THE PRINCESS.
Jan had given Nono the strictest injunctions to ask questions only of
policemen when he had once entered the great city. Of course Nono
implicitly obeyed, and so was soon able to find the palace. What a
grand building he thought it, and how beautiful the bright water about
it! He was sure the world could show nothing more charming than the
home of the Swedish king.
Nono would have trembled at the idea of entering the royal palace if he
had not remembered that the good princess, his princess, was there. He
had a friend within the castle. Not that the palace looked at all like
a fortified castle. Its plain, square sides were pierced by long rows
of rectangular windows, while on the water-front two long white wings
shut in a quiet garden. In one of these wings, he had been told, the
princess had her home. A sentinel was at the entrance of the vast
courtyard through which he had learned he must pass. The guard looked
so imposing that Nono almost trembled as he took off his felt hat and
asked the way to the part of the palace where the princess lived. The
sentinel condescended to point his finger towards the colonnade under
which the desired door was to be found.
A lady was just ringing the bell. Nono watched her, and then closely
imitated her movements. The door flew open for him, too, as it had
done for her. A dignified, gray-haired man, in a livery Nono
considered quite royal apparel, looked inquiringly at the little
visitor. Nono asked simply to see the princess about a matter of
importance. He was shown into a room, where a fair-haired lady gave
him a kindly reception, and told him her royal highness would see him
in a few moments.
What rich moments of waiting those were for little Nono! He stood as
if on enchanted ground. From the wall looked out faces of gentlemen
and ladies in gorgeous array. Real people they seemed to be, though
silent and quiet, as, encircled by bright frames, they condescended to
be looked at by the wondering, admiring black eyes that were fixed upon
them. There, too, were bits of nature brought into that rich
room--flashing waterfalls, and quiet pastures, and golden skies through
which Nono almost fancied he could see the heaven beyond.
Nono stepped on the soft carpet without a thought of its strangeness to
his rustic feet. A vision of beauty had been vouchsafed to him, and
his eyes glanced from picture to picture, now glistening with delight
and now lost in rapt admiration.
The fair lady, who had been watching him with amusement, soon told him
that he might now go in to her royal highness, but only for a few
moments, as this was her morning for receiving the poor, and as she had
many to talk with her she was very tired.
Nono saw nothing of the room into which he was now admitted, nothing
but the tall, slender, stooping figure that came forward to meet him.
The painters have liked to give the angels golden hair, but this was to
Nono a black-haired angel. Smooth, dark, glossy bands framed in the
high, full forehead, while the delicate chin made a corresponding point
below. The large brown eyes were full of loving light, and the thin
mouth smiled a welcome before the lips had spoken it.
"What have you to say to me, my boy?" said the princess. A weary look
quickly clouded her face, and she sank suddenly into an easy-chair,
saying, "I have had many visitors to-day, so you must say quickly and
plainly what you have to tell me."
"Perhaps I had better come another day," said Nono. It grieved him to
see his princess look so weak and worn. Recollecting himself, he
added, "But I don't see how I could, for I have come just for this a
long way--from near Aneholm Church."
"Aneholm Church!" exclaimed the princess, brightening. "I once had a
dear friend who lived in that neighbourhood. What do you want to tell
me?"
It was hard for Nono to make his story short. He must go back to the
bear, and how he came to the cottage, or the princess would not
understand why he loved Karin and little Decima so, and why he felt he
must help them. The princess must hear, too, about the accident, and
how it was almost his fault, because he had insisted on having Decima
out with the boys.
The princess soon forgot her weariness. This was no common beggar,
with sycophant whine and forced civility. Nono spoke freely, frankly,
and trustfully. She was some one good and powerful, who, he was sure,
would gladly help him. His dark eyes looked into hers as he stood
before her, while his words sprang from his heart, and his hands and
his whole figure helped to illustrate his story. When he came to
little Decima, the sister whom the brothers loved and took care of, who
played with the boys, and was the pet and darling of all, the whole
face of the listener was aglow.
