s long as it seemed
possible she might bethink herself, "I must tell you then without; only
whoever listens with her back turned, listens but half, and gets but
half the help."

"She wants to fatten me," said the princess.

"You must keep the cottage tidy while I am out. When I come back, I
must see the fire bright, the hearth swept, and the kettle boiling; no
dust on the table or chairs, the windows clear, the floor clean, and
the heather in blossom--which last comes of sprinkling it with water
three times a day. When you are hungry, put your hand into that hole in
the wall, and you will find a meal."

"She wants to fatten me," said the princess.

"But on no account leave the house till I come back," continued the
wise woman, "or you will grievously repent it. Remember what you have
already gone through to reach it. Dangers lie all around this cottage
of mine; but inside, it is the safest place--in fact the only quite
safe place in all the country."

"She means to eat me," said the princess, "and therefore wants to
frighten me from running away."

She heard the voice no more. Then, suddenly startled at the thought of
being alone, she looked hastily over her shoulder. The cottage was
indeed empty of all visible life. It was soundless, too: there was not
even a ticking clock or a flapping flame. The fire burned still and
smouldering-wise; but it was all the company she had, and she turned
again to stare into it.

Soon she began to grow weary of having nothing to do. Then she
remembered that the old woman, as she called her, had told her to keep
the house tidy.

"The miserable little pig-sty!" she said. "Where's the use of keeping
such a hovel clean!"

But in truth she would have been glad of the employment, only just
because she had been told to do it, she was unwilling; for there ARE
people--however unlikely it may seem--who object to doing a thing for
no other reason than that it is required of them.

"I am a princess," she said, "and it is very improper to ask me to do
such a thing."

She might have judged it quite as suitable for a princess to sweep away
the dust as to sit the centre of a world of dirt. But just because she
ought, she wouldn't. Perhaps she feared that if she gave in to doing
her duty once, she might have to do it always--which was true
enough--for that was the very thing for which she had been specially
born.

Unable, however, to feel quite comfortable in the resolve to neglect
it,