By this time two others, inquisitive and gaping, joined the spokeswoman, who, as the princess assented, exclaimed, “My!”

That ended the conversation for the time being; and the party trooped on in silence.  But after a little the small mousy one’s curiosity overcame her diffidence.  “Land, it’d be queer to live in a place like this!  Do you come down here much, Your Highness?”

Nina nearly giggled, but the princess replied, “I have been down only once or twice.  There is no use to which we can put these passageways nowadays.  There was a deep pit that descended from one of the upper rooms of the castle through a trap in the floor.  The bottom of it was far below here, but it is all done away with and cemented over now.”

“You know, Your Highness,” returned the little tourist, now glibly at ease, “I think it’d be a good place for growing mushrooms.”

The guide interrupted by mounting a pair of stairs and holding up his lantern with the order to “come this way.”  They all stumbled up the crumbling steps after him and suddenly found themselves behind the altar of a chapel that stood at the far end of the garden.

“For pity’s sake!” cried the little tourist, her eyes again blinking—­this time at the light.  “I never was in such a wonderful place in all my life.  My!  It won’t seem like anything at all to go down cellar at home after I get back!  Is this the way you go to meeting?  Oh, no—­you said you hadn’t been down often.  Maybe this is the way to go when it rains!  It don’t rain much here, does it?  My, but that’s an idea—­to go underground to church.  I wonder how ever you get used to it.”  And then irrelevantly she added, “All these beautiful churches over here in Yurrup, not a pew in one of ’em.”

“They bring out these kneeling chairs for service,” the princess said, pointing to a number against one wall of the chapel.

Again all the tourist could say was her ever ready “My!”

“Would you like to see some of the castle?” the princess asked.  “There is a picture gallery not usually opened to visitors, also some apartments with frescoes that are worth seeing.”  Then to the guide, “You may take them into the west wing.”  The tourists looked variously, according to their several dispositions; the little one beamed.

“Oh, that’s real kind of Your Highness,” she exclaimed, her small gray person fluttering, more than ever like a mouse.  “I must say that’s real kind.  I just dote on pictures.  Do you like crayons?  Well, I like oils best myself, but there are some who have a taste for crayons.  The photographer’s son—­out where I live—­he is real talented.  He did some beautiful portraits.  Folks thought he ought to come over here right away and study art.  But others thought there was just as good art right at home.  Now, what’d you say?”

Her good intention quite won the princess, and her accent warmed her heart in a way that Nina would have been at a loss to understand.