“At first it was all delightful.  She drove the sheep up the soft green hillsides, and laughed with delight to see them nibbling the fresh grass, and running hither and thither after her, and after each other.  The evening sun shone brightly, and she sat herself down on a rock and sang all the tunes she knew, that she might be just like the little shepherdess.  But while she was singing the sheep strayed away, and she had to run after them as fast as she could, to catch them up.  This made her hot and tired, so she tried to make them lie down under a chestnut tree, that she might rest beside them.  But the sheep were not a bit tired, and had no mind to rest at all.  While she was calling one set of them together the other set ran scampering off, and the queen found out that she must just give up her way for once and follow theirs.  On went the sheep, up hill and down dale, nibbling and frisking and trotting to their hearts’ content, till the queen was worn out.

“At last, by the time the sun was setting, the poor queen was so tired that she could walk no longer.  Down she sat, and the ungrateful sheep kicked up their little hind legs and trotted away out of sight as fast as they could trot.  There she was left on the hillside all alone.  It began to get dark, and the sky, instead of being blue and clear as it had been, filled with black clouds.

“‘Oh dear! oh dear!’ sighed the queen, ’here is a storm coming.  If I could only find my way down the hill, if I could only see the town!’

“But there were trees all about her, which hid the view, and soon it was so dark there was nothing to be seen, not even the stars.  And presently, crash came the thunder, and after the thunder the rain—­such rain!  It soaked the queen’s golden cap till it was so heavy with water she was obliged to throw it away, and her silk petticoat was as wet as if she had been taking a bath in it.  In vain she ran hither and thither, trying to find a way through the trees, while the rain blinded her, and the thunder deafened her, till at last she was forced to sink down on the ground, feeling more wretched and frightened and cold than any queen ever felt before.  Oh, if she were only safe back in her beautiful palace!  If only she had the tent the king wanted to send with her!  But there all night she had to stay, and all night the storm went on, till the queen was lying in a flood, and the owls and bats, startled out of their holes, went flying past her in the dark, and frightening her out of her senses.  When the morning came there was such a shivering, crumpled up queen sitting on the grass, that even her own ladies would scarcely have known her.

“‘Oh, husband! husband!’ she cried, getting up and wringing her cold little hands.  ’You will never find me, and your poor wicked wife will die of cold and hunger.’

“Tirra-lirra! tirra-lirra!  What was that sounding in the forest?  Surely—­surely—­it was a hunting horn.  But who could be blowing it so early in the cold gray morning, when it was scarcely light?  On ran the queen toward where the sound came from.  Over rocks and grass she ran, till, all of a sudden, stepping out from behind a tree, came the king himself, who had been looking for her for hours.  And then what do you think the discontented queen did?  She folded her hands, and hung her head, and said, quite sadly and simply: