The Princess was in bed, but she rose, dressed herself, and went out with the cat. When they reached the thicket they found the gardener’s son, who had let himself out with the iron key, and they mounted and rode away as hard as they could go. They got safely out of the kingdom after a few days’ riding, and, in the first city to which they came, the lovers were married. The cat was best man, and a fine figure he made; for, though he had not been able to bring his feathered hat and green ribbons with him, he bought a new one even grander than the first, and a white rosette for his tail in honour of the wedding. The gardener’s son became very rich by reason of the cherry-stick, which brought him a bag of gold at every new moon, and he built a castle for his wife and a fine villa for the cat, with a fountain in the garden which played tunes, and a vinery which was the envy of the civilised world. He became very friendly with the King of the country in which he settled, and, at his death, inherited the kingdom. So the Princess became a Queen after all. JACK FROST A STORY FOR VERY LITTLE CHILDREN There was once a little old man called Jack Frost who lived up in the sky. He was very small and very wicked and he had a long, long nose and the most dreadful crooked hands in the world. His beard was thin and pointed and stuck out in front of him; and, on his head, he wore a pointed cap made of ice which glittered in the moonlight. When the moon was a crescent he would sit astride of it, looking into the earth below and thinking what horrible mischief he could do next. [Illustration: HE CAME DOWN ON A WEATHERCOCK WHICH WAS FIXED ON TOP OF A LARCH-TREE] His favourite amusement was to come jumping down into some nice garden where the flowers were still blooming at the end of the autumn and pinch all their beautiful heads until they died. Sometimes, too, he would pinch the birds’ toes, and sometimes, in the winter, he was so cruel as to kill the poor little things outright. He had a heart as hard as a stone, and the more wickedness he could do, the better he was pleased. The birds hated him, and the squirrels hated him, and the gardeners hated him, and no wonder, too. One day he sat on the moon in a very terrible humour thinking of all the bad things he meant to do; and he took a great jump and came down on a weathercock which was fixed on the top of the larch-tree near a big stone house standing in a garden. Inside the house a little boy in his night-shirt stood at a window; the curtains were closed behind him in the warm room, but he had got out of bed to admire the stars which were bright overhead. He saw Jack Frost swinging about on the weathercock and he did not know who he was. “Nurse!” he cried, “come and look at the funny little man who is sitting all by himself on the weathercock!”