only
mark of her old pride she showed was a slap she gave a buckeen across
the face when he axed her an impudent question.

Well, her husband was so glad, he sent her with another creel the next
day; but, faith! her luck was after deserting her. A drunken huntsman
came up riding, and his beast got in among her ware, and made _brishe_
of every mother's son of 'em. She went home cryin', and her husband
wasn't at all pleased. "I see," said he, "you're not fit for business.
Come along, I'll get you a kitchen-maid's place in the palace. I know
the cook."

So the poor thing was obliged to stifle her pride once more. She was
kept very busy, and the footman and the butler would be very impudent
about looking for a kiss, but she let a screech out of her the first
attempt was made, and the cook gave the fellow such a lambasting with
the besom that he made no second offer. She went home to her husband
every night, and she carried broken victuals wrapped in papers in her
side pockets.

A week after she got service there was great bustle in the kitchen.
The King was going to be married, but no one knew who the bride was to
be. Well, in the evening the cook filled the Princess's pockets with
cold meat and puddens, and, says she, "Before you go, let us have a
look at the great doings in the big parlor." So they came near the
door to get a peep, and who should come out but the King himself, as
handsome as you please, and no other but King Whiskers himself. "Your
handsome helper must pay for her peeping," said he to the cook, "and
dance a jig with me." Whether she would or no, he held her hand and
brought her into the parlor. The fiddlers struck up, and away went
_him_ with _her_. But they hadn't danced two steps when the meat and
the puddens flew out of her pockets. Every one roared out, and she
flew to the door, crying piteously. But she was soon caught by the
King, and taken into the back parlor. "Don't you know me, my darling?"
said he. "I'm both King Whiskers, your husband the ballad-singer, and
the drunken huntsman. Your father knew me well enough when he gave you
to me, and all was to drive your pride out of you." Well, she didn't
know how she was, with fright, and shame, and joy. Love was uppermost,
anyhow, for she laid her head on her husband's breast and cried like a
child. The maids-of-honor soon had her away and dressed her as fine as
hands and pins could do it; and there were her mother and father, too.
While the compa