"I was just such a little sister!" exclaimed the princess. "I never
played with a doll in my life. I was the special pet with one of my
brothers, who loved me very dearly. We romped and we painted, and we
made clay figures together. I know what a brother can be!" and the
tears for a moment filled her eyes. She dashed them away, and told
Nono to go on with his story.
Nono wanted to say that he had seen a beautiful thing the princess had
made, and that was one reason why he felt so acquainted with her, but
he wisely kept to Decima and what he wanted for her.
When the princess heard of Decima's misfortune, and of the big room
where all the family lived, the boys always leaving the door open to
blow on the little patient, her heart was quite melted, as it had been
many times before, as she compared her own comfort with the
surroundings of the sick poor. She herself had been long an invalid,
and often for months a prisoner in her beautiful rooms. She put out
her arm towards Nono, who had drawn near to her in his eagerness, and
was now close at her side. Affectionately her white slender hand was
laid on the boy's, as she said,--
"Yes, Nono, your little Decima shall have a place in my home for sick
children. I will have the permit made out at once, and she can come as
soon as 'Mother Karin' can send her."
The princess spoke aside to the fair lady, who began to write the few
words that were necessary, but stopped to ask Nono the full name of the
patient.
"Decima Desideria Persson," was the prompt reply.
"Desideria!" said the princess, with a pleasant smile. "That was my
grandmother's name, so the little girl half belongs to me to take care
of."
"We don't call her Desideria," said Nono truthfully. "She had that
name because it stands in the almanac, and seemed to sound well with
Decima, Mother Karin thought; and besides, she wanted the only little
girl to have a name-day to keep as well as the boys.".
Again the pleasant smile came into the face of the princess. She wrote
in a free and flowing hand her signature to the permit, which was duly
placed in an envelope and given to Nono.
"Since Decima Desideria is to be my guest, I must pay for her journey,"
said the princess.
Nono received the generous gift, and dared to kiss the hand that gave
it. He was too full of joy and gratitude to express himself fully by
his murmured thanks.
"I understand you, Nono," said the princess. "You can go now. Perhaps
we shall meet again, some day; perhaps up there, if we both love the
dear Lord and try to be his true children." The thin hand made a sweep
upwards towards heaven, whither Nono, child as he was, felt that his
princess was going, all too soon for the mourning hearts she would
leave behind her.
So ended Nono's visit to the royal palace. The princess sank wearily
back in her chair when the fair lady had gone out with Nono. On her
mild face there was a shadow that betokened something more than
weariness. That little boy she had trusted so implicitly while she
looked into his clear eyes, what if he should prove an impostor? She
had had her own bitter experience from the falsehoods of the apparently
needy. "No! Nono is not an impostor, I am sure," she said to herself.
"Little Decima, no doubt, ought to be taken care of immediately." A
slight smile came over her thoughtful face as she recalled the unusual
name.
The dignified old servant now brought in the letters from the morning
mails. The first that the princess opened was in an unfamiliar hand.
A cloud of sadness came over her, as a friend long in heaven was
recalled to her mind. The colonel had written, not to renew the sorrow
of the princess by reminding her of his lovely wife, but to say that he
had accidentally heard of Nono's departure, without credentials or
recommendations of any kind to insure her confidence. The letter
guaranteed the truthfulness and honesty of the boy, and contained warm
words in favour of the family at the golden house.
The good princess was glad to be acquitted of rashness in her promise,
and was once more encouraged to love and to trust, and to give freely
out of her abundance.
Little Nono had started cheerily on his homeward journey, grateful at
heart. He was hopeful as to finding Blackie at the house where he had
been assured his pet would be awaiting his return from the palace.
Nono was met there by rude answers to his eager inquiries, and was told
that no one had seen anything of a little black pig, nor did any one on
those premises wish to see anything more of a little dark boy full of
impudent questions. There was a sweep of meadows about the house, and
no other dwelling was near the spot.
