The prince was very, very troubled and unhappy. He tried to find out something more about her, but his efforts were fruitless; no one seemed to know what had become of her. “I will search the world over till I find her,” he said, “even if it take me the whole of my life.” He wandered on and on, always making fresh inquiries, always hoping to hear something of his lost love, but always in vain. And at last he got back to his own kingdom. When his mother and father saw him they were horrified to find how pale and thin he had grown. [Illustration: HE RODE AWAY ON HIS WHITE HORSE AND TURNED TO WAVE HIS HAND TO HIS MOTHER AND FATHER BEFORE HE WENT OVER THE HILL-TOP.] “Travelling doesn’t seem to suit you, my son,” said his father, looking at him rather seriously and stroking his beard. “The poor boy is tired out,” said his mother. “He’ll look better when he’s had a good rest and some proper food. I don’t suppose he’s ever had a really wholesome meal in those foreign parts.” But the prince remained thin and sad and listless, and at last he told his father and mother the cause of his unhappiness. At first they were a little upset at the idea of his wanting to marry so humble a person as the daughter of a village baker--“But that of course,” thought the prince, “is only because they don’t know her.” And after a time, when they saw how unhappy he was and that all the distractions with which they provided him were unavailing, and that his one idea was to go out into the world again and search for the baker’s daughter, they were so troubled that they felt they would be only too glad if he could have the wish of his heart fulfilled. And then one day as the prince was sitting quietly at breakfast with his parents he jumped up suddenly with an expression of the greatest excitement and joy. “What is it, my son?” said his astonished mother. The prince couldn’t speak for a moment. For one thing he was too excited, and for another his mouth was full of bread, and I told you before how well brought up he was. But he pointed to the dish of breakfast rolls and kept on nodding his head and swallowing as hard as he could. The king and queen thought at first that sorrow had affected his brain, but the prince was able to explain very soon. “The rolls, the rolls,” he said. “Her rolls, _hers_. No one else could make them so good. She must be here.” And he rushed off to the kitchen without further ado. And there, sure enough, he found the baker’s daughter, peeling potatoes over the sink. By the merest chance she had taken a place as kitchen-maid in the king’s palace, though she hadn’t the faintest idea, when she did so, that the king’s son was the same person as the handsome stranger who had once stayed in her father’s house.