“‘Little Hans is certainly a great loss to every one,’ said the Blacksmith, when the funeral was over, and they were all seated comfortably in the inn, drinking spiced wine and eating sweet cakes. “‘A great loss to me at any rate,’ answered the Miller; ‘why, I had as good as given him my wheelbarrow, and now I really don’t know what to do with it. It is very much in my way at home, and it is in such bad repair that I could not get anything for it if I sold it. I will certainly take care not to give away anything again. One always suffers for being generous.’” “Well?” said the Water-rat, after a long pause. “Well, that is the end,” said the Linnet. “But what became of the Miller?” asked the Water-rat. “Oh! I really don’t know,” replied the Linnet; “and I am sure that I don’t care.” “It is quite evident then that you have no sympathy in your nature,” said the Water-rat. “I am afraid you don’t quite see the moral of the story,” remarked the Linnet. “The what?” screamed the Water-rat. “The moral.” “Do you mean to say that the story has a moral?” “Certainly,” said the Linnet. “Well, really,” said the Water-rat, in a very angry manner, “I think you should have told me that before you began. If you had done so, I certainly would not have listened to you; in fact, I should have said ‘Pooh,’ like the critic. However, I can say it now”; so he shouted out “Pooh” at the top of his voice, gave a whisk with his tail, and went back into his hole. “And how do you like the Water-rat?” asked the Duck, who came paddling up some minutes afterwards. “He has a great many good points, but for my own part I have a mother’s feelings, and I can never look at a confirmed bachelor without the tears coming into my eyes.” “I am rather afraid that I have annoyed him,” answered the Linnet. “The fact is, that I told him a story with a moral.” “Ah! that is always a very dangerous thing to do,” said the Duck. And I quite agree with her. [Picture: Decorative graphic of windmill and overturned barrow] The Remarkable Rocket. [Picture: The Remarkable Rocket] THE King’s son was going to be married, so there were general rejoicings. He had waited a whole year for his bride, and at last she had arrived. She was a Russian Princess, and had driven all the way from Finland in a sledge drawn by six reindeer. The sledge was shaped like a great golden swan, and between the swan’s wings lay the little Princess herself. Her long ermine-cloak reached right down to her feet, on her head was a tiny cap of silver tissue, and she was as pale as the Snow Palace in which she had always lived. So pale was she that as she drove through the streets all the people wondered. “She is like a white rose!” they cried, and they threw down flowers on her from the balconies. [Picture: Decorative graphic of young man kissing the princess’ hand]