of the dispatches that had been received, and of the sponsors who had been decided upon. She was perfectly satisfied with all the arrangements that had been made.
When Walpurga had returned to her room and had placed the child in the cradle, she walked up and down and seemed quite agitated.
"There are no angels in this world!" said she. "They're all just like the rest of us, and who knows but-" she was vexed at the queen: "Why won't she listen patiently when her child cries? We must take all our children bring us, whether it be joy or pain."
She stepped out into the passageway and heard the tones of the organ in the palace chapel. For the first time in her life, these sounds displeased her. It don't belong in the house, thought she, where all sorts of things are going on. The church ought to stand by itself.
When she returned to the room, she found a stranger there. Mademoiselle Kramer informed her that this was the tailor to the queen.
Walpurga laughed outright at the notion of a "tailor to the queen." The elegantly attired person looked at her in amazement, while Mademoiselle Kramer explained to her that this was the dressmaker to her majesty the queen, and that he had come to take her measure for three new dresses.
"Am I to wear city clothes?"
"God forbid! You're to wear the dress of your neighborhood, and can order a stomacher in red, blue, green, or any color that you like best."
"I hardly know what to say; but I'd like to have a workday suit, too. Sunday clothes on week-days-that won't do."
"At court, one always wears Sunday clothes, and when her majesty drives out again you will have to accompany her."
"All right, then. I won't object."
While the tailor took her measure, Walpurga laughed incessantly, and he was at last obliged to ask her to hold still, so that he might go on with his work. Putting his measure into his pocket, he informed Mademoiselle Kramer that he had ordered an exact model, and that the chief master of ceremonies had favored him with several drawings, so that there might be no doubt of success.
Finally, he asked permission to see the crown prince. Mademoiselle Kramer was about to let him do so, but Walpurga objected. "Before the child is christened," said she, "no one shall look at it just out of curiosity, and least of all, a tailor, or else the child will never turn out the right sort of man."
The tailor took his leave, Mademoiselle Kramer having politely hinted to him that nothing could be done with the superstition of the lower orders, and that it would not do to irritate the nurse.
This occurrence induced Walpurga to administer the first serious reprimand to Mademoiselle Kramer. She could not understand why she was so willing to make an exhibition of the child. "Nothing does a child more harm than to let strangers look at it in its sleep, and a tailor at that."
All the wild fun with which, in popular songs, tailors are held up to scorn and ridicule, found vent in Walpurga, and she began singing:
"Just list, ye braves, who love to roam!
A snail was chasing a tailor home,
And if Old Shears hadn't run so fast,
The snail would surely have caught him at last."
Mademoiselle Kramer's acquaintance with the court tailor had lowered her in Walpurga's esteem, and with an evident effort to mollify the latter, she asked:
"Does the idea of your new and beautiful clothes really afford you no pleasure?"
"To be frank with you, no! I don't wear them for my own sake, but for that of others, who dress me to please themselves. It's all the same to me, however! I've given myself up to them, and suppose I must submit."
"May I come in?" asked a pleasant voice. Countess Irma entered the room. Extending both her hands to Walpurga, she said:
"God greet you, my countrywoman! I am also from the Highlands, seven hours distance from your village. I know it well, and once sailed over the lake with your father. Does he still live?"
"Alas! no; he was drowned, and the lake hasn't given up its dead."
"He was a fine-looking old man, and you are the very image of him."
"I am glad to find some one else here who knew my father. The court tailor-I meant the court doctor-knew him, too. Yes, search the land through, you couldn't have found a better man than my father, and no one can help but admit it."
"Yes: I've often heard as much."
"May I ask your ladyship's name?"
"Countess Wildenort."
"Wildenort? I've heard the name before. Yes, I remember my mother's mentioning it. Your father was known as a very kind and benevolent man. Has he been dead a long while?"
"No, he is still living."
"Is he here, too?"
"No."
"And as what are you here, Countess?"
"As maid of honor."
"And what is that?"
"Being attached to the queen's person; or what, in your part of the country, would be called a companion!"
"Indeed! And is your father willing to let them use you that way?"
Countess Irma, who was somewhat annoyed by her questions, said:
"I wished to ask you something-can you write?"
"I once could, but I've quite forgotten how."
"Then I've just hit it! that's the very reason for my coming here. Now, whenever you wish to write home, you can dictate your letter to me, and I will write whatever you tell me to."
"I could have done that, too," suggested Mademoiselle Kramer, timidly; "and your ladyship would not have needed to trouble yourself."
"No, the countess will write for me. Shall it be now?"
"Certainly."
But Walpurga had to go to the child. While she was in the next room, Countess Irma and Mademoiselle Kramer engaged each other in conversation.
When Walpurga returned, she found Irma, pen in hand, and at once began to dictate.
"Dear husband, dear mother, and dear child. No, stop! don't write that! Take another sheet of paper. Now I've got it, now you can go on."
"I wish to let you know, that by the help of God, I arrived here safe and sound, in the carriage with the four horses. I don't know how. And the queen's an angel, and there were millions of lights, and my child-"
Walpurga covered her face with both hands-she had said "my child," without knowing which child she meant.
A pause ensued.
"And my child," said Countess Irma, repeating the words after her.
"No!" exclaimed Walpurga, "I can't write to-day. Excuse me; there's no use trying. But you've promised to write for me to-morrow or the day after. Do come and see us every day."
"And shall I bring a good friend with me?"
"Of course; any friend of yours will be welcome. Isn't it so. Mademoiselle Kramer?"
"Certainly; Countess Irma has special permission."
"I'll bring a very good friend with me; she can sing charmingly, and her voice is soft and gentle-but I'll not torment you with riddles; I play the zither, and will bring mine with me."
"You play the zither?" exclaimed Walpurga, scarcely able to contain herself for joy.
Any further expressions on her part were prevented by the presence of the king, who entered at that moment.
With a gentle inclination of the head, he greeted Countess Irma, who had risen from her seat and bowed so low that it seemed as though she meant to sit down on the floor.
"What are you writing?" asked the king.
"Walpurga's secrets, may it please Your Majesty," replied Countess Irma.
"The king may read all that's there," said Walpurga, handing