“I have yet to learn that it is my part to take orders from a servant,” said the princess with temper and dignity.

“I beg your pardon, princess, returned her nurse, politely; “but it is my duty to tell you that your queen-mamma is at this moment engaged.  She is alone with her most intimate friend, the Princess of the Frozen Regions.”

“I shall see for myself,” returned the princess, bridling, and walked to the door.

Now little bunny, leap-frogging near the door, happened that moment to get about her feet, just as she was going to open it, so that she tripped and fell against it, striking her forehead a good blow.  She caught up the rabbit in a rage, and, crying, “It is all your fault, you ugly old wretch!” threw it with violence in her nurse’s face.

Her nurse caught the rabbit, and held it to her face, as if seeking to sooth its fright.  But the rabbit looked very limp and odd, and, to her amazement, Rosamond presently saw that the thing was no rabbit, but a pocket-handkerchief.  The next moment she removed it from her face, and Rosamond beheld—­not her nurse, but the wise woman—­standing on her own hearth, while she herself stood by the door leading from the cottage into the hall.

“First trial a failure,” said the wise woman quietly.

Overcome with shame, Rosamond ran to her, fell down on her knees, and hid her face in her dress.

“Need I say any thing?” said the wise woman, stroking her hair.

“No, no,” cried the princess.  “I am horrid.”

“You know now the kind of thing you have to meet:  are you ready to try again?”

“May I try again?” cried the princess, jumping up.  “I’m ready.  I do not think I shall fail this time.”

“The trial will be harder.”

Rosamond drew in her breath, and set her teeth.  The wise woman looked at her pitifully, but took her by the hand, led her to the round hall, opened the same door, and closed it after her.

The princess expected to find herself again in the nursery, but in the wise woman’s house no one ever has the same trial twice.  She was in a beautiful garden, full of blossoming trees and the loveliest roses and lilies.  A lake was in the middle of it, with a tiny boat.  So delightful was it that Rosamond forgot all about how or why she had come there, and lost herself in the joy of the flowers and the trees and the water.  Presently came the shout of a child, merry and glad, and from a clump of tulip trees rushed a lovely little boy, with his arms stretched out to her.  She was charmed at the sight, ran to meet him, caught him up in her arms, kissed him, and could hardly let him go again.  But the moment she set him down he ran from her towards the lake, looking back as he ran, and crying “Come, come.”