The genial sultan; The princess who could not see; Late for the coronation
Date: 2025-11-21T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Children's stories; American; Fairy tales -- United States

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Title: The genial sultan; The princess who could not see; Late for the coronation

Author: Harriet Maxon Thayer

Release date: November 21, 2025 [eBook #77280]

Language: English

Original publication: Philadelphia: Dorrance, 1923

Credits: Chuck Greif and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GENIAL SULTAN; THE PRINCESS WHO COULD NOT SEE; LATE FOR THE CORONATION ***

THE GENIAL SULTAN

AND
OTHER STORIES
----
Harriet Maxon Thayer

“Selim, the Sultan of Dar, renowned for his good nature, had set his heart on a fishing trip”

The Genial Sultan

The Princess Who Could Not See
Late for the Coronation

By Harriet Maxon Thayer

Publishers DORRANCE Philadelphia

Copyright 1923
Dorrance & Company Inc
Manufactured in the United States of America

To

My Mother

CONTENTS

The Genial Sultan | 13
The Princess Who Could Not See | 25
Late for the Coronation | 49

ILLUSTRATIONS

“Selim, the Sultan of Dar, renowned for his good nature, had set his heart on a fishing trip.” | Frontispiece
“The Princess Gloriana, called for her beauty the Morning Star, was blind.” | 26
“Her heart full of joy, the little Princess came at last to her Coronation.” | 50

THE GENIAL SULTAN

A sultan should be genial, you’ll admit, even if he is nothing else. But, because so few sultans are, Selim, the Sultan of Dar, renowned for his good nature, was much beloved not only among his own subjects, but among those of nearby lands, all of whom wanted to live in his kingdom.

In fact they crowded in so thickly that Selim had to think and think of ways to get someone else to help take care of them. The truth of the matter was that he wanted a vacation. For he was, as you can imagine, a very busy as well as a very genial sultan. But, although he had set his heart on a fishing trip, it was impossible to find anyone who could take his place even for a week; no one else was able to be, at one and the same time, Decider of Quarrels, Commander in Chief of the Army, Head Writer of the Laws, and also Champion Ball-Player of the nation.

His was indeed a difficult place to fill. Long and long the sultan puzzled over the matter while many new wrinkles went crinkling over his forehead and about his eyes as he pondered. Where was he to find a man to take his place? The Sultan thought of everyone, from Matzar, the Adviser in Chief, whose business it was to give unnecessary advice, and Piff, the Head Jailer, who was out of a job most of the time because the Sultan always pardoned all prisoners two or three hours after he had imprisoned them, to Casia, the youngest of his thirty-one wives, who would have made a very good ruler if she could only have kept herself from poking her nose into other people’s affairs. It was a trait the Sultan very much disliked. But she got along very well with all the other wives because there was nothing that went on inside or outside the minds of others that she could not tell them. She had even come to the point of informing the Sultan of thoughts that he was going to think the day after tomorrow, which was, you will agree, too much.

To go away was not as simple as it would at first appear. The Sultan called a meeting. Of course Matzar, the Chief Adviser, Piff, the Head Jailer, Peran, the First Wife, and Casia, the Beautiful, were there. When the Sultan asked his questions they all fell to talking and planning so hard that they had little time to think of ways and means to help him.

At last Selim, pulling at the corners of his fierce black moustache, cried aloud:

“But all this does not help me to go fishing!”

“If you will not take my advice——” began Matzar.

“And when, Matzar,” demanded the Sultan, “has your advice been taken? Your office is to give advice which no one ever follows. You have been very good—I could ask no better counsellor. But that does not help me to go fishing!”

“You are thinking,” put in Casia sweetly, “of how lovely it would be if you could just go away without a word and never come back.”

At that the Sultan glared at her while the ends of his black moustache waved in the air.

“I had not thought of it yet,” he cried curtly. “I was about to think of it the day after tomorrow.”

“He might think of it, my dear,” said Peran, the First Wife, “but he would never do so. He is far too busy. Last week he sent one hundred and three men to prison for theft, laziness and curiosity! He is a very busy man.”

“Ah!” wailed Piff, the Head Jailer, “you do not know! That same week he pardoned one hundred and four of them and my jail is as empty as ever! Oh, for the old days when his father, Trebizond, the Terrible, ruled! There was no overcrowding in the country then. Only the prisons were crowded—and those who escaped fled at once to other lands. Now they cannot come back quickly enough. But the rooms in my jail are all going to waste because of Your Majesty’s regrettable good nature. If Your Majesty would not pardon all of them, there would be plenty of room in the city for the rest of us.”

“Yes,” agreed Peran, “he is hopelessly genial.”

“There is much in what you say,” replied the Sultan. “But all this does not help me to go fishing.”

“He was always one to stick to a point,” went on Peran, a remark which almost made the Sultan angry.

“I have an idea!” he exclaimed finally, pleased with himself to have thought of it before Casia could guess it.

“What?” they demanded in one breath.

“I shall have a medal struck off,” said the Sultan. “There shall be but one like it in all the land. It shall be wrought of ivory and inlaid with rubies—and he who wins it shall rule in my place for a week.”

“But what must he do to win it?” asked Matzar.

“That, is my secret,” answered Selim, looking very hard at Casia whom he feared had already guessed it.

“Could a woman win it?” demanded Peran.

“That she might,” said Selim, who had no objection to women voting, thinking or even talking—he was so genial.

“But how?” gasped Peran and Casia together.

For answer the Sultan only put his finger to his lips and smiled mysteriously.

The next morning forty craftsmen went to work for forty days on the ivory medal, carving it, hunting for precious stones to adorn it, and polishing them until they shone like starlight over mountain torrents. Then, when it was finished, the Sultan sent forth a herald who carried it aloft, swung on a golden chain, and proclaimed to all the people that he who won it should rule for a week in the Sultan’s palace.

