"Oh, Carter!" the mother broke out, for it was all plain to her. In a flash of agonized understanding the wistful little sleep-story was filled out in every detail. She understood all the tragedy of it. "Russy! Russy!" She shook him in her eagerness. "Russy, it's my kisses! _I'm_ kissing you! It isn't Jeffy's mother,--it's your mother, Russy! Feel them!--don't you feel them on your forehead and your hair and your little red lips? It's your mother kissing _you!_" Russy opened his eyes. "Why! Why, so it is!" he said. "And calling you 'Dear,' Russy! Don't you hear her? Dear boy,--_dear_ little boy! You hear her, don't you, Russy--dear?" "Why, yes!--_why!_" "And tucking you into bed--like this,--_so!_ She's tucking in the blanket now,--and now the little quilt, Russy! That is what mothers are for--I never thought before--oh, I never thought!" She dropped her face beside his on the pillow and fell to kissing him again. He held his face quite still for the sweet, strange baptism. Then suddenly he laughed out happily, wildly. "Then it isn't a Lie!" he cried, in a delirium of relief and joy. "It's true!" Chapter VII The Princess of Make-Believe The Princess was washing dishes. On her feet she would barely have reached the rim of the great dish-pan, but on the soap-box she did very well. A grimy calico apron trailed to the floor. "Now this golden platter I must wash _extry_ clean," the Princess said. "The Queen is ve-ry particular about her golden platters. Last time, when I left one o' the corners--it's such a nextremely heavy platter to hold--she gave me a scold--oh, I mean--I mean she tapped me a little love pat on my cheek with her golden spoon." It was a great, brown-veined, stoneware platter, and the arms of the Princess ached with holding it. Then, in an unwary instant, it slipped out of her soapsudsy little fingers and crashed to the floor. Oh! oh! the Queen! the Queen! She was coming! The Princess heard her shrill, angry voice, and felt the jar of her heavy steps. There was the space of an instant--an instant is so short!--before the storm broke. "You little limb o' Satan! That's my best platter, is it? Broke all to bits, eh? I'll break--" But there was a flurry of dingy apron and dingier petticoats, and the little Princess had fled. She did not stop till she was in her Secret Place among the willows. Her small lean face was pale but undaunted. "Th-the Queen isn't feeling very well to-day," she panted. "It's wash-day up at the Castle. She never enjoys herself on wash-days. And then that golden platter--I'm sorry I smashed it all to flinders! When the Prince comes I shall ask him to buy another."