Rosamond did not like this proposition at all, for her mother had never taught her to work, and besides, she felt as if, with a crown upon her head, she were a kind of queen. It seemed to her as if the villagers also thought so when they looked at her as she walked through the streets, and she bore herself very proudly for a while, but at length became so tired and hungry, that she sank down on a doorstep, her head leaning on her hand; and as she watched the passers-by through her drooping lids, she noticed how very nice their shoes and stockings were. Then she saw that her own were much torn and soiled, and looking down the street, was mortified to trace her way along by the muddy footprints she had left on the fair white marble. She went to Greta's mother, and asked permission to wash her stockings and clean her shoes. But she did not know how to do it nicely, and they still looked very badly. “Clean bare feet would look better than such shoes and stockings,” said the mother. “But I could not have bare feet and a crown,” answered Rosamond. “O, is it a crown? Excuse me, I thought it was a snake skin.” Rosamond half smiled, but said sadly, “It seems like a snake, it stings me so sharply.” “You must go to Father Alter. A lady once came here with a jewelled girdle which was clasping her to death. He sent her to a fountain high among the mountains, and she returned in a white dress with a girdle of wild flowers. She lived with me, and kept a school for children. She was a lovely lady.” This reminded Rosamond of the priest, and she asked Greta to show her where Father Alter lived. She found him sitting in his garden of herbs among poor people who were waiting for comfort and advice, and Rosamond also had to wait. At length he turned to her, and laying his hand gently upon her golden head, said, “I see what you want, my child. You must bathe your forehead in the fountain, that the weight of this stone may be taken from it.” “How shall I find the fountain, father?” she asked.