Much clamor and talk arose throughout the length and breadth of the land. The news flew from mouth to mouth. Crowds gathered in the already over-crowded streets. But when, one day, the Sultan appeared dressed as a hermit in rough, gray robes and walking barefooted, excitement and curiosity knew no bounds. All stopped to look and gape, pressing so close to him that only a very narrow pathway was left for the Sultan amid the jostling shoulders.

“Your Majesty,” advised Matzar, who was shocked at this behavior, “I should like to suggest that you put on your royal robes again instead of these ridiculous rags. What are you doing in the streets without your proper clothing?”

“Merely trying to do my morning shopping,” replied the Sultan calmly, “if these people would only let me pass. I am badly in need of some new fish-hooks——”

“Your Majesty’s jokes,” interrupted Matzar, “are not——”

But his words were cut short by a loud cheer; and, as he looked, he saw that the Sultan had shed his gray hermit’s robe and now appeared as a fighter, armed only with a short dagger. The people then thought that they understood and, nodding wisely, many of them ran home and returned similarly clad. But, although the Sultan fought with many he encountered, bearing defeat from some (while others he vanquished), no one was awarded the ivory medal, not even Matzar, who had disarmed the Sultan three times.

“Why do I not then win the medal?” he demanded of the Sultan.

But the Sultan only threw back his head and laughed.

“It is not a medal for fighters,” he replied. “Is it not enough that you have defeated your ruler?”

But, although the Sultan laughed much, he was still sad at heart. He thought of all the fishes slipping away forever down the flashing streams to the sea, and sighed.

Three days went by and on the fourth the Sultan issued from his palace clad in the bright orange garments of a street merchant. On his head he balanced, somewhat awkwardly, a tray on which were silver images, jewelled bracelets and strings of pearls. There was no one who did not stop his work to watch the Sultan pass. No one thought of anything else that day. Still the medal remained hidden in the Sultan’s scarlet girdle; and although he joked with those who bought his wares, a longer wrinkle than ever crept toward the corners of his mouth. He walked on, balancing the heavy tray on his head, until he had come to the outskirts of the city. There again Matzar addressed him.

“Is this a joke?” he demanded huffily, “this medal and this fishing trip? If so, I advise you to give it up.”

“Be careful, Matzar,” warned the Sultan. “Someday you will give advice that I can follow and then you will lose your job.”

Just then the Sultan stopped short and he was so surprised at what he saw that he very nearly tipped over the precious tray and all that it contained.

“Look!” exclaimed Selim.

There, seated on a high chair before her shop, stringing jade beads upon a scarlet thread, sat a young slave girl, her bronze arms flashing in the sunlight with each motion of her slender body. Her profile was fine as the line of the cloud that had drifted across the sky. Her clear green eyes followed each turn of her needle so intently that she never glanced at Selim and Matzar as they paused before her. When she did look up, however, Selim knew that she recognized him—for who in all the land knew not the Genial Sultan—but, unlike the mob, she gave no sign of surprise.

“Wouldst buy or sell?” she asked.

“I would buy your string of green beads,” the Sultan answered, “green like the forests where I am so soon to go.”

“Your Majesty does not know that he——” began Matzar.

But the Sultan did not let him finish. He addressed the girl again.

“Do you know me?”

“You are Selim,” replied the slave girl, “Sultan of Dar.”

“And do you not think it strange that I lay aside my royal robes to walk the streets as a common merchant?”

Then the slave girl made a reply that caused all the crowd to gasp.

“I ply my trade and you ply yours,” she said, while her silver needle again flashed in the air, “nor have I time to sit and stare.”

“Well, of all——!” Matzar started to speak, but once more the Sultan stopped him.

“What do you want for your string of jade?” he asked.

“What will you give me for it?” replied the slave girl.

For answer the Sultan slipped his hand into his orange robe and drew forth the ivory medal that it had taken forty days to fashion, and threw it about her neck.

“She only,” he said, “who can tend her own affairs in peace and let me tend mine, can rule my people wisely.”

So the slave girl, amid the rejoicings of the multitude, was crowned Thirty-Second Sultana of the land.

“We will turn the jail into a hotel,” she said on her Coronation Day, “for with the Genial Sultan as ruler, it is a complete waste as a jail. It is so big that there will be plenty of room for all.”

The Sultan, hearing, knew that he had chosen well and, slipping his rods over his shoulder and his pail over his arm, he crept quietly out of the back door of the palace and went fishing.

THE PRINCESS WHO COULD NOT SEE

“The Princess Gloriana, called for her beauty the Morning Star, was blind”

Away to the south, in the country where all the dead flowers go to grow again in winter time, an aged king reigned with his daughter over an outlying island, set like a green bouquet amid the tossing blue of the waves. Happy were the people over whom he ruled and King Hesperon might well have been happy, too, had it not been that one great sorrow brought trouble to his heart and soon silvered the hair beneath his gem-set crown. For the Princess Gloriana, called for her beauty the Morning Star, was blind. No vision had ever come to the deep eyes, blue as the larkspur that bent in the winds as they raced through her father’s gardens. When she looked out to the open spaces of the sea, there was nothing but a dark veil before her eyes, and when she listened to the screams of the birds, curving over her head, she could only picture them in her fancy. Strange pictures she made, perhaps not at all like the real birds, but to her they were very beautiful. Much indeed her father had told her about the pink petals of a rose and the soft curve of a baby’s cheek and of the slim fishes that shot noiselessly through the brooks. Still it was only natural that, with it all, the Princess had her own ideas, and, growing more and more to understand things by the sounds that they made, she grew to love them in her own way.

“But oh!” she cried one day to her father, “if I could only see the birds and the clouds but once and look just once on your face and at the great face of the sea, I could be happy.”

