When she heard how they had reached her country she was much astonished, and invited them to go with her to the palace of her uncle, which was not far off. Her uncle was a King, and, as she had neither father nor mother, he had taken her to live with him and his Queen. They arrived at the palace and the Princess presented the two friends to her uncle, who asked them to stay at the court as long as they pleased; the Prince was in a very bad temper, for he thought that the Princess seemed to like his companion better than himself. “_I_ will stay with great pleasure,” he said, “but this fellow is only the son of my father’s gardener. He ought to go to the kitchen.” The King could hardly believe him. “Is that true?” he asked the gardener’s son. “It is, your Majesty,” said the young man. So he was sent off to live with the servants, and the only comfort he had was the thought that the Princess looked sorry. The Prince enjoyed himself very much in the palace, but his pleasure was spoilt because the Princess did not take much notice of him and seemed glad when she saw the gardener’s son anywhere; she always stopped and spoke kindly to him. This made him furious. [Illustration: INSIDE THE HUT THE WITCH WAS SITTING BY THE FIRE] One day he went to the King and told him that his former companion was a good-for-nothing fellow, and that he had heard him trying to stir up mischief among the palace servants, and he suggested that he should be sent away and made to work for his living. So the King told the Queen, and the Queen settled that he should be apprenticed to a witch who lived not far off, and who wanted a man to work in the garden and help her to keep her magic books and tools in order. So the gardener’s son went. When the day came for him to go he took his little bundle in his hand, looked up at the Princess’s window, and set off for the witch’s hut, which lay in the cleft of a hill. When he arrived there he saw, to his great surprise, that a cherry-tree, just like the one in the world he had left, was growing close to the door. Inside the hut the witch was sitting by the fire; she was the most horrid-looking old woman imaginable; and her double chin hung down below the strings of her cap. Beside her, on the hearth, sat a little half-starved black cat with green eyes. “I suppose you are the young man from the palace,” said she. “I am,” said the gardener’s son. He then made a bow to the witch, and being very well-mannered, he made a bow to the cat too. “You needn’t do that,” said the witch. “I am one thing but the cat is quite another. His name is Sootface.” “It’s not a very nice name,” said the cat, apologetically. “And you are not a very nice cat,” said the witch; “so it is all the more appropriate.”