She was watched more carefully after this, no doubt; yet it would be endless to relate all the odd incidents resulting from this peculiarity of the young princess. But there never was a baby in a house, not to say a palace, that kept the household in such constant good-humour, at least below-stairs. If it was not easy for her nurses to hold her, at least she made neither their arms nor their hearts ache. And she was so nice to play at ball with! There was positively no danger of letting her fall. They might throw her down, or knock her down, or push her down, but couldn't _let_ her down. It is true, they might let her fly into the fire or the coal-hole, or through the window; but none of these accidents had happened as yet. If you heard peals of laughter resounding from some unknown region, you might be sure enough of the cause. Going down into the kitchen, or _the room_, you would find Jane and Thomas, and Robert and Susan, all and sum, playing at ball with the little princess. She was the ball herself, and did not enjoy it the less for that. Away she went, flying from one to another, screeching with laughter. And the servants loved the ball itself better even than the game. But they had to take some care how they threw her, for if she received an upward direction, she would never come down again without being fetched. V. WHAT IS TO BE DONE? But above-stairs it was different. One day, for instance, after breakfast, the king went into his counting-house, and counted out his money. The operation gave him no pleasure. "To think," said he to himself, "that every one of these gold sovereigns weighs a quarter of an ounce, and my real, live, flesh-and-blood princess weighs nothing at all!" And he hated his gold sovereigns, as they lay with a broad smile of self-satisfaction all over their yellow faces. The queen was in the parlour, eating bread and honey. But at the second mouthful she burst out crying, and could not swallow it. The king heard her sobbing. Glad of anybody, but especially of his queen, to quarrel with, he clashed his gold sovereigns into his money-box, clapped his crown on his head, and rushed into the parlour. "What is all this about?" exclaimed he. "What are you crying for, queen?" "I can't eat it," said the queen, looking ruefully at the honey-pot. "No wonder!" retorted the king. "You've just eaten your breakfast--two turkey eggs, and three anchovies." "Oh, that's not it!" sobbed her Majesty. "It's my child, my child!" "Well, what's the matter with your child? She's neither up the chimney nor down the draw-well. Just hear her laughing." Yet the king could not help a sigh, which he tried to turn into a cough, saying-- "It is a good thing to be light-hearted, I am sure, whether she be ours or not." "It is a bad thing to be light-headed," answered the queen, looking with prophetic soul far into the future. "'Tis a good thing to be light-handed," said the king.