And the King, hearing, gave a deep sigh, while a tear like shining dew came to his eye. “If it takes half my kingdom you shall have your wish,” he told her, while she clung to him tightly, her own tears lying thick in her long lashes.

“Alas, Your Majesty,” she said, “it is not possible.”

“You shall see,” he told her.

Now it happened that in a nearby island there was a group of students who were learning to cure the world of its illness and trouble by the study of medicine and a knowledge of the human body. To these the King sent word in a message written upon fine parchment and embossed in many colors. “To him,” ran the message, “who shall bring sight to the eyes of the Princess Gloriana, shall be given half my kingdom and the hand of the Princess herself in marriage.”

So ran the message; and the people, hearing, hurried back and forth through the funny, crooked streets, spreading the news.

“What think you of this?” said one to his neighbor. “The Princess Gloriana, she whose beauty is greater than the dawn, she whom kings have loved, is promised in marriage to any comer who can make her see.”

“The Princess Gloriana?”

“Aye.”

“Have you seen her?” (A crowd began to gather in the streets.)

“I have seen her once,” came the reply, “and so lovely was she, with her white cloak flowing in the wind and her hair, like yellow flower-dust, falling beneath the band of sapphires, that I looked away and the tears came to my eyes at the thought that so lovely a creature should never behold herself in the deep waters of her father’s well.”

“Beautiful she is, indeed,” croaked the old Master-teacher, who, finding that no one had come to school, had joined the throng outside, “but there is only one to win her that I know of in all the world, and he—alas——!” He shook his old bald head on which his dirty black cap sat like a withered bug, and uttered a deep sigh, by which he meant that he feared some awful tragedy, some gloomy end for the Princess Gloriana.

“Who—who is it?” they asked him. “Of whom dost thou speak?”

“Not Stanley the Stalwart?” asked one.

“Perhaps Rupert the Wise,” wondered another.

“Why do you shake your old bald head?”

“And scowl so, Master?”

“Speak——!” “Speak!”

“And that I will if you but give me leave. Many there are that will go to the fair towers of King Hesperon’s castle; but none there be who can work the miracle—excepting one—Stepan, son of Pandor, the Cobbler.”

After he had spoken there was, for a moment, silence. Then a shout arose, full of laughter and jeerings.

“Stepan?” cried one.

“Not Stepan, the Awkward?”

“You can’t mean Stepan?”

“That ungainly fellow?”

“You are mocking us, Master!”

“Ho, ho, ho! Imagine the Princess Gloriana married to that clodhopper!”

“Why, he couldn’t make a proper bow at court. His doublet is worn threadbare!”

“His nose is so large that, when the sun shines, it casts a shadow over half his face!”

“Master!—Master!”

But the old Master, clapping his hands about his ears, ran down the cobbled streets to his house, his black sleeves flying to each side of him like the pointed wings of a bat.

* * * * * *

It was the last day of the contest. In the high throne room of King Hesperon all were agog with excitement. For weeks and weeks students and masters, kings and peasants, had been trying their cures. The poor Princess was very discouraged. The King sat in gloomy silence on his white rock throne, his head resting on his hand. Several times he had hoped that the cure might work. Once a fine-looking fellow with a velvet coat and lace ruffles and a perfumed handkerchief had shown great promise. Everyone had wanted him to win—everyone except perhaps the Princess herself, who had turned aside a little as he bent over her. It may have been that the perfume had offended her, used as her nostrils were only to the scent of roses and jasmine!

But today there was a larger throng than ever. Nobles from afar in gaily striped robes of blue and gold were there; young students in flame-colored brocades and silver buckles, masters in black robes and pointed shoes and common people in rough brown, all went whispering and laughing up and down the gray stone throne room. It sounded like a great council of bees. Many kings had come from strange countries, and fine ladies in silks and satins, among them two very young, very new queens who had never worn crowns before, and had made terrible mistakes in picking them out. One had bought a crown much too big for her which slipped down over her ears like a bandage, and the other had chosen one so much too tight that she kept pushing it off her head whenever she got excited, as she frequently did. They both were quite content with themselves however.

“I would that the nice young fellow in velvet had won the Princess,” said the First Queen. “I was so excited when he tried his cure that I felt cold even in my ermine coat.” You see, she had not had an ermine cloak very long and she wanted to talk about it, which was quite natural. A nearby student, hearing them, remarked that the fellow had known nothing of medicine or cures and so had failed.

“That doesn’t matter in the least,” snapped the First Queen, getting very angry and shoving her crown off her ears for it was scratching them terribly. “He was very handsome and dressed in perfect taste.”

“And his wonderful perfume, my dear,” cried the Other Queen. “I could smell it—even from here!” Suddenly she nudged the First Queen with her elbow. “Who is that?” she asked in a loud whisper, drawing her skirts aside lest they touch the cheap, dark garments of the man who passed them.

“That,” replied her companion, “is Stepan, the Cobbler. Watch him making his bow to the King. He looks as though he would break in two.” And she laughed so hard that her crown got altogether out of place and slipped around over one ear like a tam-o’-shanter.

Silence fell for a moment as the King’s Prime Minister rose to announce the newcomer.

“Stepan, son of Pandor, the Cobbler of Seristo,” read the Prime Minister in a loud voice, while a little ripple of laughter ran through the hall. But the King looked at the Cobbler so kindly that a gleam of hope sparked in the depths of Stepan’s gray eyes, and he made another bow, not quite so clumsy as the first.

“I also have come, Your Majesty,” he said, while his form seemed to gain dignity from his speech, “to cure your daughter’s malady.”

“You speak with great assurance,” said the King.

“And is it not right that he should speak so,” replied Stepan, “who has power to do all that he claims?”

Once again a little rivulet of laughter rose and died along the great stone walls of the throne room. Long the King looked at him, and sighed.

“We shall see,” he said. “In your turn, Stepan.”

“But it is his turn,” interrupted the Prime Minister rudely, “because everyone else has tried and failed.”

