“Make way for Aurora Borealis, the Queen of Illusia, the most beautiful creature in the world,” he cried. A long procession of young ladies, in white cling-y dresses came out of the palace, and every one was more beautiful than the one who preceded her. “My goodness, they’re pretty!” Maida said. “If the Queen is any prettier, she must be just grand.” All the trumpets played, the beautiful girls sang, the crowd hurrahed and bowed. Then an ugly old woman waddled out of the palace door and waddled down the steps into the Plaza. She must have been eighty at least. She had a red face and pop eyes, her nose was like a banana, and three of her teeth were missing. My! but she was a fright. “Who’s that?” inquired Maida of her neighbor, “the cook?” “The _cook_!” echoed the girl. “Why, that’s the Queen, Aurora Borealis.” Sure enough, it was! Chapter XVII Maida stared in astonishment, but the ugly old woman was Queen Aurora Borealis beyond a doubt. On her head she wore a great golden crown, and as Maida stared at her the same blinding white light flashed from it straight up to the sky, and everybody was pleased because the Queen was pleased. Aurora stopped and smiled. I wish I could describe that smile, but it would take three painters and a photographer to do it justice. “Good-morning, my children!” she cried, “Who is the Queen of Beauty?” And altogether everybody said, “You are.” Aurora smiled still more. “Who is the Pride of Illusia?” she asked. Again a chorus arose, “You, divine Queen!” “Yes, of _course_!” smirked Aurora; and then looking directly at Maida, she added, “a little louder over there.” The eyes of the multitude turned toward the stranger and Maida realized she must speak. “You, divine Queen!” she quavered. “Don’t be so piano in your praise,” remarked Aurora, “a little enthusiasm goes a long way.” Then turning to her subjects, she added: “Do you know my children, I envy you.” As if spoken by one man, a mighty “Why?” rose from the multitude. “Why?” repeated Aurora astonished, “because you can gaze on _me_. You can feast your eyes on my lovely face.” Then turning to Maida, she added fiercely, “it _is_ lovely--isn’t it?” Maida managed to pipe out, “Oh, very!” but she felt guilty of telling an awful whopper. “You can gladden your eyes with my sylph-like form,” and again turning to Maida, continued, “If I’m not mistaken, it _is_ sylph-like?” “If you please,” murmured Maida, “I don’t know what a sylph is, I never saw one, but I am sure they couldn’t look any worse.” Luckily for Maida, the Queen did not hear the last part of her speech. A minion approached Aurora, and distracted her attention by presenting her with a paper which bore a huge red seal. “What’s this?” she inquired petulantly, “didn’t you hear me? I was talking about myself. Every time I get absorbed in an interesting topic you come along and spoil it. What’s the matter?”