“There aren’t any more to steal,” said the Princes—but when they looked, there were the gold apples back on the tree just as before. So once again they each picked one. Denis chose a different one this time. He thought it might be softer. The last time he had chosen the biggest apple—but now he took the littlest apple of all. “Seven kisses!” he cried, and began to kiss the little gold apple. Each Prince kissed the apple he held, till the sound of kisses was like the whisper of the evening wind in leafy trees. And, of course, at the seventh kiss each Prince found that he had in his hand not an apple, but the fingers of a lovely Princess. As for Denis, he had got his little sister Daisy, and he was so glad he promised at once to give her his guinea-pigs and his whole collection of foreign postage stamps. “What is your name, dear and lovely lady?” asked Prince Primus. “Sexta,” said his Princess. And then it turned out that every single one of the Princes had picked the wrong apple, so that each one had a Princess who was not the one mentioned in his letter of instructions. Secundus had plucked the apple that held Quinta, and Tertius held Quarta, and so on—and everything was as criss-cross-crooked as it possibly could be. And yet nobody wanted to change. Then the old woman came out of her house and looked at them and chuckled, and she said— “You must be contented with what you have.” “We _are_,” said all twelve of them, “but what about our parents?” “They must put up with your choice,” said the old woman, “it’s the common lot of parents.” “I think you ought to sort yourselves out properly,” said Denis; “I’m the only one who’s got his right Princess—because I wasn’t greedy. I took the smallest.” The tallest Princess showed him a red mark on her arm, where his little teeth had been two nights before, and everybody laughed. But the old woman said— “They can’t change, my dear. When a Prince has picked a gold apple that has a Princess in it, and has kissed it till she comes out, no other Princess will ever do for him, any more than any other Prince will ever do for her.” While she was speaking the old woman got younger and younger and younger, till as she spoke the last words she was quite young, not more than fifty-five. And it was Miss Fitzroy Robinson! Her pupils stepped forward one by one with respectful curtsies, and she allowed them to kiss her on the cheek, just as if it was breaking-up day. Then, all together, and very happily, they went down to the furnished villa that had once been the Select School, and when the half-professor had promised on his honour as a Magician to give up Magic and take to a respectable trade, they took his legs out of the starry sphere, and gave them back to him; and he joined himself together, and went off full of earnest resolve to live and die an honest plumber. “My talents won’t be quite wasted,” said he; “a little hanky-panky is useful in most trades.”