The pie which caused the greatest excitement as it passed along, drawn by four white horses, was that of Roger, the master cook, who walked proudly beside it. When it came opposite the King the carriage stopped, the cover was lifted, and ten beautiful babies on a bed of roses waved their little hands and began to sing. The Queen leaned forward eagerly, forgetting to be hungry. "How sweet! The darlings!" she murmured. "Oh, this is the best of all!" Roger the cook heard her and flushed with triumph. But the King grumbled: "Humph! They look good enough to eat, but--my faith! I hope that this is the end, for soon I must eat something, or I shall become a cannibal!" "Your Majesty!" protested the Queen, faintly. But the King interrupted her. "What comes here?" he cried. "This looks sensible!" It was Rafe and the pretty maid bringing up the rear of the procession. Side by side they walked in cap and apron, he bearing the small, delicately browned pie, she with a jug of yellow cream. No one paid any attention to them, but closed in around them, following Roger's chariot. When Rafe and Meg came opposite the King and Queen, they turned and Rafe bowed low, holding up the pie as high as he could. The pretty maid curtsied gracefully, and offered the cream-jug with a winsome smile. The crowd was fain to hustle them on; but the King struck the floor with his staff and pointed eagerly at the pie. "Hold!" he cried. "What have you there?" Every one stopped and began to stare. Rafe bowed again. "'T is a pie, Your Majesty," said Rafe simply,--"an apple pie." "With cream for the top," lisped the little maid, curtsying again. "Apple pie!" cried the King. "Who ever heard of an apple pie! A pie should be of savory meat. But of apples!" Words failed to express his astonishment. "Butter and sugar, Sire, go to the making of it, and the dust of a wondrous nut. Will you taste it, Sire?" Rafe held out the pie temptingly. "With thick cream to pour on the top--yellow, sweet, rich, thick cream!" said Meg, lingering over each word as if it melted on her lips. "Give hither that pie!" almost shouted the hungry King. "I will look into this matter." And, drawing a dagger from his girdle, he seized and stabbed the pie to the heart. Sniffing at it eagerly, his eyes grew round, and he smacked his lips. "It is good, I wager my scepter!" he cried. "Hand me the cream, fair maid." The little maid stepped up and daintily poured cream upon the shattered pie, and without more ado the King began to eat with his dagger. (This was not considered bad manners in those days.) After the first mouthful he stopped only to say: "Food of the Fairies! Pie of the Pixies! Cook, you are a magician!" He went on at a rate which threatened not to leave a mouthful. But the Queen pulled at his sleeve. "A bite for me, Your Majesty," she begged. And, with an apology, the King handed her what was left, watching her wistfully till she ate the last crumb.