She came up to the bed, looked at the princess, and saw that she was better.  But she did not like her much.  There was no mark of a princess about her, and never had been since she began to run alone.  True, hunger had brought down her fat cheeks, but it had not turned down her impudent nose, or driven the sullenness and greed from her mouth.  Nothing but the wise woman could do that—­and not even she, without the aid of the princess herself.  So the shepherdess thought what a poor substitute she had got for her own lovely Agnes—­who was in fact equally repulsive, only in a way to which she had got used; for the selfishness in her love had blinded her to the thin pinched nose and the mean self-satisfied mouth.  It was well for the princess, though, sad as it is to say, that the shepherdess did not take to her, for then she would most likely have only done her harm instead of good.

“Now, my girl,” she said, “you must get up, and do something.  We can’t keep idle folk here.”

“I’m not a folk,” said Rosamond; “I’m a princess.”

“A pretty princess—­with a nose like that!  And all in rags too!  If you tell such stories, I shall soon let you know what I think of you.”

Rosamond then understood that the mere calling herself a princess, without having any thing to show for it, was of no use.  She obeyed and rose, for she was hungry; but she had to sweep the floor ere she had any thing to eat.

The shepherd came in to breakfast, and was kinder than his wife.  He took her up in his arms and would have kissed her; but she took it as an insult from a man whose hands smelt of tar, and kicked and screamed with rage.  The poor man, finding he had made a mistake, set her down at once.  But to look at the two, one might well have judged it condescension rather than rudeness in such a man to kiss such a child.  He was tall, and almost stately, with a thoughtful forehead, bright eyes, eagle nose, and gentle mouth; while the princess was such as I have described her.

Not content with being set down and let alone, she continued to storm and scold at the shepherd, crying she was a princess, and would like to know what right he had to touch her!  But he only looked down upon her from the height of his tall person with a benignant smile, regarding her as a spoiled little ape whose mother had flattered her by calling her a princess.

“Turn her out of doors, the ungrateful hussy!” cried his wife.  “With your bread and your milk inside her ugly body, this is what she gives you for it!  Troth, I’m paid for carrying home such an ill-bred tramp in my arms!  My own poor angel Agnes!  As if that ill-tempered toad were one hair like her!”