ch.

'Do you work all day and all night, too,
great-great-great-great-grandmother?' said the princess, thinking to be
very polite with so many greats.

'I am not quite so great as all that,' she answered, smiling almost
merrily. 'If you call me grandmother, that will do. No, I don't work
every night--only moonlit nights, and then no longer than the moon
shines upon my wheel. I shan't work much longer tonight.'

'And what will you do next, grandmother?' 'Go to bed. Would you like
to see my bedroom?'

'Yes, that I should.'

'Then I think I won't work any longer tonight. I shall be in good
time.'

The old lady rose, and left her wheel standing just as it was. You see
there was no good in putting it away, for where there was not any
furniture there was no danger of being untidy.

Then she took Irene by the hand, but it was her bad hand and Irene gave
a little cry of pain. 'My child!' said her grandmother, 'what is the
matter?'

Irene held her hand into the moonlight, that the old lady might see it,
and told her all about it, at which she looked grave. But she only
said: 'Give me your other hand'; and, having led her out upon the
little dark landing, opened the door on the opposite side of it. What
was Irene's surprise to see the loveliest room she had ever seen in her
life! It was large and lofty, and dome-shaped. From the centre hung a
lamp as round as a ball, shining as if with the brightest moonlight,
which made everything visible in the room, though not so clearly that
the princess could tell what many of the things were. A large oval bed
stood in the middle, with a coverlid of rose colour, and velvet
curtains all round it of a lovely pale blue. The walls were also
blue--spangled all over with what looked like stars of silver.

The old lady left her and, going to a strange-looking cabinet, opened
it and took out a curious silver casket. Then she sat down on a low
chair and, calling Irene, made her kneel before her while she looked at
her hand. Having examined it, she opened the casket, and took from it
a little ointment. The sweetest odour filled the room--like that of
roses and lilies--as she rubbed the ointment gently all over the hot
swollen hand. Her touch was so pleasant and cool that it seemed to
drive away the pain and heat wherever it came.

'Oh, grandmother! it is so nice!' said Irene. 'Thank you; thank you.'

Then the old lady went to a chest of drawers, and took out a large
han