So the Princess was summoned, and, when she stood at the doorway, a hush fell like night over the people; for her beauty had a great radiance. In the narrow circlet that bound her long, gold hair, a yellow topaz shone like the morning star, and, as she moved, the gauze of her dress, soft as the peaceful, purple shadows over the hills, swept like a cloud about her ankles. But her eyes, blue as the larkspur, looked forth, unseeing. A little wearily, a little sadly, perhaps, she leaned on the arm of the Prime Minister who had come forward to help her to her throne.

Now so intent was Stepan upon the thing that he was about to do, that he almost forgot to make his third bow to the King, and started up the steps to the throne on which sat the Princess, giving only the jerkiest nod of the head toward the King’s throne. The remarks that flew from mouth to mouth were anything but complimentary!

Then an odd thing happened, very strange at Court where it is the custom for no one to speak unless commanded to do so by the King. Stepan, when he had almost reached the white ivory throne on which sat the Princess awaiting him, turned abruptly to the King. And what he said was so surprising and absurd, and Stepan looked so awkward standing there in his patched, brown clothes among all those gay colors, that the Prime Minister gave a little grunt right out loud and the two queens forgot altogether to whisper to each other and stood looking at Stepan with their mouths wide open.

“Your Majesty,” began Stepan in a quiet but very soft and mellow voice that brought a little smile to the lips of the Princess, “Your Majesty, before I shall apply my remedy to your daughter’s eyes, I have one request to make—in case I am successful.”

“Well!” exclaimed the queen with the big crown, that by this time had fallen down over one eye, “the greedy fellow! As if the King——! The rest of her remark was lost in the King’s reply.

“Speak, Stepan,” he said, “for I have sworn to restore my daughter’s sight if it takes all that I have.”

“Sire,” responded Stepan, and his tone was so kindly that the Princess leaned forward eagerly to catch all that he would say, “it is not of myself or of added riches that I would speak, but of the Princess Gloriana.”

It was very quiet in the throne room now. You could hear the great branches of the trees brushing against the window frettings, and the swish and gurgle of waves against the rocks.

“If I restore the sight of the Princess,” continued Stepan, “I would beg of Your Majesty that her hand be given to that man whom she herself shall choose.”

As he finished, no one spoke in all that vast room. The King himself sat there staring, and, as for the Prime Minister, he was so startled that he dropped the parchment roll of names and it went bumping down the steps like a jackstraw. Then arose the sound of voices in all pitches and keys. Each person wanted to tell his particular friend just what he thought of such a piece of impudence. For, you see, this was an unheard of thing at Court, or any other place, at that time. Princesses, as well as other girls, were supposed to be very contented with whatever husbands their fathers should choose for them. How could it be otherwise when such care was taken in the choice of husbands?

You can easily see that Stepan’s request was nothing short of a thunderbolt to them. All sorts of remarks were to be heard.

“The Princess pick out her own husband, indeed!”

“Why, what could she know about the matter?”

“Ridiculous!”

“It isn’t being done!”

In fact, it never had been done! Only the Princess, strange to say, unable to see the expressions of horror on so many faces, sat there smiling serenely and nodding her head in quite the most pleased and friendly manner in the world. To her it did not seem to be so very ridiculous a request and far—yes, really far from annoying or troublesome. Indeed, I really believe that at that moment she thought herself fully capable.

The King found his voice at last.

“Stepan,” he said gravely, “you have o’er-reached yourself. But there is nothing for me to do but to grant your request. Perhaps it is your natural modesty that makes you ask this.”

“Nay, Sire,” replied Stepan quickly, “’tis my pride.”

I do not need to tell you how it was that Stepan cured the Princess; how he worked over her until the long, weary afternoon drew to a close, and the sun hung like a huge, gold clock over the far hills. At last he approached her where she sat with her hands resting along the white arms of the throne, and her eyes covered with a large, black bandage.

“Princess Gloriana,” said Stepan, “are you ready to look out on the world with all that it holds of beauty and of ugliness?”

“He is a conceited fellow,” whispered the queen whose crown had grown so tight for her that she had a headache (though she wouldn’t for the world acknowledge it and go home).

The Princess, merely turning her head upward, smiled trustingly.

“I am ready,” she said softly and Stepan drew the big black bandage from her eyes.

It was a moment never to be forgotten in all the history of the island. Long afterwards would the students and the masters and the two queens in the uncomfortable crowns talk of this! For a moment the Princess sat there puzzled, a little scowl deepening on her forehead. Gradually it disappeared and very slowly she rose from her throne, her dress floating about her like mist. And all the while a little smile was touching her lips and growing. It was a lovely thing to behold that smile—such a smile of joy and wonder as no one had ever seen before or since. Suddenly she put her hands before her eyes as though to brush aside the fog and gave a little sob like the call of a wild bird.

“Oh!” she cried, “it is so wonderful and so strange and so funny! I can see! I can see!”

A very happy time followed for the Princess. She ran to the King, her father, stroking his long silky beard, touching the ruby crown, and laughing. She threw kisses to the crowd, utterly forgetting that she was a Princess and should have some dignity, and she laughed at the two queens in their badly fitting crowns until they got very red in the face and a little ashamed of themselves. It was strange, too, that many things that others had found beautiful, such as brilliant reds and oranges, she thought ugly because the glaring colors hurt her eyes, and many things that other people thought ugly, such as the over-grown walks in the gardens and the clovers that grew like weeds, she believed to be very beautiful. And much that was not usually noticed seemed very unusual to the Princess, such as the shadows over the hills and the quick, brown thrushes slipping through the bushes. So you can see that, during her long blindness, she had come to have ideas of her own on many things.

“It is now time,” said the Prime Minister sternly, thinking that she had played long enough, “for you to choose your husband.”

“Why!” exclaimed the Princess, “I had entirely forgotten.”

