So; good! Well, he could have those things easily enough, and there they were. So the fiddler dressed himself in his fine clothes, and then, when it was about time for the princess to make her choice, he mounted upon his great milk-white horse and set off for the king’s house with his staff across the saddle in front of him. But you should have seen how the people looked as he rode along the street, for they had never laid eyes upon such a fine sight in all of their lives before. Up he rode to the castle, and when he knocked at the door they did not keep him waiting long out in the cold, I can tell you. There they all sat at dinner, the tinker on one side of the princess and the shoemaker on the other. But when they saw the fiddler in his grand clothes, they thought that he was some great nobleman for sure and certain, for neither the princess nor the two rogues knew who he was. The folks squeezed together along the bench and made room for him; so he leaned his staff in the corner and down he sat, just across the table from the princess. By and by he asked the princess if she would drink a glass of red wine with him. Yes, the princess would do that. So the fiddler drank, and then what did he do but drop his half of the ring that the princess had given him into the cup, before he passed it across to her. Then the princess drank, but something bobbed against her lips; and when she came to look—lo and behold!—there was the half of her ring. And if anybody in all of the world was glad, it was the princess at that very moment. Up she stood before them all; “There is my sweetheart,” says she, “and I will marry him and no one else.” As for the fiddler, he just said, “Rub-a-dub-dub,” and up jumped the staff and began to thump and bang the tinker and the shoemaker until they scampered away for dear life, and there was an end of them so far as I know, for if you would like to know what happened to them afterwards, you will have to ask some one else. The king was ever so glad to have the fiddler for a son-in-law in the place either of the tinker or the shoemaker, for he was a much better-looking lad. Besides, the others had done nothing but brew trouble and worriment ever since they had come into the house. After that there was a grand wedding. I too was there at the feasting, but I got nothing but empty sausage and wind pudding, and so I came away again. And that is the end of this story. [Illustration] [Illustration] Nine O’clock· When all are wrapped in _Slumbers_ sweet, [Sidenote: ○] About the _House_, with stealthy _Tread_, With flowered _Gown_, and night-capped _Head_, _Dame Margery_ goes, in _Stocking Feet_. She stops and listens at the _Doors_; [Sidenote: ☾] She sees that every thing is right, And safe, and quiet for the _Night_, Then goes to _Bed_, and sleeps, and snores. K.P.