

"Good morning, Countess," said Hyacinth.

"Good morning, your Royal Highness. Ah, Wiggs, sweet child," she
added carelessly, putting out a hand to pat the sweet child's head,
but missing it.

"Wiggs was just telling me a story," said the Princess.

"Sweet child," said Belvane, feeling vaguely for her with the other
hand. "_Could_ I interrupt the story with a little business, your
Royal Highness?"

At a nod from the Princess, Wiggs withdrew.

"Well?" said Hyacinth nervously.

Belvane had always a curious effect on the Princess when they were
alone together. There was something about her large manner which made
Hyacinth feel like a schoolgirl who has been behaving badly: alarmed
and apologetic. I feel like this myself when I have an interview with
my publishers, and Roger Scurvilegs (upon the same subject) drags in a
certain uncle of his before whom (so he says) he always appears at his
worst. It is a common experience.