than ever in a russet petticoat and a white neckerchief and a
pink print gown with little red rosebuds on it.

'Oh, Diggory, Diggory,' she cried, 'you've come back, then! You'll take
me with you now, won't you?'

'Have you got a looking-glass, my dear?' said he. 'Then run in and fetch
it.'

She ran. He took it and looked in it. And he saw the same young brown
face and the same bright brown hair that he had always known for _him_,
and he was not old any more. And there was Joyce holding up a face as
sweet as a bunch of flowers.

'Will you take me?' said she.

He stooped down and kissed the face that was so sweet.

'I'll take you,' said he.

And as they went along to his home he told her all the story.

'Well, but,' she said, 'you've got one wish-apple left.'

'Why, so I have,' said he; 'if I hadn't forgotten it!'

'We'll make that into the fortune you went out to find. Do, do let me
look at it!'

He pulled out the apple, and she took it in her hand as she sat behind
him on the big white horse.

'Yes, our fortune's made,' he said; 'but I do wish I knew why I turned
old like that.'

Just then Invicta stumbled, and Joyce caught at her lover to save
herself from falling, and as she caught at him the apple slipped from
her hand and the last wish was granted. For as it bounced on the road
Diggory did know why he had grown old like that. He knew that the
magician had arranged long before that every wish-apple that was used
outside the orchard should add ten years to the wisher's age. So that
the eight horses had made him a hundred years old, and the spell could
only be undone by the wisher's giving away what he'd wished for. So that
it was Diggory's generosity in giving away the horses that had taken him
back to the proper age for being happy in. I don't want to be moral, and
I'm very sorry--but it really was that.

He carried Joyce home to his father's house. They were much too pleased
with each other to bother about the wasted wish-apples.

'You're soon back, my son,' said the woodcutter, laughing.

'Yes,' said Diggory.

'Have you found your fortune?'

'Yes,' said Diggory; 'here she is!'

And he presented Joyce. The woodcutter laughed more than ever, for the
miller's daughter was a bit of an heiress.

'Well, well!' he said.

So they were married, and they had a little farm, and the white horse
was put to the plough, and to the cart, and the harrow, and the waggon;
and he worked hard, and they work