Nono could but disconsolately begin again his homeward walk, and try to
forget his pet in the thought of the future opening before little
Decima. He betook himself to the highroad, and trudged along as
cheerily as he could. Drops of blood on the snow suddenly arrested his
attention. They formed a regular line leading into the far distance,
where a familiar black object was getting over the ground at a
marvellous rate. It must be Blackie! Nono gave a long whistle by
which he was accustomed to call his four-footed friend. The black
object stopped. The whistle was repeated, and in a few moments the
little pig was awkwardly capering about his master, almost tying his
tail into knots, as it was twisted round and round as an expression of
delight.
Blackie had evidently escaped from confinement and uncongenial society.
Where he had been, of course he could not tell. His poor nose was
sadly torn where the ring had been wrenched away as he broke loose from
his imprisonment. Nono was glad that Blackie had lost his badge of
servitude; and as to needing a rope to be led by, the poor creature was
willing enough to follow Nono wherever he might choose to lead him. A
kind countryman returning from the city with an empty waggon gave the
odd pair a good lift, and took them along so rapidly that towards
evening they reached the shoemaker's cottage. Nono thought best to be
set down there, and he was hardly on the ground with Blackie beside him
when there was an impromptu concert of singing and scolding that
brought the inmates of the house at once to the door.
Of course the travellers were warmly welcomed. There was great
eagerness to hear Nono's adventures, and he was at once besieged with
all sorts of questions. When he had told his story, the shoemaker got
up and bowed respectfully to the absent princess, whom Nono had so
vividly described that she seemed actually standing there in the
cottage. "There be some good people left in high places!" exclaimed
honest Crispin. "It's of no use talking against the royal family while
such a princess is above ground." So some dim socialistic ideas that
had been troubling the mind of the poor shoemaker died a violent death,
and the warm loyalty of his youth took the upper hand.
Nono and Blackie were hospitably housed for the night, and treated
almost as if they were ambassadors from court, with a flavour of
royalty about them.
It is needless to tell with what joy the travellers were received the
next day at the golden house, or what rapid preparations were made for
Decima's departure. The princess should see that Jan and Karin were
prompt to avail themselves of her kindness.
Jan took an unusual holiday, and actually was for the first time in a
railroad car, with Decima cuddled close at his side.
Decima Desideria, who had a keen sense of her own fitness to come to
honour, really seemed to think the children's hospital had been
established for her special benefit, and that her presence there, and
the ado that had been made about her, were quite natural matters, with
which gratitude had very little connection. Once made mistress of one
of the little white beds, and surrounded by every comfort, her
arrogance and her exactions would probably have known no bounds, if she
had not wonderingly seen about her from day to day deformed children,
suffering children, and almost idiots, as tenderly cared for as
herself. It somehow came into her head to be thankful that she at
least had but to lie in her bed, without great pain, that she could
understand all that was said to her, and could even be learning to knit
and crochet, which she was doing with extreme satisfaction.
How Decima longed to see the good princess! When at last that
much-talked-of princess came and stood by her bed, and beamed down love
and tenderness, the little invalid was softened into real gratitude,
which she managed brokenly to express, with tears in her eyes. Then
the kind princess talked to her cheerfully and naturally of the great
Shepherd of the lambs, as of some one whom she knew and who was really
dear to her.
At the golden house religion had been lived and inculcated; at the
hospital it seemed the felt, ever-pervading atmosphere. Heavenly
comfort was sung in the sweet hymns, breathed in the trustful prayers,
spoken of as something always in mind, and acted out in the sweet
offices of love towards the unfortunate. Such surroundings were
life-giving to the poor little invalid. Her fretfulness gave way, and
a sweet quietness succeeded her nervous irritation. After the weary
turmoil of the past in the noisy, crowded home, there was now a serene
peace for her, as if the angels had taken her under their sheltering
wings.