It was long past midnight when he reached it, but, to his surprise, the

old woman was paring potatoes at the door. Fairies are fond of doing odd

things. Indeed, however they may dissemble, the night is always their

day. And so it is with all who have fairy blood in them.

“Why, what are you doing there, this time of the night, mother?” said

the prince; for that was the kind way in which any young man in his

country would address a woman who was much older than himself.

“Getting your supper ready, my son,” she answered.

“Oh, I don't want any supper,” said the prince.

“Ah! you've seen Daylight,” said she.

“I've seen a princess who never saw it,” said the prince.

“Do you like her?” asked the fairy.

“Oh! don't I?” said the prince. “More than you would believe, mother.”

“A fairy can believe anything that ever was or ever could be,” said the

old woman.

“Then are you a fairy?” asked the prince.

“Yes,” said she.

“Then what do you do for things not to believe?” asked the prince.

“There's plenty of them--everything that never was nor ever could be.”

“Plenty, I grant you,” said the prince. “But do you believe there could

be a princess who never saw the daylight? Do you believe that now?”

This the prince said, not that he doubted the princess, but that he

wanted the fairy to tell him more. She was too old a fairy, however, to

be caught so easily.

“Of all people, fairies must not tell secrets. Besides, she's a

princess.”

“Well, I'll tell you a secret. I'm a prince.”

“I know that.”

“How do you know it?”

“By the curl of the third eyelash on your left eyelid.”

“Which corner do you count from?”

“That's a secret.”

“Another secret? Well, at least, if I am a prince, there can be no harm

in telling me about a princess.”

“It's just the princes I can't tell.”

“There ain't any more of them--are there?” said the prince.

“What! you don't think you're the only prince in the world, do you?”

“Oh, dear, no! not at all. But I know there's one too many just at

present, except the princess----”

“Yes, yes, that's it,” said the fairy.

“What's it?” asked the prince.

But he could get nothing more out of the fairy, and had to go to bed

unanswered, which was something of a trial.

Now wicked fairies will not be bound by the law which the good fairies

obey, and this always seems to give the bad the advantage over the good,

for they use means to gain their ends which the others will not. But it

is all of no consequence, for what they do never succeeds; nay, in the

end it brings about the very thing they are trying to prevent. So

you see that somehow, for all their cleverness, wicked fairies are

dreadfully stupid, for, although from the beginning of the world they

have really helped instead of thwarting the good fairies, not one of

them is a bit wiser for it. She will try the bad thing just as they all

did before her; and succeeds no better of course.

The prince had so far stolen a march upon the swamp-fairy that she

did not know he was in the neighbourhood until after he had seen the

princess those three times. When she knew it, she consoled herself by

thinking that the princess must be far too proud and too modest for any

young man to venture even to speak to her before he had seen her six

times at least. But there was even less danger than the wicked fairy

thought; for, however much the princess might desire to be set free, she

was dreadfully afraid of the wrong prince. Now, however, the fairy was

going to do all she could.

She so contrived it by her deceitful spells, that the next night the

prince could not by any endeavour find his way to the glade. It would

take me too long to tell her tricks. They would be amusing to us, who

know that they could not do any harm, but they were something other than

amusing to the poor prince. He wandered about the forest till daylight,

and then fell fast asleep. The same thing occurred for seven following

days, during which neither could he find the good fairy's cottage. After

the third quarter of the moon, however, the bad fairy thought she might

be at ease about the affair for a fortnight at least, for there was no

chance of the prince wishing to kiss the princess during that period.

So the first day of the fourth quarter he did find the cottage, and the

next day he found the glade. For nearly another week he haunted it. But

the princess never came. I have little doubt she was on the farther

edge of it some part of every night, but at this period she always wore

black, and, there being little or no light, the prince never saw her.

Nor would he have known her if he had seen her. How could he have

taken the worn decrepit creature she was now, for the glorious Princess

Daylight?

At last, one night when there was no moon at all, he ventured near the

house. There he heard voices talking, although it was past midnight; for

her women were in considerable uneasiness, because the one whose turn it

was to watch her had fallen asleep, and had not seen which way she went,

and this was a night when she would probably wander very far, describing

a circle which did not touch the open glade at all, but stretched away

from the back of the house, deep into that side of the forest--a part

of which the prince knew nothing. When he understood from what they said

that she had disappeared, and that she must have gone somewhere in the

said direction, he plunged at once into the wood to see if he could find

her. For hours he roamed with nothing to guide him but the vague notion

of a circle which on one side bordered on the house, for so much had he

picked up from the talk he had overheard.

It was getting towards the dawn, but as yet there was no streak of light

in the sky, when he came to a great birch-tree, and sat down weary at

the foot of it. While he sat--very miserable, you may be sure--full of

fear for the princess, and wondering how her attendants could take it so

quietly, he bethought himself that it would not be a bad plan to light

a fire, which, if she were anywhere near, would attract her. This he

managed with a tinder-box, which the good fairy had given him. It was

just beginning to blaze up, when he heard a moan, which seemed to come

from the other side of the tree. He sprung to his feet, but his heart

throbbed so that he had to lean for a moment against the tree before he

could move. When he got round, there lay a human form in a little dark

heap on the earth. There was light enough from his fire to show that it

was not the princess. He lifted it in his arms, hardly heavier than a

child, and carried it to the flame. The countenance was that of an old

woman, but it had a fearfully strange look. A black hood concealed her

hair, and her eyes were closed. He laid her down as comfortably as he

could, chafed her hands, put a little cordial from a bottle, also the

gift of the fairy, into her mouth; took off his coat and wrapped it

about her, and in short did the best he could. In a little while she

opened her eyes and looked at him--so pitifully! The tears rose and

flowed from her grey wrinkled cheeks, but she said never a word. She

closed her eyes again, but the tears kept on flowing, and her whole

appearance was so utterly pitiful that the prince was near crying too.

He begged her to tell him what was the matter, promising to do all

he could to help her; but still she did not speak. He thought she was