No one believed that but, since they all loved the little Princess, they merely smiled and said nothing. You can imagine, however, how exciting it was as the Princess passed among them, talking to each in turn, and how everybody held his breath when she came near Stanley, the Stalwart or when she laughed at some brilliant saying of Rupert, the Wise. It took her a long time; and, in fact, the Prime Minister, who was used to having things done with some speed, grew very impatient. It looked almost as if she would have no husband at all.

“It would serve her right if she didn’t,” remarked one of the new queens crossly.

“You speak sharply,” said Stepan who had come and stood near them, quite by accident.

At this moment the Princess paused and stood very still with her head just a little to one side. It was in this way that she used to stand in the garden when she first learned to tell the cries of the different birds. Across the huge stone throne room her eyes met those of Stepan and they gazed at each other in silence for a long time. Then the Princess, having, as I have said, no idea at all of beauty, and having during her childhood learned to judge by many signs of which we do not know, walked straight up to Stepan, the Cobbler, and put her hand in his.

“He it is that I choose,” she said gravely, “for to me he is the most beautiful of them all.”

Strange as it may seem, Stepan in his surprise and joy forgot altogether to be awkward and indeed the happiness in his eyes made him almost handsome, and the robe of blue that the Prime Minister threw over his shoulders (in spite of the cross looks of the two queens) gave him quite an air of elegance. At least so thought the Princess, who had ideas of her own on the subject.

Very happily lived the Princess with Stepan, the Cobbler, who ruled wisely, and so greatly was he beloved on the little island, it is said, that long before he died brown clothes and long noses had become very much the fashion and were thought beautiful by all. For who shall say what is beautiful and what is not? Perhaps if anything seems beautiful to us, that makes it so. So thought the Princess Gloriana, who made up her own mind about these things; and I daresay she was right.

LATE FOR THE
CORONATION

“Her heart full of joy, the little Princess came at last to her Coronation”

The little Princess lay on her bed and sobbed. Tomorrow she was to be crowned Queen, and her manners were still far from perfect. In fact Pom-Pom, the Lord High Chamberlain, and Mizzi, the Master-teacher, and Bombo, the Chief Cook, had all gone so far as to say that she had none at all. And they had reason. She cried for buttered crackers and hot milk when Bombo served her with fine salads and roasted pigeons, she never learned her spelling lessons, and she treated Rollo, the Errand Boy, as though he were a Prince. Once they had seen her giggling—yes, actually giggling with him, on the very day on which he had borrowed Pom-Pom’s white wig and his best handkerchief, on which were written all the State Secrets! Pom-Pom did not know what they were laughing at, but he had an idea that it was at him that they were laughing. At any rate the little Princess enjoyed herself so much that she had a very large appetite that night for dinner, which was not considered ladylike in the Royal Palace, and she ate three large bowls of crackers and milk instead of one.

Today three things had happened to spoil her happiness. She had been forbidden by Carla, the Head Nurse, to go into the gardens, she had had to listen to a long talk between Pom-Pom and a stranger about a new war; and, worst of all, Rollo, her only playmate, was to be sent away, far, far away Pom-Pom had said. He had told her in his everyday manner, quite in the same tone of voice that he used in talking about boundary lines and armies; and all the time he kept looking down at her over his rimmed glasses and his bumpy, red nose. It made the Princess very unhappy and angry, and she felt like crying. Of course she did not cry. Princesses do not cry, because crying is even worse than laughing. But oh, how she hated Pom-Pom! He was fat and round, like a stuffed canary, in his yellow velvet coat and breeches. His stomach stuck out like a stuffed canary’s, his feet in the long, pointed shoes stuck out, and then his nose stuck out.

“Your Highness,” he said, “will rest indoors today and retire early, so as to be ready for the Coronation tomorrow.”

“But I don’t want——” began the Princess and stopped. Hadn’t she been told that it is the most unladylike thing in the world to argue? Pom-Pom showed his surprise with a “Tch—Tch” noise in his throat. Then he bowed very low, as though he were a servant.

“For many, many years there have been customs among the Royal House. It is these that you will obey, when you are Queen—and not myself or anyone else.”

He bowed again, and it was so hard for him to do it that the Princess felt like laughing again, because, all tumbled-over like that, he looked like a round, yellow muffin. You and I would have laughed surely, but not the Princess. She bowed too, looking up slyly to see if he could straighten out, and when he had, she gave a great sigh of relief. When the door had closed upon him, she sighed again.

It was after that that she threw herself on the bed and wept bitterly. And it was while she was sobbing that a Big Idea came to her. She turned over on the bed, propped herself on her elbows, and blew her nose hard. This helped her a lot. The Big Idea grew bigger and bigger, and the funny thing about it was that Pom-Pom himself had put it into her head. Had he not said that it was a custom she was to obey and not himself or Mizzi, or Carla, the Nurse, or Bombo, the Chief Cook?

“Custom, custom,” repeated the little Princess to herself, “k-u-s-t-u-m—custom.” She had got so into the habit of spelling every word for Carla and Mizzi that she did it without thinking.

“And what is a custom?” said the Princess to herself. “Why, I suppose it’s a rule—r-o-o-l.”

At that she fell to thinking very hard and this is what she thought:

“It is much easier to disobey a rule than to disobey Pom-Pom or Bombo or Mizzi, because none of them made the rule.” It had been made, you see, many, many years ago. The Princess now sat up very straight and smiled right through her tears.

But someone must have made it at sometime!

“Why,” said the little Princess to herself, “the people that made it aren’t even alive!”

It was perfectly plain to see that, if they weren’t alive, they couldn’t care a bit whether she stayed in her room, whether she ate crackers and milk, whether she laughed with Rollo, or even whether she came to the Coronation at all!

“I will go away,” whispered the little Princess to herself, “where there aren’t so many rules.”

