Five fairies had one after the other given the child such gifts as each counted best, and the fifth had just stepped back to her place in the surrounding splendour of ladies and gentlemen, when, mumbling a laugh between her toothless gums, the wicked fairy hobbled out into the middle of the circle, and at the moment when the archbishop was handing the baby to the lady at the head of the nursery department of state affairs, addressed him thus, giving a bite or two to every word before she could part with it: “Please your Grace, I'm very deaf: would your Grace mind repeating the princess's name?” “With pleasure, my good woman,” said the archbishop, stooping to shout in her ear: “the infant's name is little Daylight.” “And little daylight it shall be,” cried the fairy, in the tone of a dry axle, “and little good shall any of her gifts do her. For I bestow upon her the gift of sleeping all day long, whether she will or not. Ha, ha! He, he! Hi, hi!” Then out started the sixth fairy, who, of course, the others had arranged should come after the wicked one, in order to undo as much as she might. “If she sleep all day,” she said, mournfully, “she shall, at least, wake all night.” “A nice prospect for her mother and me!” thought the poor king; for they loved her far too much to give her up to nurses, especially at night, as most kings and queens do--and are sorry for it afterwards. “You spoke before I had done,” said the wicked fairy. “That's against the law. It gives me another chance.” “I beg your pardon,” said the other fairies, all together. “She did. I hadn't done laughing,” said the crone. “I had only got to Hi, hi! and I had to go through Ho, ho! and Hu, hu! So I decree that if she wakes all night she shall wax and wane with its mistress, the moon. And what that may mean I hope her royal parents will live to see. Ho, ho! Hu, hu!” But out stepped another fairy, for they had been wise enough to keep two in reserve, because every fairy knew the trick of one. “Until,” said the seventh fairy, “a prince comes who shall kiss her without knowing it.” The wicked fairy made a horrid noise like an angry cat, and hobbled away. She could not pretend that she had not finished her speech this time, for she had laughed Ho, ho! and Hu, hu! “I don't know what that means,” said the poor king to the seventh fairy. “Don't be afraid. The meaning will come with the thing itself,” said she. The assembly broke up, miserable enough--the queen, at least, prepared for a good many sleepless nights, and the lady at the head of the nursery department anything but comfortable in the prospect before her, for of course the queen could not do it all. As for the king, he made up his mind, with what courage he could summon, to meet the demands of the case, but wondered whether he could with any propriety require the First Lord of the Treasury to take a share in the burden laid upon him.