did so; and soon the palace was swarming with white mice.  Their red eyes might be seen glowing, and their white skins gleaming, in every dark corner; but when it came to the king’s finding a nest of them in his second-best crown, he was angry and ordered them to be drowned.  The princess heard of it, however, and raised such a clamor, that there they were left until they should run away of themselves; and the poor king had to wear his best crown every day till then.  Nothing that was the princess’s property, whether she cared for it or not, was to be meddled with.

Of course, as she grew, she grew worse; for she never tried to grow better.  She became more and more peevish and fretful every day—­dissatisfied not only with what she had, but with all that was around her, and constantly wishing things in general to be different.  She found fault with every thing and everybody, and all that happened, and grew more and more disagreeable to every one who had to do with her.  At last, when she had nearly killed her nurse, and had all but succeeded in hanging herself, and was miserable from morning to night, her parents thought it time to do something.

A long way from the palace, in the heart of a deep wood of pine-trees, lived a wise woman.  In some countries she would have been called a witch; but that would have been a mistake, for she never did any thing wicked, and had more power than any witch could have.  As her fame was spread through all the country, the king heard of her; and, thinking she might perhaps be able to suggest something, sent for her.  In the dead of the night, lest the princess should know it, the king’s messenger brought into the palace a tall woman, muffled from head to foot in a cloak of black cloth.  In the presence of both their Majesties, the king, to do her honor, requested her to sit; but she declined, and stood waiting to hear what they had to say.  Nor had she to wait long, for almost instantly they began to tell her the dreadful trouble they were in with their only child; first the king talking, then the queen interposing with some yet more dreadful fact, and at times both letting out a torrent of words together, so anxious were they to show the wise woman that their perplexity was real, and their daughter a very terrible one.  For a long while there appeared no sign of approaching pause.  But the wise woman stood patiently folded in her black cloak, and listened without word or motion.  At length silence fell; for they had talked themselves tired, and could not think of any thing more to add to the list of their child’s enormities.

After a minute, the wise woman unfolded her arms; and her cloak dropping open in front, disclosed a garment made of a strange stuff, which an old poet who knew her well has thus described:—­

    “All lilly white, withoutten spot or pride,
     That seemd like silke and silver woven neare;
     But neither silke nor silver therein did appeare.”