soft texture. She was humming to herself the little song of the dove
and the donjon, and something in the plaintive voice, the solitary
figure, went straight to Merry’s gentle heart.
“Poor Jilly can’t have any of the fun,” was the first thought; then
came a second, that made Merry start and smile, and in a minute
whisper so that all but Jill could hear her, “Girls, I’m not going to
be the Princess. But I’ve thought of a splendid one!”
‘Who?” asked the rest, staring at one another, much surprised by
this sudden announcement.
“Hush! Speak low, or you will spoil it all. Look in the Bird Room,
and tell me if that isn’t a prettier Princess than I could make?”
They all looked, but no one spoke, and Merry added, with sweet
eagerness, “It is the only thing poor Jill can be, and it would make
her so happy; Jack would like it, and it would please everyone, I
know. Perhaps she will never walk again, so we ought to be very
good to her, poor dear.”
The last words, whispered with a little quiver in the voice, settled
the matter better than hours of talking, for girls are tenderhearted
creatures, and not one of these but would have gladly given all the
pretty things she owned to see Jill dancing about well and strong
again. Like a ray of sunshine the kind thought touched and
brightened every face; envy, impatience, vanity, and discontent
flew away like imps at the coming of the good fairy, and with one
accord they all cried,
“It will be lovely; let us go and tell her!”
Forgetting their own adornment, out they trooped after Merry, who
ran to the sofa, saying, with a smile which was reflected in all the
other faces, “Jill, dear, we have chosen another Princess, and I
know you’ll like her.”
“Who is it?” asked Jill, languidly, opening her eyes without the
least suspicion of the truth.
“I’ll show you”; and taking the cherished veil from her own head,
Merry dropped it like a soft cloud over Jill; Annette added the long
plume, Susy laid the white silk dress about her, while Juliet and
Mabel lifted the scarlet shawl to spread it over the foot of the sofa,
and Molly tore the last ornament from her turban, a silver star, to
shine on Jill’s breast. Then they all took hands and danced round
the couch, singing, as they laughed at her astonishment, “There she
is! There she is! Princess Jill as fine as you please!
“Do you really mean it? But can I? Is it fair? How sweet of you!
Come here and let me hug you all!” cried Jill, in a rapture at the
surprise, and the pretty way in which it was done.
The grand scene on the Twenty-second was very fine, indeed; but
the little tableau of that minute was infinitely better, though no one
saw it, as Jill tried to gather them all in her arms, for that nosegay
of girlish faces was the sweeter, because each one bad sacrificed
her own little vanity to please a friend, and her joy was reflected in
the eyes that sparkled round the happy Princess.
“Oh, you dear, kind things, to think of me and give me all your
best clothes! I never shall forget it, and I’ll do anything for you.
Yes! I’ll write and ask Mrs. Piper to lend us her ermine cloak for
the king. See if I don’t!”
Shrieks of delight hailed this noble offer, for no one had dared to
borrow the much-coveted mantle, but all agreed that the old lady
would not refuse Jill. It was astonishing how smoothly everything
went after this, for each was eager to help, admire, and suggest, in
the friendliest way; and when all were dressed, the boys found a
party of very gay ladies waiting for them round the couch, where
lay the brightest little Princess ever seen.
“Oh, Jack, I’m to act! Wasn’t it dear of the girls to choose me?
Don’t they look lovely? Aren’t you glad?” cried Jill, as the lads
stared and the lasses blushed and smiled, well pleased at the frank