When the princess did not return to the palace, and all search after her proved utterly vain, the poor old king fell into a state of the deepest melancholy, and spent most of his time in the summer-house, bewailing the mysterious loss of his only child.

One day, many months afterwards, he wandered into the forest.  A storm was raging, of which he took no heed.  But suddenly he stopped beneath a pine-tree, and looked up—­“How like my poor dear daughter’s voice!” said he; “especially when she was the least bit in the world—­” He did not like to finish the sentence, but sat down under the tree and wept bitterly.  And for every tear he shed, the pine-tree dropped a shower of needles.  For the Snarling Princess recognized her father, and heartily lamented the pain he suffered now, and had so often suffered before on her account.

“Tu-whit! tu-whoo!” said a voice, from a hole beneath the pine-tree.

“Who speaks?” said the king.

“It is I, cousin,” said the owl, hopping into the daylight, and gradually assuming the form and features of the fairy godmother.  “You did not know me as the Three-legged Wood-wife, whom you so unjustly sacrificed to your daughter’s caprices.  But I have had a hand in her education after all!  For twelve months has she croaked and creaked, snapped and snarled, beneath the summer heat, the winter snow, and the storms of spring and autumn.  Her punishment—­and yours—­is over.”

As the fairy godmother spoke, the pine-tree became a princess once more, and fell into her father’s arms.

But the wood-wife took again the shape of an owl, and the enchanted stones became bats, and they all disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

And as the princess shortly afterwards married a very charming prince, she no doubt changed her name.

Certainly she was never more known as the Snarling Princess.

THE LITTLE PARSNIP-MAN.

(Freely adapted from the German.)

WHAT PETER FOUND IN THE PAN—­AN UGLY SMILE—­THE WIDOW’S RECKONINGS—­REST BY RUSHLIGHT.

[Illustration]

On a cold winter’s evening it is very cosy to sit by a warm hearth, where the fire crackles pleasantly, and the old saucepan, which Mother has set on the fire, sings monotonously to itself between-whiles.

On such a night the wind howled in the street without, beat upon the window-panes, and rustled through the trees, which stood, tall and leafless, in the big garden over the way.

Little Peter did not trouble his head on the subject.  He sat indoors on a little footstool, near the fire, and close also to his mother, who was busy cutting up parsnips for next day’s dinner.

Peter paid great attention as his mother took a well-boiled parsnip out of the saucepan, scraped it, cut it, and laid the pieces on a clean white dish.

His mother’s thoughts were elsewhere.  She looked sad and pensive.  Only from time to time she nodded across the dish towards her little Peter, and when he got up and came and laid his head in her lap, she gently smoothed his fair hair from his brow, and then she smiled too.