A former queen of Spain once rode out in the country, when the
driver of the royal carriage became lost and spent two hours
vainly trying to find the way. The queen and the infanta were
somewhat alarmed.
All at once they came upon an old wood-cutter, who, with a bunch
of fagots upon his back, gathered laboriously from the stunted
bushes to be found here and there, had sunk down to the ground,
evidently for a moment’s rest.
“Ho, my good man!” the driver of the royal carriage called out.
“Will you tell us the road to Madrid?”
“No,” said the wood-cutter, “I will not, except on one
condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That you take me in and carry me back to the city.”
The coachman declined to do this.
“Very well, then; find the road yourself,” said the wood-cutter.
The queen here intervened. She ordered the coachman to let the
man tie his fagot at the back of the coach, and to take him upon
the driver’s seat and drive him home.
The man tied his rough fagot at the back of the royal coach,
mounted the box, and the road to Madrid was soon found.
When the royal carriage entered the city in this queer state,
there was a great sensation, as the people readily recognized
the equipage. The wood-cutter sat proudly on the box. When his
quarter was reached, he got down and unfastened his fagot. The
queen put her head out of the door.
“Go to the royal palace to-morrow,” she said, “and your service
will be rewarded.”
The old man, suddenly perceiving whose passenger he had been,
was overcome with humiliation. He stood bowing, rubbing his cap
between his hands, and uttering exclamations of astonishment
until the carriage was out of sight.--_The Christian
Register._
(190)