Day after day she had her stupid lessons; day after day they made her repeat the dull, senseless rules of the Kingdom’s Constitution. These she could neither understand nor remember, and for this reason she made very little progress. Her teachers, who found themselves growing fond of the gentle blue-eyed child, felt sorry for her, and wished [Illustration: THE LARGE ROSE-GARDEN ENCLOSED BY THE HIGH BRICK WALL WAS THE ONLY SPOT OUTSIDE THE PALACE ITSELF, WHERE RUTH WAS PERMITTED TO WANDER] that she might escape her hard tasks. Often and often Ruth herself thought of the Cobbler’s cottage, and felt that her life would have been far happier had she remained there. Then she thought of David. And when her thoughts turned in this direction, her poor heart beat so fast and ached so sorely that it seemed like a wild bird held within a cruel wire cage from which there was no escape. What could she do? How could she ever hope to find David now, since she had lost the trail, lost the Blue Bird, and was held a captive within the high walls of the Bronze King’s Palace? Ruth’s voice was clearer and sweeter than ever, and the King found one of his chief delights in hearing her sing. Often he would call for music, bidding her bring her harp that she might play. Then she would sing, while all within the royal Palace listened. The girl loved her music above all things else. Often she composed songs that filled her own heart with delight, for they captured and contained memories of her old life of the days when David had worked and played with her--those days that seemed now so long, long ago. Her voice had an almost magical effect upon those who listened. Sleep would creep over them one by one till many had closed their eyes and were wrapped in deep and peaceful slumbers, while her song still filled the room with music. One after another would drop off to sleep in this way. Sometimes the first to be affected would be one, sometimes another. Sometimes the King himself would be the first to sleep; then again he would remain awake during all the music, according to how weary he might feel when the song began. So it was with all who listened to her clear girlish voice. Once the King said to her: “You will put us all to sleep some day; yes, every one in the Palace, if you but sing long enough.” “What a funny sight that would be!” cried Ruth, laughing. “Some day perhaps I will try it.” There was one song that she loved particularly. She had written it herself, and it meant a great deal to her. The words were: “The forget-me-nots in the meadow Reflect the sky’s own blue. As they lift their tiny blossoms To catch the falling dew. The Blue Bird flies o’er the meadow; Through the calm his note is heard. Lo, the throbbing heart of Nature Is in tune with the song of a bird.”