At the moment of his departure Christina ran towards him, and began to address him with a speech which somebody had taught her for the occasion.  Gustavus was busied with thoughts about the affairs of the kingdom, so that he did not immediately attend to the childish voice of his little girl.  Christina, who did not love to be unnoticed, immediately stopped short, and pulled him by the coat.

“Father,” said she, “why do not you listen to my speech?”

In a moment, the king forgot every thing, except that he was parting with what he loved best in all the world.  He caught the child in his arms, pressed her to his bosom, and burst into tears.  Yes; though he was a brave man, and though he wore a steel corselet on his breast, and though armies were waiting for him to lead them to battle,—­still, his heart melted within him, and he wept.  Christina, too, was so afflicted that her attendants began to fear that she would actually die of grief.  But probably she was soon comforted; for children seldom remember their parents quite so faithfully as their parents remember them.

For two years more, Christina remained in the palace at Stockholm.  The queen, her mother, had accompanied Gustavus to the wars.  The child, therefore, was left to the guardianship of five of the wisest men in the kingdom.  But these wise men knew better how to manage the affairs of state, than how to govern and educate a little girl so as to render her a good and happy woman.

When two years had passed away, tidings were brought to Stockholm which filled everybody with triumph and sorrow at the same time.  The Swedes had won a glorious victory at Lutzen.  But alas! the warlike king of Sweden, the Lion of the North, the father of our little Christina,—­had been slain at the foot of a great stone, which still marks the spot of that hero’s death.

Soon after this sad event, a General Assembly, or Congress, consisting of deputations from the nobles, the clergy, the burghers, and the peasants of Sweden was summoned to meet at Stockholm.  It was for the purpose of declaring little Christina to be Queen of Sweden, and giving her the crown and sceptre of her deceased father.  Silence being proclaimed, the Chancellor Oxenstiern arose.

“We desire to know,” said he, “whether the people of Sweden will take the daughter of our dead king, Gustavus Adolphus, to be their Queen.”

When the Chancellor had spoken, an old man with white hair, and in coarse apparel, stood up in the midst of the assembly.  He was a peasant, Lars Larrson by name, and had spent most of his life in laboring on a farm.

“Who is this daughter of Gustavus?” asked the old man.  “We do not know her.  Let her be shown to us.”

Then Christina was brought into the hall, and placed before the old peasant.  It was strange, no doubt, to see a child—­a little girl of six years old—­offered to the Swedes as their ruler, instead of the brave king, her father, who had led them to victory so many times.  Could her baby fingers wield a sword in war?  Could her childish mind govern the nation wisely in peace?