As soon as this Idea came to her, the Princess lost no time. She put her clothes and her jewels into a little sack which she hid carefully under a long, black cape. Then she tied an old shawl of Carla’s over her head and crept carefully, without making the slightest noise, down the back stairs of the castle. It was just twilight and she hid behind the pantry door until it grew dark, and then she slipped out among the thick bushes.

It was some time before she found Rollo, crying near the garden wall, his curly head buried in his arm. She came up to him on tiptoe.

“Rollo,” she whispered. “Rollo!”

He turned, startled, but, when he saw who it was a smile spread slowly over his face.

“I’m going with you, Rollo,” said the Princess softly. “Come.”

“But you cannot do that!” cried Rollo. “Think of Pom-Pom, and Mizzi and Bombo. Would you disobey?”

The Princess stood very straight.

“I am a Queen,” she said. “I need never obey Pom-Pom or anyone. Only a rule. Pom-Pom said so himself—and that is easy to break. I shall merely make new rules.”

“But where are you going?” gasped Rollo.

“To see my country,” the little Princess told him.

Hand in hand they sought the long passage beneath the castle, and though it was full of cobwebs and even bats, the little Princess did not complain, but, drawing the hood of her long cape over her head, went forward through the darkness and dust, until at last a little streak of light showed them that they were coming out into the world.

So Rollo and the little Princess went forth to see her own country, and what befell them on the way I will soon tell you.

Now there were some words that Carla, the Royal Nurse, and Pom-Pom had explained to the Princess very fully, such as wars and boundary lines and Court and manners; but there were other words that they had not thought needful to a Princess, so they had not even mentioned them to her. This caused her to make many mistakes as soon as she went outside the castle gardens and to learn much that Pom-Pom had never taught her.

The first of these mistakes occurred very soon after Rollo and the Princess had left the castle. They had gone some distance along a narrow pathway and already the castle looked like a lump of black towers at the top of the hill. It was very dark and they had to stumble over the uneven road as best they could. The Princess’ robe was torn and her face was scratched, but she scarcely noticed it, so happy was she to be able to laugh and talk all she wanted to with Rollo. Now a soft, rounded object like an orange cushion crept from behind the hills.

“The moon!” exclaimed Rollo.

“The moon? Oh, Goodie!” said the Princess, who had always been put to bed by Carla before the moon was up. She began to dance a little dance all her own down the road, when Rollo jerked her by the sleeve.

“Sh-sh-h-h!” he whispered. “They’ll be hunting for you all over soon. And anyhow tonight we’ll be hungry—and then what’ll we do?”

“Oh, what?” gasped the little Princess, forgetting her glee.

Rollo was silent. They walked on so for a moment or two, while the orange moon grew and grew, from a flat cushion into a round balloon, and finally it rose right out of the woods and seemed to balance itself foolishly on the pointed arm of a pine tree. Suddenly Rollo grasped the little Princess roughly by the arm.

“There!” he said. “Did you see that?”

“What?”

He pointed through the bushes to a very faint light that flickered through the leaves; and, going toward it, they soon came to a tiny house and garden. Rollo walked boldly up and knocked. After what seemed a very long wait, they heard footsteps and a pounding that sounded like a cane and then the key turned in the lock.

The little Princess was sure she had never seen anything like the old man that stood in the doorway as it swung open. Had she not seen him with her own eyes, she would never have believed that there could be anything so withered and knotted and bent as he was, or that there could be anything as worn and loose and baggy as his clothes, quite unlike the yellow velvet breeches that Pom-Pom wore. But beneath the soft, silky hair of the old man, a pair of blue eyes twinkled at the Princess and quite charmed her. He invited her to come in so pleasantly and stood aside holding the candle to light the way in so friendly a fashion that the Princess felt more welcome than she ever had in her own castle. The room was certainly more comfortable than the castle. Instead of high windows and carved chairs, there were little cross-barred windows and Grandfathers’-chairs, some flowers, and a low stool before a blazing fire.

“Step right in,” said the old man, “step right in and warm yourselves. And perhaps,” he added, his little eyes sparkling merrily, “perhaps you’ll have a cup of tea with Gamma Turkin and myself.”

The little Princess laughed and clapped her hands.

“We’d love it, wouldn’t we, Rollo? Tea—and cookies?”

“Cookies of course,” replied the old fellow, and he shouted to someone in the other room, then turned and looked at the little Princess as though he thought her the loveliest creature in all the world.

At the sound of the voices an old woman appeared at the door, as wrinkled and bent as himself, and dressed in a rough brown dress and the whitest, cleanest cap imaginable.

“What, tea at this time!” she exclaimed. Then, catching sight of the little Princess, “Wherever did you come from, child? Sit right down and Gamma Turkin will bring you tea.”

“And cookies,” the little Princess reminded her. (You see Bombo had never been allowed to feed the little Princess more than one cooky a week, because cookies were much too common for a Princess.)

It was a feast and the little Princess, munching greedily, asked as many questions as she liked, and you can see from what she asked how many things Mizzi and Pom-Pom and Carla had forgotten to teach her.

It was in the midst of the fifth cooky that the little Princess paused for breath and asked the first question.

“What is that for?” she said, trailing her finger around a large patch on the old man’s knee. Gamma Turkin gave an angry snort, but, seeing the sweet expression on the little Princess’ face, smiled instead.

“That is a patch,” the old man explained gently. “Have you never seen one?”

The little Princess shook her head.

“What is it for?” she asked again.

“Why!” said Gamma Turkin, “to cover a hole, of course!”

“But——” began the little Princess, and just then Rollo kicked her.

“Sh-h-h!” he whispered.

“Let her ask what questions she chooses,” said the old man much puzzled, but looking at the Princess affectionately.

“Then—why not wear another coat?” said the Princess.

“Because I have no other.”

“Couldn’t you get one?”

