autiful thought," said the stork-father.

"I don't quite comprehend it," said the stork-mother, "but that is
not my fault--it is the fault of the thought; though it is all one to
me, for I have other things to think upon."

And then the learned talked of love between this and that--that there
was a difference. Love such as lovers felt, and that between parents
and children; between light and plants; how the sunbeams kissed the
ground, and how thereby the seeds sprouted forth--it was all so
diffusely and learnedly expounded, that it was impossible for the
stork-father to follow the discourse, much less to repeat it. It made
him very thoughtful, however; he half closed his eyes, and actually
stood on one leg the whole of the next day, reflecting on what he had
heard. So much learning was difficult for him to digest.

But this much the stork-father understood. He had heard both common
people and great people speak as if they really felt it, that it was a
great misfortune to many thousands, and to the country in general,
that the king lay so ill, and that nothing could be done to bring
about his recovery. It would be a joy and a blessing to all if he
could but be restored to health.

"But where grew the health-giving flower that might cure him?"
Everybody asked that question. Scientific writings were searched, the
glittering stars were consulted, the wind and the weather. Every
traveller that could be found was appealed to, until at length the
learned and the wise, as before stated, pitched upon this: "Love
bestows life--life to a father." And though this dictum was really not
understood by themselves, they adopted it, and wrote it out as a
prescription. "Love bestows life"--well and good. But how was this to
be applied? Here they were at a stand. At length, however, they
agreed that the princess must be the means of procuring the necessary
help, as she loved her father with all her heart and soul. They also
agreed on a mode of proceeding. It is more than a year and a day since
then. They settled that when the new moon had just disappeared, she
was to betake herself by night to the marble sphinx in the desert, to
remove the sand from the entrance with her foot, and then to follow
one of the long passages which led to the centre of the great
pyramids, where one of the most mighty monarchs of ancient times,
surrounded by splendour and magnificence, lay in his mummy-coffin.
There she was to lean her head over the corpse, a