“Your shoe-tie is loose, my child.”

But Rosamond was growing tired, for her foot had become painful, and so she was cross, and neither returned answer, nor paid heed to the warning.  For when we are cross, all our other faults grow busy, and poke up their ugly heads like maggots, and the princess’s old dislike to doing any thing that came to her with the least air of advice about it returned in full force.

“My child,” said the woman again, “if you don’t fasten your shoe-tie, it will make you fall.”

“Mind your own business,” said Rosamond, without even turning her head, and had not gone more than three steps when she fell flat on her face on the path.  She tried to get up, but the effort forced from her a scream, for she had sprained the ankle of the foot that was already lame.

The old woman was by her side instantly.

“Where are you hurt, child?” she asked, throwing down her burden and kneeling beside her.

“Go away,” screamed Rosamond.  “You made me fall, you bad woman!”

The woman made no reply, but began to feel her joints, and soon discovered the sprain.  Then, in spite of Rosamond’s abuse, and the violent pushes and even kicks she gave her, she took the hurt ankle in her hands, and stroked and pressed it, gently kneading it, as it were, with her thumbs, as if coaxing every particle of the muscles into its right place.  Nor had she done so long before Rosamond lay still.  At length she ceased, and said:—­

“Now, my child, you may get up.”

“I can’t get up, and I’m not your child,” cried Rosamond.  “Go away.”

Without another word the woman left her, took up her burden, and continued her journey.

In a little while Rosamond tried to get up, and not only succeeded, but found she could walk, and, indeed, presently discovered that her ankle and foot also were now perfectly well.

“I wasn’t much hurt after all,” she said to herself, nor sent a single grateful thought after the poor woman, whom she speedily passed once more upon the road without even a greeting.

Late in the afternoon she came to a spot where the path divided into two, and was taking the one she liked the look of better, when she started at the sound of the poor woman’s voice, whom she thought she had left far behind, again calling her.  She looked round, and there she was, toiling under her load of heather as before.

“You are taking the wrong turn, child.” she cried.

“How can you tell that?” said Rosamond.  “You know nothing about where I want to go.”

“I know that road will take you where you won’t want to go,” said the woman.

“I shall know when I get there, then,” returned Rosamond, “and no thanks to you.”

She set off running.  The woman took the other path, and was soon out of sight.