“Don’t you see?” Rollo interrupted.

“Let her be!” cried the old man. Then, turning to the little Princess, “I am too poor.”

For sometime the little Princess stared at him in silence, while a strange frightened feeling grew about her heart.

“What—is poor?” she asked finally.

“Poor,” said the old man, “is always to live in hope. To have few things—but to prize them highly.”

And the Princess, seeing tears in Gamma Turkin’s eyes, threw her arms about her.

“I, too, have been poor!” she cried. “But, oh, so differently!”

So saying she drew from her sack one of the crown jewels, a rare and lovely ruby, and slipped it in the pocket of Gamma Turkin’s worn dress. But Gamma Turkin did not see her, and it was only long afterwards that she found the ruby. But that I will have to tell you a little later.

In the morning, rested by a good night’s sleep in a high feathered bed, the little Princess and Rollo set out again on their journey. It was a hot, dusty road and the little Princess shared her cookies with all who passed, so that by noon none were left. But she had had a very happy time, talking to all whom she met, and learning all about their lives, which seemed very strange to the Princess.

By nightfall they were both hot and dirty and hungry, but this time there was no house in sight. On all sides a thick forest stood about them, with fearful shadows and rustling noises. It grew darker. A star glimmered to the north, but there was as yet no moon. The little Princess felt like crying, but Princesses do not cry. So she grasped Rollo even tighter by the hand and they trudged on.

“You must rest soon,” said Rollo finally.

The little Princess shook her head. But she put her hand to her head and to her foot. “Though I feel something here,” she said, “and here.”

Just at that moment they heard a low groan that seemed to come from the woods, so close that the little Princess jumped and her heart beat strangely. Sounds of music and soldiers marching and even guns the little Princess had heard before, but never a noise like that! She would have hung back, had not Rollo seized her by the hand. Quickly parting the bushes, they came upon a little twisting path that after a few turns led them to a white tent from which the groans still issued. Rollo lifted the flap of the tent and peered in. Then he beckoned to the Princess. There on a straw mattress in the corner lay a very thin young man, who looked at them crossly at first; but, upon seeing the face of the little Princess, he smiled.

“Come in,” he said in a high voice. The Princess did so, very quietly, and it was only then that she noticed that the young man’s face was drawn about the lips and eyes in a way that she had never seen before. He held out his hand to her.

“Perhaps you will stay for supper—though it isn’t much that I have to offer you. Only crackers and milk, which an old peasant woman brings me every morning.”

The Princess jumped up and down for joy.

“Oh, I hoped that you would ask us to supper!” she cried. “And I think crackers and milk the best thing on earth. You see, Pom-Pom——”

Here Rollo coughed to remind her that she must not give her secret away.

“Who are you?” the sick man questioned her. “A fairy or just a gypsy?”

“I will tell you after supper,” replied the little Princess. “But isn’t it time that you were getting up?”

The man gave her a strange look, which soon changed to one of puzzlement.

“I do not get up—at least for some weeks,” he told her. “I am sick.”

“And what is that?” asked the little Princess. You see now how very little Pom-Pom and Mizzi had taught her, for no sick person had ever been allowed to come into the Royal Rooms occupied by the Princess.

“Sick is to have pain. Something that is with you constantly, either in your body or in your mind—and makes you feel—while it lasts—that you can never laugh again.”

The little Princess’ hand went to her head and then to her feet—just as it had along the road when her feet felt sore from tramping and her head had become dizzy from hunger.

“That’s it!” exclaimed the man on the cot. “You must have had very funny teachers.”

“They taught me a great deal,” said the little Princess, “but it is all very strange——” She broke off suddenly. “When were you first sick?”

“In the war,” he answered her gently, and this was a word the little Princess understood.

“And do wars always make men sick?”

He nodded gravely. At that the little Princess fell to thinking, and she thought so long and so hard that Rollo had to poke her to tell her that supper was ready at last.

That night the little Princess slept but little on the straw provided for her in the tent, for she had a great many things to think about. And in the morning, before the sick man was awake, she took another jewel from her sack—this time a sapphire that sparkled like morning sunlight over a lake—and she slipped it into a coffee cup. Then very quietly she and Rollo started out along the road.

A long, long way they walked—how many days and nights passed the Princess could not remember; and everywhere they stopped people were kind to them and took them in, and everywhere the little Princess learned new words, and every day her sack got lighter and lighter, until there was only one jewel left.

At last one night Rollo found the little Princess so absorbed in thinking over all she had learned that she did not answer him when he spoke to her. He felt of her sack in which the one jewel remained, and he felt afraid for what would become of them. It was a very lonely road and once more the moon was slowly crawling over the end of it. At last the little Princess turned to Rollo.

“Where shall we rest—and eat?” she asked.

“Ah!” cried Rollo, “when you were not hungry I was beginning to think that something was the matter. But, alas! where shall we eat and rest?”

He looked about him sadly. Under a cloudy sky the road stretched before them empty of travellers. It looked as though it led straight into the center of the moon. But in a few minutes the moon lifted itself away from the road and lighted up the whole country with a soft, white light. Then Rollo gave a sudden leap of joy.

“Look there!” he commanded, pointing to a bridge that ran over a tiny stream.

There near the steps of the bridge stood an old man, and nearby stood a youth and a young girl in whose yellow hair the moonbeams were caught and tangled. But as Rollo and the little Princess approached, they could see that she had been weeping.

The Princess held her breath for a moment. Then she went straight up to the old man—he was the sort of old man that one would go straight up to—and she whispered in his ear.

“Why—is she crying?”

He looked at her for a long time and she repeated her question.

“What is the—matter?”

The old man set down his cane and put his hand on the little Princess’ shoulder.

“Is it really true that you do not know?”

Rollo opened his mouth to speak but wisely decided not to.

“I do not know—many things,” said the little Princess, remembering all her other visits.

