d very angry when finally her punishment ceased. She had
not been much hurt, though, and she was wise enough to understand that
these Princesses were all cruel and vindictive, so that her safest plan
was to pretend to obey them.

"Now then," commanded Princess Indigo, "go and feed my little blue dog
that crows like a rooster."

"And feed my pretty blue cat that sings like a bird," said Princess
Azure.

"And feed my soft, blue lamb that chatters like a monkey," said
Princess Cobalt.

"And feed my poetic blue parrot that barks like a dog," said Princess
Sapphire.

"And feed my fuzzy blue rabbit that roars like a lion," said Princess
Turquoise.

"And feed my lovely blue peacock that mews like a cat," said Princess
Cerulia.

"Anything else?" asked Trot, drawing a long breath.

"Not until you have properly fed our pets," replied Azure with a scowl.

"What do they eat, then?"

"Meat!"

"Milk!"

"Clover!"

"Seeds!"

"Bread!"

"Carrots!"

"All right," said Trot, "where do you keep the menagerie?"

"Our pets are in our boudoirs," said Indigo harshly. "What a little
fool you are!"

"Perhaps," said Trot, pausing as she was about to leave the room, "when
I grow up I'll be as big a fool as any of you."

Then she ran away to escape another shaking, and in the first boudoir
she found the little blue dog curled up on a blue cushion in a corner.
Trot patted his head gently, and this surprised the dog, who was
accustomed to cuffs and kicks. So he licked Trot's hand and wagged his
funny little tail and then straightened up and crowed like a rooster.
The girl was delighted with the queer doggie, and she found some meat
in a cupboard and fed him out of her hand, patting the tiny creature
and stroking his soft blue hair. The doggie had never in his life known
anyone so kind and gentle, so when Trot went into the next boudoir, the
animal followed close at her heels, wagging his tail every minute.

The blue cat was asleep on a window seat, but it woke up when Trot
tenderly took it in her lap and fed it milk from a blue-gold dish. It
was a pretty cat and instantly knew the little girl was a friend vastly
different from its own bad-tempered mistress, so it sang beautifully as
a bird sings, and both the cat and the dog followed Trot into the third
boudoir.

Here was a tiny baby lamb with fleece as blue as a larkspur and as soft
as milk.

"Oh, you darling!" cried Trot, hugging the little lamb tight in her
arms. At