“Look here,” he said; “I won’t have it. Listen to reason—or you’ll be sorry afterwards. A fairy who breaks the traditions of fairy history goes out—you know she does—like the flame of a candle. And all tradition shows that only _one_ bad fairy is ever forgotten at a christening party and the good ones are always invited; so either this is not a christening party, or else you were all invited except one, and, by her own showing, that was Malevola. It nearly always is. Do I make myself clear?” Several of the better-class fairies who had been led away by Malevola’s influence murmured that there was something in what His Majesty said. “Try it, if you don’t believe me,” said the King; “give your nasty gifts to my innocent child—but as sure as you do, out you go, like a candle-flame. Now, then, will you risk it?” No one answered, and presently several fairies came up to the Queen and said what a pleasant party it had been, but they really must be going. This example decided the rest. One by one all the fairies said goodbye and thanked the Queen for the delightful afternoon they had spent with her. “It’s been quite too lovely,” said the lady with the snake-bonnet; “_do_ ask us again soon, dear Queen. I shall be so _longing_ to see you again, and the _dear_ baby,” and off she went, with the snake-trimming quivering more than ever. When the very last fairy was gone the Queen ran to look at the baby—she tore off its Honiton lace cap and burst into tears. For all the baby’s downy golden hair came off with the cap, and the Princess Melisande was as bald as an egg. “Don’t cry, my love,” said the King. “I have a wish lying by, which I’ve never had occasion to use. My fairy godmother gave it me for a wedding present, but since then I’ve had nothing to wish for!” “Thank you, dear,” said the Queen, smiling through her tears. “I’ll keep the wish till baby grows up,” the King went on. “And then I’ll give it to her, and if she likes to wish for hair she can.” “Oh, won’t you wish for it _now_?” said the Queen, dropping mixed tears and kisses on the baby’s round, smooth head. “No, dearest. She may want something else more when she grows up. And besides, her hair may grow by itself.” But it never did. Princess Melisande grew up as beautiful as the sun and as good as gold, but never a hair grew on that little head of hers. The Queen sewed her little caps of green silk, and the Princess’s pink and white face looked out of these like a flower peeping out of its bud. And every day as she grew older she grew dearer, and as she grew dearer she grew better, and as she grew more good she grew more beautiful. Now, when she was grown up the Queen said to the King— “My love, our dear daughter is old enough to know what she wants. Let her have the wish.” So the King wrote to his fairy godmother and sent the letter by a butterfly. He asked if he might hand on to his daughter the wish the fairy had given him for a wedding present.