So the mother agreed.  She thought what a grand marriage it was for her daughter.  And as for the five skeins?  Time enough to bother about them when the year came round.  There was many a slip between cup and lip, and, likely as not, the King would have forgotten all about it by then.

Anyhow, her daughter would be Queen for eleven months.  So they were married, and for eleven months the bride was happy as happy could be.  She had everything she liked to eat, and all the gowns she liked to get, all the company she cared to keep, and everything her heart desired.  And her husband the King was kind as kind could be.  But in the tenth month she began to think of those five skeins and wonder if the King remembered.  And in the eleventh month she began to dream about them as well.  But ne’er a word did the King, her husband, say about them; so she hoped he had forgotten.

But on the very last day of the eleventh month, the King, her husband, led her into a room she had never set eyes on before.  It had one window, and there was nothing in it but a stool and a spinning-wheel.

“Now, my dear,” he said quite kind like, “you will be shut in here to-morrow morning with some victuals and some flax, and if by evening you have not spun five skeins, your head will come off.”

Well she was fair frightened, for she had always been such a gatless thoughtless girl that she had never learnt to spin at all.  So what she was to do on the morrow she could not tell; for, see you, she had no one to help her; for, of course, now she was Queen, her mother didn’t live nigh her.  So she just locked the door of her room, sat down on a stool, and cried and cried and cried until her pretty eyes were all red.

Now as she sate sobbing and crying she heard a queer little noise at the bottom of the door.  At first she thought it was a mouse.  Then she thought it must be something knocking.

So she upped and opened the door and what did she see?  Why! a small, little, black Thing with a long tail that whisked round and round ever so fast.

“What are you crying for?” said that Thing, making a bow, and twirling its tail so fast that she could scarcely see it.

“What’s that to you?” said she, shrinking a bit, for that Thing was very queer like.

“Don’t look at my tail if you’re frightened,” says That, smirking.  “Look at my toes.  Ain’t they beautiful?”

And sure enough That had on buckled shoes with high heels and big bows, ever so smart.

[Illustration:  A small, little, black Thing with a long tail]

So she kind of forgot about the tail, and wasn’t so frightened, and when That asked her again why she was crying, she upped and said, “It won’t do no good if I do.”

“You don’t know that,” says That, twirling its tail faster and faster, and sticking out its toes.  “Come, tell me, there’s a good girl.”

“Well,” says she, “it can’t do any harm if it doesn’t do good.”  So she dried her pretty eyes and told That all about the pies, and the skeins, and everything from first to last.