“She is crying,” explained the old man, “because she loves the boy—and he is going away.”

The Princess looked very grave. She thought that she had asked almost enough questions, and that she had better stop. But finally she got up courage and said:

“What is love?”

If the old man had looked surprised before, he looked as though someone had really puzzled him now. But, glancing at the little Princess, he could not doubt her honesty.

“It is difficult to explain,” he said, “but it is like having everything you want in the world—and then, sometimes, like having nothing at all.”

“Look!” said the little Princess. “She is smiling now—almost laughing. At least her eyes are laughing.”

“Yes,” agreed the old man, “they are both smiling now.”

“And why is she happy now?”

“For everyone we love,” said the old man patiently, “we gain something—and we give up something.”

“Is it wise, then?” asked the little Princess, “to love?”

“What do you think?” said the old man.

And the Princess, looking at the two lovers, sighed and smiled.

“I think it is wise,” she said, which is just what you would have expected of her. “I, too,” said the little Princess, “love.”

The old man nodded, as though she had told him no news.

“Whom do you love?” he asked her.

“I love Gamma Turkin and the sick man of the tent. I love Rollo and the beautiful lady with the golden hair and——” the little Princess swung her arms about as though to include the world—“and everybody,” she said. “I love even Pom-Pom and Mizzi and Carla—and Bombo—and——”

“Stop!” cried the old man. “You are going much too fast!”

The little Princess looked at him, her mouth open.

“Only a Queen,” continued the old man “should love so many people.”

And for the last time in her life the little Princess said, “Why?”

“Because only she who loves all the people of her country can rule wisely.”

For a moment the little Princess regarded him in silence.

“Ah, then,” she said finally. “I must go back.”

“Where?” demanded the old man.

“Home,” said the little Princess. “For I have learned something.”

“And what is that?”

“To obey a rule,” she answered sadly.

So it was that Rollo and the little Princess of their own accord started on their homeward way. But before they left the Princess took the last jewel from her sack. It was warm with the yellow flame of firelight and it was cool with the clear yellow of moonlight, and for an instant the little Princess gazed at it longingly, then she slipped it into the old man’s hand; and he, being as you have seen a very wise old man, asked no questions but only pointed out the road to them and wished them Godspeed.

They had gone only a very short distance however when Pom-Pom’s army, that had been hunting them high and low, discovered them, torn and bedraggled, and carried them back post-haste to the castle gates.

There a great crowd awaited them. It seemed that all the people of the land, learning that the little Princess had been found, had gathered together to welcome her back. It was very surprising.

Suddenly the little Princess was aware of Pom-Pom in his rimmed spectacles and his velvet suit. One thing was very plain to see and that was that he was exceedingly angry. Once more he bowed low, and once again the little Princess thought of Bombo’s yellow muffins and wondered whether he could straighten out again. He did straighten out, however, at which the little Princess gave a sigh of relief, while Bombo frowned and Carla and Mizzi shook their heads. Something very terrible was in store for the little Princess and they knew it.

“Your Majesty,” said Pom-Pom puffily, “it has long been a custom and a rule in this Court that no Royal Princess shall be crowned Queen who is late to her own Coronation.”

He paused to let his words sink in.

“The crown will go to the next in line.” He closed his mouth tightly and looked down at the Princess over his rimmed glasses and his bumpy, red nose.

The little Princess could hardly restrain her tears. It is a dreadful thing to find out that you cannot do a thing just when you have decided that you must do it. And the Princess had just decided that she wanted to be Queen.

“But what am I to do?” she cried. “What that will become of——”

A great roar from the crowd swallowed up her question. It seemed to come from miles and miles around and to grow louder every instant, until even Pom-Pom had to put his hands over his ears. A man who leaned on a cane came forward, and the Princess saw that it was the sick man of the tent. He looked much stronger and bigger. When he raised his hand the crowd became silent. Then he bowed very low to Pom-Pom.

“The people,” he said, “will have no other Queen.”

Pom-Pom grew red in the face.

“They have nothing to say about it,” he snapped.

The man bowed again.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But they are saying it very loudly.”

Pom-Pom’s face was now purple.

“She cannot reign in this castle!” he shouted angrily.

“Be that as it may,” said the man of the tent, “she will reign in the hearts of her people.”

At that moment, amid the cheers and laughter of the throng, an old lady, in a neat brown dress and the most spotlessly white cap imaginable, came forward; and in her hand she held a crown. It was woven of mistletoe and thistle-down; and in the center, where the great ruby should have been, was instead a large red poppy; and where the yellow topazes shone in the royal crown this one had a cluster of yellow wood-violets; and where the sapphire should have been set, there was a larkspur. Very carefully Gamma Turkin and a beautiful lady, whose golden hair was still more lovely in the morning light, placed the crown on the head of the little Princess. And the sun came out and shone on all its petals, and the wind rustled down, scattering its perfumes among all. It was a very beautiful sight.

Even Pom-Pom took off his rimmed spectacles and blew his nose long and hard on his best silk handkerchief on which were embroidered all the State Secrets of the Kingdom. This caused him to lose several pounds. The Princess could not help laughing; but she was at the same time so sorry for him that she decided, in spite of the protests of the crowd, to keep him at the castle as Lord-High Censor of the Spelling Book, a post that he fulfilled with honor and dignity until he died. As for Rollo, he became her Chief Adviser and wore a white wig that pleased him mightily, although it was not in the least becoming.

So, standing at her castle gates, her ragged cape hanging loosely from her shoulders, her sack empty of jewels but her heart full of joy, the little Princess came at last to her Coronation.

The End.

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Table of Contents

- The Genial Sultan
- CONTENTS
- ILLUSTRATIONS
- THE GENIAL SULTAN
- THE PRINCESS WHO COULD NOT SEE
- LATE FOR THE CORONATION
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE